On returning to France, he found her laboring under mysterious warnings—of good or evil he knew not—the foreboding pangs of political convulsions; and he put his trust in the cause of humanity, because he judged of other men from himself.
But vain was his boldness and wisdom in council; in vain did he beard in their very den, the infuriate demagogues; a bloody pall was spread over his devoted country; he gave her up in despair, and the dungeon of Olmutz closed upon him as a tomb. When a brighter day arose, his freedom was stipulated as the most glorious trophy of his nation's victories. But the hurricane had swept the ancient fabric from the earth; not a vestige of it remained, so dreadful had been the storm. All the powers of the state were centred in one man; a man of selfishness and pride, who aimed at absorbing all wills in his own. And in sooth he did this, with one sole and great exception. The instinct of freedom, which was as the vital spark in our great citizen, kept him aloof from the man whose empty and ephemeral triumph is stained with the blood and tears of every nation. He retired to his paternal fields; and at a time when the sword ruled paramount, he guided the fruitful ploughshare.
Liberty was no more; and by a hard but just retribution, it was made the rallying word of nations against us. Then fell upon our country unheard of disasters and defeats; after which dawned a milder reign. He now reappears upon the public stage; he comes to heal our wounds, to rekindle in our hearts the love of liberty. He devotes himself to the task with a zeal unceasing, enlightened by long-tried experience, inspired by a pure and upright heart, and animated by a spirit of self denial never equalled. In the prosecution of this noble attempt—he dies!
He was one of those men who, at far and distant intervals, appear in days of degeneracy to arrest the right of proscription against virtue.
He disdained power, he despised riches, he abhorred corruption. He wished that all men should be happy and free.
Yet in the age of barefaced egotism, and under the reign of fraud and knavery, such disinterestedness and candor must inevitably be deceived; therefore is it that our political jugglers sneer at this great and good man—their grovelling minds understand him not.
But his name, pronounced with reverence in both hemispheres, is become the watchword of mankind laboring to be free; and it will stand for ages, as the brightest symbol of humanity.
Thy soul, oh Lafayette! was a pure and glorious emanation from that GOD in whose bosom thou now hast found a resting place. He alone can reward thy manifold virtues, thy constant love of humanity, thy inexhaustible charity, thy piety and truth. Thou art blessed in Christ.
ALEXANDRE DE BOINVILLE.
Paris, May 1834.