LAFAYETTE, FRIEND OF THE UNITED STATES

In the court of Louis XV was a bright, gentlemanly boy who served as a page. He also had the honor of being a commissioned officer in the bodyguard of the king, to which none but descendants of the most highly titled families were admitted. He was a marquis, he had a large fortune, and altogether he was looked upon as being a most lucky young man.

It was this same fortune, however, which stood in his way when it was proposed that he should marry a little twelve-year-old countess. “The Marquis de Lafayette has too much money,” the mother of the girl objected. “He has neither parents nor near relatives, and he is free to spend it as he likes. That is not good for a boy.” But after a while, when she came to know the boy better, she very willingly gave her consent. The young man of sixteen and the girl of fourteen were married and, as the old story books say, “lived happy forever after.”

Two years later, 1776, was the year of the American Declaration of Independence. Lafayette was intensely interested in the struggles of the colonists, and he made up his mind to cross the ocean and put his sword at their service. His plans had to be kept secret, for Louis XVI, who was now on the throne, had not decided whether to help America or not. He would have liked the Americans to win, and so prevent England from holding the continent across the seas; but on the other hand, he did not wish to join them if they were going to lose and leave him entangled in a needless contest with England. Just then the Americans had met with so many defeats and misfortunes that it seemed as if they must lose the war.

It is no wonder that King Louis hesitated; but Lafayette did not. Mr. Silas Deane, representative in France of the colonies, had already, in the name of Congress, appointed him a major-general in the American army; and although he was told frankly how hopeless affairs now seemed and that the Americans could not even provide him with a passage to America, he merely thanked the commissioners courteously and said that he would purchase a vessel for himself. The king forbade his sailing, and this meant that disobedience might bring about the confiscation of his estates; but he sailed with eleven companions, and after a voyage of two months landed near Charleston, South Carolina.

As soon as possible, he presented Mr. Deane’s letter to Congress, but Congress was in a difficult position. Mr. Deane had given many such letters, and it was not easy to determine whether a rich young fellow of nineteen, who had come across in his own vessel, was in earnest in wishing to lend a hand, or whether he was only an adventurer in pursuit of cheap glory. Congress made a very natural mistake and told the marquis that there was small prospect of an opening for him. A little man would have turned the prow of his ship away from the American shores, but this young Lafayette was not a little man. He dashed off a note to Congress which said: “After the sacrifices I have made, I have a right to exact two favors: One is, to serve at my own expense; the other is, to serve as a volunteer.” Congress understood now with what sort of man it was dealing. His services were gratefully accepted, his appointment as major-general was confirmed, and before long he was attached to Washington’s staff.

For four years and a half Lafayette worked eagerly for America. He gave his money lavishly; he fought brilliantly; he was wounded in our defense; he showed himself a wise strategist; and he was successful in that most difficult piece of generalship, the skillful management of a retreat. The British general Cornwallis declared that “the boy cannot escape me.” But not many weeks later, “the boy” was publicly thanked by Washington for his distinguished service in the capture of the British general.

The friendship between Washington and Lafayette was most beautiful. “I love him as a son,” said the commander to the surgeons who were to care for Lafayette’s wound. To Lafayette himself the cool, reserved Washington wrote, “I love everybody that is dear to you.” “In your friendship I find a delight which no words can express,” Lafayette wrote to his American friend. Who can tell how much the affection of this devoted lover of liberty may have done to comfort and strengthen the greatest of Americans in his almost impossible task?

Lafayette’s services to America were not limited to the field of battle. King Louis had at length yielded to the demands of his people, recognized the United States as an independent country, and sent a fleet to their help. Chiefly through the influence of Lafayette, who had returned on a short furlough, he was persuaded to send also a land force. Lafayette was received in France with the greatest honors, and he used his popularity to win favors for America. “It is fortunate,” said the prime minister, “that Lafayette did not want to strip Versailles of its furniture for his dear Americans, for nobody would have been able to resist his earnestness.”

