But never for one moment was his soul shaken in its majestic fidelity; never was his example more lofty. At the beginning, he was careful, by official declaration, to make known his principles, so that he might not be confounded with fugitive royalists. But his prison cell was a constant testimony. Letters now exist, written at peril of life, with toothpick dipped in soot moistened with vinegar, where his wonderful nature is laid bare.[96] Confessing his joy that he suffers from that despotism which he combated, rather than from the people he loved so well, he announces his equal hostility to the committees of Jacobinism and the cabinet of the Coalition,—declares his firm conviction, that, amidst all the shocks of anarchy, Liberty will not perish,—remembers with a thrill the anniversary of American Independence, as that day comes round,—says of his own Declaration of the Rights of Man, that, if he were alone in the universe, he would not hesitate to maintain it,[97] and repels with scorn every effort to vindicate him at the expense of his well-known sentiments, declaring that he would give his blood, drop by drop, to the people’s cause, and that on the scaffold his first and last words should be “Liberty and Equality,” while he charges all the wrongs, all the crimes, all the perils, all the sufferings of the Revolution upon the wretched departure from these sacred principles.[98] His political faith was grandly declared, when, addressing the Minister of the United States at London, he calls down a blessing upon our Republic, saying, “May Liberty and Equality, with all the virtues truly republican, honest industry, moderation, purity of manners, frankness and liberality of spirit, obedience to the laws, firmness against all usurpation, continue to prove that American Freedom has its roots deep, not only in the head, but at the bottom of the heart of its citizens! May public prosperity, happiness of individuals, and federal concord be a perpetual recompense to the United States, and an example for other people!”[99] These words of benediction, original as great, aptly define that “American Era” which our hero had already hailed, while they invoke upon our country all that virtuous heart could desire. But never did soul rise to purer heights than when, at the beginning of his captivity, he bequeathed this consoling truth as his legacy to mankind, that the satisfaction from a single service rendered to Humanity outweighs any suffering inflicted by enemies, or even by the ingratitude of the people,[100]—and then, as the dungeon closed upon him, forgetting all that he was called to undergo, his own personal afflictions and prolonged captivity, he sends his thoughts to the poor slaves on his distant plantation in Cayenne, whose emancipation he had sought to accomplish. In the universal wreck of his fortunes he knew not what had become of this plantation, but he trusts that his wife “will take care that the blacks who cultivate it shall preserve their liberty.”[101] Search history, whether ancient or modern pages, let Greece and Rome testify, but you can find nothing more sublimely touching than this voice from that heavy-bolted dungeon, serenely pleading for the liberty of others far away. That noblest woman, mated with him in soul as in marriage vow, had already exerted herself to accomplish this purpose,—but, alas! without effect. Cruelly was their liberty confiscated with his estates.[102]
This confiscation, where Liberty itself disappeared, was the terrible climax of that proscription which now enveloped his friends and his family. In the prevailing masquerade of blood the charge of Fayettism was equivalent to a decree of death. Nor was tender woman spared. The grandmother, the mother, and the sister of his wife, all of the same ducal house, perished on the scaffold. His wife was thrown into prison, and escaped the same fate only by the timely overthrow of Robespierre. Regaining liberty after a cruel imprisonment of sixteen months, her maternal care was for her son, George Washington Lafayette, still a boy, whom she sent to his great namesake at Mount Vernon with a letter from herself, and then, accompanied by her two youthful daughters, with the protection of an American passport, she makes her way across Germany to Vienna, where she throws herself before the Imperial despot. To her prayer for the release of her husband, he answers that “his hands are tied”; but, moved by her devotion, so womanly, so wifely, so heroic, he yields so far as to consent that she, with her daughters, may share his wretched captivity. Penetrating his dungeon, she learned that the first change of raiment allowed him was on her arrival, when the tattered rags which scarcely covered his emaciated form were exchanged for a garb of coarsest material,—an indulgence not accorded without the insult of informing him that this had been purposely sought, as with such alone was he worthy to be clothed.[103] Three silver forks in her little inventory were seized by the jailer, and this refined family during a lingering imprisonment were driven to eat with their fingers. These things are not to be forgotten, because, while exhibiting the cruelty of despotic power, against which the world now rises in judgment, they show how his fidelity was tried, as also that of his family. The wife, becoming ill, was refused permission to leave the dungeon for medical advice at Vienna, except on condition of not returning, when she beautifully declared, for herself and her daughters, that they had agreed to participate the rigors of his captivity, and now repeated, with all their hearts, that they were happier with him in the dungeon than they could be anywhere else without him. Lafayette himself, when tempted by offer of release on certain conditions or promises, was stern as his jailer, and refused inexorably,—choosing to suffer, sooner than compromise in any respect his rights and duties as Frenchman or as American citizen, which latter title he always claimed.
