Good-will to all men was with him a science as well as a sentiment. His nature was pacific, and throughout the terrible conflict his thoughts were always turned on peace. He wished peace among ourselves, and he wished peace with foreign powers. While abounding in gratitude to returned officers and men, who had fought the national battle so well, he longed to see the sword in its scabbard, never again to flash against the sky. His prudence found expression in the saying, “One war at a time”; but his whole nature seemed to say, “Peace always.” And yet it was his fortune to conduct one of the greatest wars in all time. “With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right,”[233]—so he worked and lived; and these words of his own might be his honest epitaph.
His place in history may be seen from the transcendent events with which his name must be forever associated. The pyramids of our country are built by the people more than by any ruler; but the ruler of the people at such a moment cannot be forgotten.
It is impossible to exaggerate the Proclamation of Emancipation as an historic event. Its influence cannot be limited to the present in place or time. It will reach beyond the national jurisdiction, and beyond the present age. Besides its immediate efficacy in liberating slaves at home, it rises already a landmark of Human Progress. From the solidarity of Slavery, the fall of this abomination among us must cause its fall everywhere,—so that in Cuba, Porto Rico, Brazil, or wherever else a slave now wears a chain, that Proclamation will be felt. Proudly will it be recognized always in the destinies of the Republic. Only a short time before, the Czar of Russia, also by proclamation, raised twenty millions of serfs to the dignity of freemen; but even this eminent act was less historic. Though of incalculable importance to the serfs, it was not the triumph of Popular Government, and it came from the East instead of the West. It is to the West that the world now looks for sunrise. “Video solem orientem in occidente.”[234] But the Emancipation Proclamation itself was an agency in the military overthrow of the Rebellion, which, if regarded as an achievement of war, is one of the greatest in the annals of war, but, if regarded in political consequences, is an epoch of history. Here, again, the magnitude of the event is fully appreciated only when it is considered that the triumph of the Republic is the triumph of Popular Institutions everywhere. It is much that the Republic has become impregnable, whether against “malice domestic” or “foreign levy”; but it is more that it has become an example to the world. That all this should be done under a President representing especially the people, speaking always in sympathy with the people in words of power never to be forgotten, and sealing his devotion with life, adds to the splendor of the example.
His are great heralds, such as few have had as they entered the lofty portals. Our martyred dead is seen also in the company to which he is admitted, among the purest of all time,—martyrs, patriots, philanthropists, servants of truth and duty. Milton, Hampden, Sidney, Wilberforce, all welcome the new-comer. Washington leads the hosts of his own country, from the Pilgrims of the Mayflower to the thronging crowds who have laid down their lives for the Republic.
By the association of a similar death he passes into the same galaxy with Cæsar, William of Orange, and Henry the Fourth of France, all of whom were assassinated,—and his star will not pale by the side of theirs. Cæsar was a contrast in everything, unless in clemency, and the coincidence that each at the time of sacrifice was fifty-six years of age. How unlike in all else! Cæsar was of brilliant lineage, which he traced on one side to the immortal gods, and on the other to a recent chief of Rome,—of completest education,—of amplest means,—of rarest experience,—of acknowledged genius as statesman, soldier, orator, and writer, being in himself the most finished man of Antiquity; but he was the enslaver of his country, whose personal ambition took the place of patriotism, and whose name has become the synonym of imperial power. Of princely birth and great riches, William of Orange began as page in the household of Charles the Fifth, on whose wide-spread dominions, the largest of modern history, the sun never set. The youthful page became companion and intimate of the powerful Emperor. Unawed and unseduced, he upheld the liberties of his country, which he conducted wisely, surely, grandly,—anticipating the example of Washington. His name of “Silent” suggests the reticence of his American parallel, like whom he was also a liberator. Henry the Fourth, of the House of Bourbon, was a king memorable for practical sense, anecdote, and pregnant wit, with a certain Gallic salt. He, too, knew the trials of civil war, which he closed in peace and crowned with mercy. The National Unity prevailed in him. The age of fifty-six witnessed also his death, leaving great plans unfulfilled, and his career emblazoned by the popular epic of his country, “La Henriade” of Voltaire. These are illustrious names; but there is nothing in them to eclipse the simple life of our President, whose example, commemorated by history and by song, will be the pride of humanity and a rebuke to every usurper. The cause he served was more than empire. The motive of his conduct was higher than success,—as devotion to Human Rights is higher than genius or power, as man is higher than aught else on earth.
More like him in certain aspects was the Roman Emperor Vespasian, whose just sway was prolonged in Titus, his son. Without ancestry or rank, he rose to the loftiest power, and, when on these heights, never dissembled the humility of his origin. The simplicity and frugality of early life were continued on the throne of the world. There was in the Emperor a kindred humanity, and the same fondness for story and jest. But the common feature, bringing the two into one historic family, was generous indulgence to political opponents. It belongs to the fame of our President that in selections for the public service he forgot all personal differences. Capacity and devotion to the country were controlling recommendations, before which every thought of opposition or rivalry, or even of injury, disappeared. Here the Roman Emperor anticipated the American President; for the contemporary historian, in his brief record, presents him as “very little mindful of affronts and enmities, or vindictive on their account.”[235] Such a character, whether at Rome or Washington, is an example for all.
There is another character, taken away close upon the age of fifty-six,[236] who seems to have revived in the President. Do not be astonished, when I mention St. Louis of France. Difference of epoch and of objects occupying attention cannot obscure certain kindred features, and especially the common consecration of their lives. The French monarch, though at the head of a military power, was a lover of peace, and cultivated justice towards his neighbors. Through him a barbarous institution was overthrown, and France advanced in civilization. The Trial by Battle, against which he launched a noble ordinance, was a curse not inferior to our Slavery. In an age of violence he was gentle. In an age of privilege, and wearing a crown, he was moved to the practice of Equality. History recalls with undisguised applause the simple justice he delighted to administer, sitting under an oak in the park of Vincennes. Our President launched his ordinance at a barbarous institution, and advanced his country. He, too, practised Equality. And he, also, had his oak of Vincennes. It was that plain room where he was always so accessible as to make his example difficult for future Presidents. At stated times he was open to all who came with petitions, and they flocked across the continent. The transactions of that simple court of last resort would show how much was done to temper the law, to assuage sorrow, and to care for the widow and orphan; but its only record is in heaven.