In 1781, at the close of the American Revolution, Lafayette returned to France. Marie Antoinette and her friends were enjoying themselves. Necker’s attempts to induce her to be less extravagant had aroused their wrath, and they were all rejoicing because Louis had put De Calonne into his place. De Calonne was the borrower who planned no means of payment, and when the treasury showed a deficit of millions of francs, his only suggestion was to hold a “Convocation of the Notables”; that is, men of rank or political prominence. Most of the members thought only of how to continue their idle, useless lives, but Lafayette reviewed the injustice and oppression of the peasants and showed how the court squandered the money of the people. “The millions which are thrown away are collected by taxation,” he declared, “and taxation can only be justified by the real wants of the state”--rather a venturesome speech, considering that the king’s brother was presiding at the Convocation.

When the National Association was formed, Lafayette did his best to persuade the nobles to unite with the commons, but in most cases he failed. He himself took his place in the Association, however, and there brought forward a Declaration of Rights which sounds much like the American Declaration of Independence. In this he declared that authority to rule was the gift of the nation, that the sole end of all government was the public good, that all should be taxed in proportion to their means, and at the same rate.

The weeks passed. News came that the king had called out troops to defend himself, then that Necker, the people’s favorite, had been dismissed. The attack upon the Bastille followed. After this the National Guard was formed, and its command was placed in the hands of Lafayette. The people looked upon him as so truly their friend that they knew no one else so worthy to receive the key of the Bastille. This he afterwards sent to Washington, and it is now at Mount Vernon. With the key he sent the message: “Give me leave to present you with the main key of the fortress of despotism. It is a tribute which I owe as a son to my adopted father, as an aide-de-camp to my general, as a missionary of liberty to its patriarch.”

Lafayette had not the slightest sympathy with riot and destruction and murder. The king was the lawful sovereign of France, and much as Lafayette would have been pleased to see his country a republic, he stood firmly by King Louis. When the mad rush upon Versailles was made, he at the head of several battalions of troops followed the mob to defend the royal family; and to him they owed their lives.

Meanwhile the National Assembly was at work on a constitution, or body of laws which should govern both king and people. They decreed that rich and poor should be taxed at the same rate; that all men should be alike before the law; that there should be no titles of rank, but that every man should be addressed as “citizen,” and every woman as “citizeness.” The Roman Catholic Church held an enormous area of land in France, larger, it is estimated, than the whole of England, and this was to be taken away for the use of the new government. Every person was to be allowed to follow the religion of his choice, and, whatever his faith, he could not be kept out of office because of it. The whole country was to be divided into departments, and the governor of each was to be elected by the people of that province. Some of the decrees of this Assembly were good; others were not good; but at any rate a constitution had been made, and the king had promised to accept it.

The fall of the Bastille had taken place July 14, 1789, and it was determined to hold a great celebration of the new constitution on the first anniversary of that day. A wide, open space often used for drills, the Champ de Mars, was chosen for the place of the celebration. The time was short and much was to be done to make this ready. To set out with spade or pickaxe and work on the Champ de Mars became the fashionable amusement. Members of the most aristocratic clubs, beggars, priests, soldiers, dancing-masters, matrons and dainty young maidens from families once ennobled, poets, painters, and monks all hastened to show their delight, whether sincere or only politic, in the change of government.

When July 14 had come, there stood on the Champ de Mars a beautiful circular temple made of posts fifty or sixty feet high, each one wound with either white drapery or evergreens, and surmounted by a vase of white lilies. From post to post festoons of green foliage were drawn. More than 300,000 persons were gathered in the temple, many coming before it was fairly daybreak.

At ten o’clock cannon were fired, bells were rung, and a procession led by a band of music marched into the temple. First came Lafayette at the head of the National Guards. He was followed by the electors of Paris, the deputies of the National Assembly, deputies from the different departments, and a long line of men of prominence. In the center of the building a broad flight of steps covered with handsome tapestry led up to an altar adorned with white lilies, and on this lay a Bible and a copy of the Constitution. Near the altar sat the king on his throne, and not far from him was a pavilion for the royal family. Two hundred priests robed in white linen and wearing the national colors, stood on the altar steps. At their head was Bishop Talleyrand, who was to administer the oath.