Vain, during this long period, was every effort for his liberation. Not Fox, thundering in the British Parliament,—not the gentler voice of Wilberforce, uniting with Fox,—not Cornwallis, his old enemy at Yorktown, personally pleading with the Emperor himself,[104]—not Washington, prompting our Ministers abroad and writing directly to the Emperor, could open these prison doors.[105] Lafayette was declared to be a representative not only of the French Revolution, but of Universal Enfranchisement, whose liberty was incompatible with the safety of European governments: therefore must he be immured in a dungeon. But private enterprise, inspired by those generous promptings which are the glory of the human heart, for a moment seemed about to prevail. This was before the arrival of his wife and daughters. The health of the imprisoned champion had suffered to such degree, that, under medical direction, the rigors of confinement were relaxed so far as to allow occasional exercise in the open air. Here was an opportunity for which two friends, Bollmann, a German, and Huger, an American, of South Carolina, had watched for months, and they were able secretly to apprise the captive of their plans. With their assistance, after desperate conflict, in which his hand was torn to the bone, he succeeded in disarming the guards, and then enjoyed a gleam of liberty. It was a gleam only. Helped on a horse by one of his devoted friends, he started; but, ignorant of the way, and oppressed with fatigue, wounded, bleeding, after a flight of twenty-four hours, he was recaptured, brought back, and plunged again into the worst torments of his dungeon. This endeavor, though unsuccessful, is never read without a gush of gratitude towards the courageous men, who, taking life in hand, braved Austrian tyranny. Human nature seems more beautiful from their example.[106]
All had now failed, and the dungeon seemed to have closed upon Lafayette forever. The hearts of his friends were wrung with anguish, and especially here in America. Washington, at the fireside of Mount Vernon, shed tears for his friend,—while to that noble wife, who in all things was not less faithful than her heroic husband, he addressed an earnest letter, regretting that he had not words to convey his feelings, and placing a considerable sum of money to her credit, which he mentioned as the least he was indebted for services, of which he had never yet received an account.[107] But an intervention was at hand which would not be denied. It was the early sword of Napoleon Bonaparte, which, flashing across the Alps from his Italian victories, broke open the dungeon of Olmütz. Lafayette had been a captive five years,—his wife and daughters shut up with him twenty-two months. In the negotiations ending in the Treaty of Campo Formio, it was required, under special instructions from the French Directory, that he should be released; and the conqueror was heard to say afterwards, that, among all the sacrifices exacted of tottering Austria, not one was so difficult to obtain. The captive of many years, at last in the enjoyment of liberty, hastened to Hamburg, where he found welcome with the American consul.