Mass was celebrated, then the trumpets sounded and the band played as Lafayette ascended the steps of the altar. He laid his sword upon the Bible and raised his right hand toward the sky. The music ceased, and in the silence of the great multitude he said in behalf of himself and the whole army, “We swear to be forever faithful to the Nation, to the Law, and to the King; to maintain to the utmost of our power the Constitution decreed by the National Assembly and accepted by the King.” Again the trumpets sounded, and the people shouted, “_Vive la Nation! Vive la Nation!_”

After all the representative bodies had sworn, the king rose in his place, stretched forth his hand toward the altar, and swore to maintain the Constitution with all the power given to him. Then the people shouted, the bands played, the trumpets sounded, and the cannon thundered. One would have thought that there would be nothing but peace and harmony forever after.

But the king was practically a prisoner; the soldiers were ready to mutiny; the popular Necker had to flee to save his life; and when Lafayette tried to save the king from insult, the Guards refused to obey. Lafayette was so disgusted with their behavior that he resigned his command. This aroused the whole state. The Guards begged him to resume his command, the departments begged, the city of Paris begged. “I am thoroughly convinced,” said he, “that my comrades love me; but I am still to learn how far they are attached to those principles on which liberty is founded.” Finally the mayor of Paris and a deputation from the common council represented to him that for him to resign the command would endanger the state. At this, he yielded, and on the following morning he led his troops to King Louis to make their apologies. Thereupon Danton and Marat and their followers accused Lafayette of having been bribed to stand by the king. Placards were put up throughout the city and pamphlets were published, all to the effect that Lafayette--who had put his life and fortune at the service of liberty--was a supporter of tyranny! He was even accused of helping to plan the king’s attempted flight.

Lafayette did all that was possible to keep order and strengthen the government; but the Jacobins had now come into power, and slaughter rather than order was what they wanted. Pictures and busts of Lafayette were destroyed, the dies of the medal which Paris had decreed in his honor were broken up by the common executioner, and a reward was offered for his capture. He saw clearly that he could do nothing more at that time for France. The only way to save his life for future service was to flee.

Holland was then a neutral country, and he set out for Holland, but was captured by the Austrians and kept a prisoner at Olmütz for five years. His cell was most loathsome. A stagnant ditch lay under the tiny window in a wall twelve feet thick. A broken chair, an old table, a heap of straw were its furnishings. When it rained, the water poured in until the captive was drenched to the skin.

In such dens as this, each one worse than those preceding, first in Austria, then in Prussia, the fearless lover of liberty was kept for five years; but he was not forgotten. Washington made a personal appeal to the Emperor of Austria. Other friends, one of them a young man from South Carolina, attempted his rescue. One sure way of liberty was offered him. If he would join the King of Prussia in plotting against France, he would be set free at once. “I am still Lafayette,” returned the captive indignantly. His property had been confiscated, and the money sent him by the American minister in France brought him many little comforts, and may have saved his life.

Meanwhile the Reign of Terror was at its height. The mother, sister-in-law, and niece of Lafayette’s wife were executed for the crime of noble birth. She herself was imprisoned, but, chiefly through the efforts of the American minister, she was set free. The young wife of fourteen had developed into the strong, wise, determined woman of thirty-two. She sent her son, named for Washington, across the ocean to his father’s friend for safety; then she made her way to Vienna and in disguise succeeded in gaining an interview with the emperor. He would not free Lafayette; his wife and two daughters might share his imprisonment if they chose; but if they once entered the prison, they would never be permitted to leave it. Nevertheless, they entered, and what a welcome they must have had! For twenty-two months they remained with him. Then came release. Napoleon Bonaparte, in command of the French forces warring against Austria, demanded as one of the terms of a treaty of peace that Lafayette should be set free. He had been threatened by the Jacobins as a royalist; he had been imprisoned as a republican, whose influence in their own kingdoms was feared by the kings of Europe. He was never tried, and no formal charges were ever brought against him.

Lafayette could do nothing by returning to France; therefore he and his family remained in Holstein from 1797 to 1799, and then made their home a few miles from Paris. During the years of Lafayette’s imprisonment, king and queen had been executed, the awful orgy of murder known as the “Reign of Terror” had passed, and in the war with the other nations of Europe the young Napoleon Bonaparte had become the most prominent man in the state. Lafayette liked and admired Napoleon, and was grateful to him for release from prison, but he did not believe that the supreme power which he plainly sought was consistent with liberty. “A free government with you at its head,” he said to Napoleon, “I should like nothing better.”

During the latter years of his life Lafayette saw many changes in the French government. In 1814, Napoleon was forced to abdicate. Now was the time for the “emigrant” nobles who had left France in the time of Louis XVI. They came back in full force, and by their aid a Bourbon, the brother of Louis XVI, was set upon the throne. He was called Louis XVIII, for the little dauphin, the son of Louis XVI, is counted as Louis XVII, even though he never reigned.

Before long, Napoleon, who had withdrawn to the little island of Elba, off the coast of Italy, made a sudden return to France. After he was again driven from the throne, Louis XVIII returned from exile and reigned for nine years. Then came his brother, who is known as Charles X. But Charles X had no more sense than to think he could restore things as they were before the Revolution. This brought about revolt, and Charles was obliged to abdicate. The Chamber of Deputies then put upon the throne a descendant of a younger brother of Louis XIV. He was reigning at the time of Lafayette’s death.

Soon after the close of the American Revolution, Lafayette had come to the United States for a short time. He begged Washington to visit him in France, but unluckily Washington could not speak French, and he declared that it would be “extremely awkward, insipid, and uncouth” to talk through an interpreter.

Forty years later, Lafayette became the guest of the United States. The country offered him the ship which, in 1777, it had been unable to provide, but he preferred to come by public packet. He landed at New York, then traveled--by carriage, of course--to Worcester, Providence, Boston, and Portsmouth; then back to New York, to Albany, Philadelphia, Trenton, Baltimore, Washington, and elsewhere. His friends tried to arrange an itinerary, but they might as well have saved their pains, for no one could live up to any itinerary when such crowds were eager to do him honor with cheers and music and banners, triumphal arches, fireworks, and cannon. There were receptions and banquets and addresses and military reviews. There were trembling old veterans of the war eager to shake his hand. In Providence the avenue leading to the court-house was lined with what the old account calls “female youth,” dressed in white, waving white handkerchiefs and strewing flowers in his way, “a simple but touching arrangement,” the account declares. While Lafayette was in Boston, the corner-stone of Bunker Hill Monument was laid. Daniel Webster was the orator of the day. In the course of his speech, when he addressed to Lafayette personally, as the “sole surviving general officer of Washington’s immortal army,” words of welcome and appreciation, Lafayette rose from his seat among the Revolutionary officers and remained standing until the close of this portion of the speech.

At Mount Vernon, Lafayette was taken to the tomb of Washington, where he knelt in silent homage to the memory of his friend. He was received by Congress, and at a banquet given him by that body, he gave the toast: “Perpetual union among the United States--it has saved us in our time of danger, it will save the world.”

Ten years later, in 1834, Lafayette died. Strange experiences he had met in his life of nearly eighty years. He had known five sovereigns of France, counting the little dauphin. He had known the execution of one king and his queen. He had passed through revolutions and counter-revolutions. He had seen his country ruled by a king and by a mob. He had seen her as a consulate and as an empire. Across the Atlantic he had beheld a little group of colonies win their freedom from the most powerful country of Europe, and their population increased from 3,000,000 to 12,000,000; and in each one of these events he had borne an important and a manly part. Surely it was a worthy and a wonderful life.