This was in the autumn of 1797, and he was forty years of age. But life with him, though brief in years, had been extended by events full of lessons never to be forgotten; above all was that great lesson of perpetual fealty to Human Rights. And now this same lesson was illustrated again. As in dungeon, so in exile, Lafayette could not forget the cause to which his life was devoted, especially the liberty of the African. From the obscure retreat in Holstein, where he lingered, he addresses Clarkson, the English Abolitionist, in eloquent words, against the Slave-Trade, which was still the scandal of nations, and announces that the mission of France, while healing the wounds of the past, should be to assure Liberty for all, whether white or black, under the equal protection of Law.[108] Better far such mission than battle and conquest, which this ambitious nation craved. In a letter to Washington at the same time he gives utterance to his aspiration, that, for the good of the world, the North and the South should gradually adopt the principles on which the Independence and the Liberty of the United States have been happily founded.[109] How in thinking of himself Lafayette thought instinctively of the slave appears in an incident of exile at this time. In the straitened circumstances to which he was reduced, stripped of the wealth to which he was born, poor and homeless, his thoughts turned to the broad continent across the Atlantic, and he conceived the plan of buying a farm,—although without what he denominates “the first dollar” necessary,—either in Virginia, not far from what he calls the “Federal City,” or in New England, not far from Boston,—and thus, in one of those tender letters to his wife, he balances between these two places. “I am aware, dear Adrienne,” he writes, under date of 5th August, 1799, “that I, who complain of the serfs of Holstein, as something very melancholy to a friend of Liberty, should find in the valley of the Shenandoah negro slaves; for Equality, which in the Northern States is for everybody, exists in the Southern States for the whites only. Therefore, while I perceive all the reasons which should draw us to the neighborhood of Mount Vernon and the seat of the Federal Union, yet I should prefer New England.”[110] Never more simply or conclusively was the special difference between North and South presented for judgment.
Regaining his country at last, while the outlawry, though a dead letter, was not formally annulled, he withdrew to the retirement of Lagrange, where, surrounded by his family, he maintained unsullied the integrity of his great character,—turning aside from all temptation, and never for a moment swerving from completest devotion to that cause for which he had done and suffered so much. Others accepted office and honor; he would not. Bonaparte wished to make him Senator; Lafayette declined, as he afterwards declined the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor from the same hand. Always himself, he touched the key-note of his life, when, in a brief address to his fellow-citizens, on refusing a post of dignity in 1802, he announced his hope that the miracles of battle then surprising them might be followed not only by peace abroad, but by domestic tranquillity founded on the immutable principles of Justice. At no moment is he more exemplary in firmness than when on the proposition that Bonaparte should be Consul for life he openly voted “No,” and added, “I cannot vote for such a magistracy, until Liberty has been sufficiently guarantied.”[111] In a noble letter[112] he pleads with the successful warrior for the re-establishment of Liberty, saying that all things combine to fit him for this great work, which shall subdue danger and calm distrust. Bonaparte did not hearken to these words of patriot wisdom, but drove still further in mad career. Lafayette, withdrawing yet more into the repose of private life, avoided a contest, which he foresaw must be futile, with a ruler having claims upon his gratitude which he never ceased to acknowledge.
But it was not in his nature to despair. President Jefferson urged him in 1804, after the acquisition of Louisiana, to quit France, where the ground trembled beneath his feet, and come to a land where he could do so much good,—holding before him the governorship of the new Territory, and declaring that his presence alone would be better for its tranquillity than an army of ten thousand men. But Lafayette avowed his unwillingness to take a step that should seem to abandon the destinies of his own country, duty to which forbade him to despair of seeing established on the foundation of a just and generous Liberty,—in one word, American Liberty.[113]
While in retirement, he was visited by temptation in yet another form, and again his fidelity shines forth. By Act of Congress, repaying in part the accumulated debt of the nation, he had become proprietor of a large territory in Louisiana, to which in his reduced condition he naturally looked for means. Persons familiar with the country advised him to set up a manufacture of tiles, promising from it, what he so much desired, “a fixed revenue”; but he dismissed the proposition, as “founded upon a purchased employment of thirty slaves,”—“a thing,” said he, “I detest, and shall never do”; and then, after expressing his wish that in letting the land there should be “a first condition to employ none but free hands, or, if negroes of New Orleans be admitted, to stipulate their liberty in a short time,” he proceeds to say, in memorable words: “I would not be concerned in transactions in a negro country, unless not only my personal doings were unsullied with Slavery, but I had provided with others to render the very spot productive of Freedom.”[114] This was in 1805, before the Slave-Trade was yet abolished, and when Slavery was just beginning its fatal empire over our Republic. But it was only part of that faithful testimony which he bore so constantly.
Such a character was a perpetual protest, and Napoleon in the pride of colossal power confessed it. Son and son-in-law, though distinguished, could not obtain promotion,—the Emperor himself on one occasion erasing their names, with the tyrannical ejaculation, “These Lafayettes cross my path everywhere.” The true reason was disclosed, when, at another time, he said: “Lafayette alone in France holds fast to his original ideas of Liberty. Though tranquil now, he will reappear, if occasion offers.” Stronger homage to absolute fidelity could not be. He was tranquil, through all the splendid agony of the Empire, its marvellous conquests and its tremendous disasters,—tranquil at the victories of Austerlitz, Jena, Friedland, and Wagram, at the retreat from Moscow, at the stunning news from Leipsic, at the capitulation of Paris. As little could he participate in the restoration of Louis as in the usurpation of Napoleon. At last he reappeared. It was on the return from Elba, hazarding that peace purchased at such sacrifice, when, by characteristic action in harmony with his whole career, his present was linked with his past, and the chief of the Great Revolution, declining again the honors of the Senate and the title of Count, declaring, that, if ever again he entered public life, it must be as representative of the people, came forward as simple deputy, and then at an early day, with happy phrase, rallied the Chamber to an attitude of independence which should decide “whether it would be called a national representation or a Napoleon club.” The disaster of Waterloo hastened the impending crisis. The Emperor menaced a dissolution of the Chamber and a dictatorship. The time had come for the hero of Liberty. He spoke, and with a voice that had been silent for a generation bravely recalled the sacred cause of which he was the veteran, and that tri-color flag which was the symbol of Liberty, Equality, and Public Order. On his motion the Chamber declared itself permanent, and any attempt to dissolve it treason; and then, while vindicating France against the imputation of fickleness towards Napoleon, whom it had followed over uncounted fields, from the sands of Egypt to the snows of Russia, the Defender of Liberty insisted upon his abdication. Yet, true always to every just sentiment of gratitude and humanity, he scorned the idea of surrendering the fallen man to the Allies, saying he was “astonished that such a proposition should be addressed to a prisoner of Olmütz,”[115] and he sought to provide means for escape to America, showing him every consideration consistent with duty to the country.
The fall of Napoleon was followed by the restoration of the Bourbons to the throne of France, lasting from 1815 to 1830, and during much of this period Lafayette, released from all constraint, was member of the Chamber of Deputies. The King, who in early life had known him personally, trembled at his election. As he entered the Chamber for the first time, every eye turned to him, and every tongue pronounced his name with admiration, hope, or fear; nor was any member observed afterwards with equal interest. He took his seat on the extreme left, and always kept it. His attendance was marked by that fidelity which belonged to his nature; nor did advancing years or any disgust interfere with the constant and unwearied discharge of his parliamentary duties. Here, as everywhere, he was open, sincere, and brave. Overtopping others in character, he was conspicuous also in debate. Though not a rhetorician, he spoke with ease and effect, while every word had the inspiration of noble ideas, often expressed with sententious force. Especially was he moved whenever Liberty came in question; nor did the disasters falling upon him and his house, or any other consideration, make him hesitate to vindicate the Revolution, alike in substantial results and in principles. “Notwithstanding,” he said, “all that was afterwards lost through anarchy, terrorism, bankruptcy, and civil war, in spite of a terrible struggle against all Europe, there remains the incontestable truth, that agriculture, industry, public instruction, the comfort and independence of three quarters of the population, and the public morals, have been improved to a degree of which there is no example in any equal period of history, or in any other part of the Old World.”[116] With brilliant effect he portrayed the wrongs and abuses which disappeared before what he liked to call “the flag of Liberty, Equality, and Public Order.”[117] And he attributed the evils of France less to the madness of violence than to compromise of conscience by timid men. In the same lofty spirit he denounced the Holy Alliance as “a vast and powerful league whose object was to enslave and brutify mankind.”[118] By such utterances were the people schooled and elevated. The inspiration which was his own inner light he imparted to others.