Samuel F. B. Morse, His Letters and Journals Volume I Part 26

"You will rejoice with me, I know, in my continued and increasing success. I have just learned in confidence, from one of the members of the committee of the corporation appointed to procure a full-length portrait of Lafayette, that they have designated me as the painter of it, and that a subcommittee was appointed to wait on me with the information.

They will probably call to-morrow, but, until it is thus officially announced to me, I wish the thing kept secret, except to the family, until I write you more definitely on the subject, which I will do the moment the terms, etc., are settled with the committee.

"I shall probably be under the necessity of going to Was.h.i.+ngton to take it immediately (the corporation, of course, paying my expenses). But of this in my next."

"_January 6, 1825._ I have been officially notified of my appointment to paint the full-length portrait of Lafayette for the City of New York, so that you may make it as public as you please.

"The terms are not definitely settled; the committee is disposed to be very liberal. I shall have at least seven hundred dollars--probably one thousand. I have to wait until an answer can be received from Was.h.i.+ngton, from Lafayette to know when he can see me. The answer will arrive probably on Wednesday morning; after that I can determine what to do about going on.

"The only thing I fear is that it is going to deprive me of my dear Lucretia. Recollect the old lady's saying, often quoted by mother, 'There is never a convenience but there ain't one'; I long to see you."

It was well for the young man that he did not realize how dreadfully his jesting fears were to be realized.

Further on he says: "I have made an arrangement with Mr. Durand to have an engraving of Lafayette's portrait. I receive half the profits.

Vanderlyn, Sully, Peale, Jarvis, Waldo, Inman, Ingham, and some others were my compet.i.tors in the application for this picture."

"_January 8._ Your letter of the 5th I have just received, and one from the committee of medical students engaging me to paint Dr. Smith's portrait for them when I come to New Haven. They are to give me one hundred dollars. I have written them that I should be in New Haven by the 1st of February, or, at farthest, by the 6th; so that it is only prolonging for a little longer, my dear wife, the happy meeting which I antic.i.p.ated for the 25th of this month. Events are not under our own control.

"When I consider how wonderfully things are working for the promotion of the great and _long-desired_ event--that of being constantly with my dear family--all unpleasant feelings are absorbed in this joyful antic.i.p.ation, and I look forward to the spring of the year with delightful prospects of seeing my dear family permanently settled with me in our own hired house here. There are more encouraging prospects than I can trust to paper at present which must be left for your private ear, and which in magnitude are far more valuable than any encouragement yet made known to me. Let us look with thankful hearts to the Giver of all these blessings."

"_Was.h.i.+ngton, February 8, 1825._ I arrived safely in this city last evening. I find I have no time to lose, as the Marquis will leave here the 23d. I have seen him and am to breakfast with him to-morrow, and to commence his portrait. If he allows me time sufficient I have no fear as to the result. He has a n.o.ble face. In this I am disappointed, for I had heard that his features were not good. On the contrary, if there is any truth in expression of character, there never was a more perfect example of accordance between the face and the character. He has all that n.o.ble firmness and consistency, for which he has been so distinguished, strongly indicated in his whole face.

"While he was reading my letters I could not but call to mind the leading events of his truly eventful life. 'This is the man now before me, the very man,' thought I, 'who suffered in the dungeon of Olmutz; the very man who took the oaths of the new const.i.tution for so many millions, while the eyes of thousands were fixed upon him (and which is so admirably described in the Life which I read to you just before I left home); the very man who spent his youth, and his fortune, and his time, to bring about (under Providence) our happy Revolution; the friend and companion of Was.h.i.+ngton, the terror of tyrants, the firm and consistent supporter of liberty, the man whose beloved name has rung from one end of this continent to the other, whom all flock to see, whom all delight to honor; this is the man, the very identical man!' My feelings were almost too powerful for me as I shook him by the hand and received the greeting of--'Sir, I am exceedingly happy in your acquaintance, and especially on such an occasion.'"

Thus began an acquaintance which ripened into warm friends.h.i.+p between Morse and Lafayette, and which remained unbroken until the death of the latter.

"_February 10, 1825._ I went last night to the President's levee, the last which Mr. Monroe will hold as President of the United States. There was a great crowd and a great number of distinguished characters, among whom were General Lafayette; the President-elect, J.Q. Adams; Mr.

Calhoun, the Vice-President elect; General Jackson, etc. I paid my respects to Mr. Adams and congratulated him on his election. He seemed in some degree to shake off his habitual reserve, and, although he endeavored to suppress his feelings of gratification at his success, it was not difficult to perceive that he felt in high spirits on the occasion. General Jackson went up to him and, shaking him by the hand, congratulated him cordially on his election. The General bears his defeat like a man, and has shown, I think, by this act a n.o.bleness of mind which will command the respect of those who have been most opposed to him.

"The excitement (if it may be called such) on this great question in Was.h.i.+ngton is over, and everything is moving on in its accustomed channel again. All seem to speak in the highest terms of the order and decorum preserved through the whole of this imposing ceremony, and the good feeling which seems to prevail, with but trivial exceptions, is thought to augur well in behalf of the new administration."

(There was no choice by the people in the election of that year, and John Quincy Adams had been chosen President by a vote of the House of Representatives.)

"I went last night in a carriage with four others--Captain Chauncey of the navy; Mr. Cooper, the celebrated author of the popular American novels; Mr. Causici (p.r.o.nounced Cau-see-chee), the sculptor; and Mr.

Owen, of Lanark, the celebrated philanthropist.

"Mr. Cooper remarked that we had on board a more singularly selected company, he believed, than any carriage at the door of the President, namely, a _misanthropist_ (such he called Captain Chauncey, brother of the Commodore), a _philanthropist_ (Mr. Owen), a _painter_ (myself), a _sculptor_ (Mr. Causici), and an _author_ (himself).

"The Mr. Owen mentioned above is the very man I sometimes met at Mr.

Wilberforce's in London, and who was present at the interesting scene I have often related that occurred at Mr. Wilberforce's. He recollected the circ.u.mstance and recognized me, as I did him, instantly, although it is twelve years ago.

"I am making progress with the General, but am much perplexed for want of time; I mean _his time_. He is so hara.s.sed by visitors and has so many letters to write that I find it exceedingly difficult to do the subject justice. I give him the last sitting in Was.h.i.+ngton to-morrow, reserving another sitting or two when he visits New York in July next. I have gone on thus far to my satisfaction and do not doubt but I shall succeed entirely, if I am allowed the requisite number of sittings. The General is very agreeable. He introduced me to his son by saying: 'This is Mr.

Morse, the painter, the son of the geographer; he has come to Was.h.i.+ngton to take the topography of my face.' He thinks of visiting New Haven again when he returns from Boston. He regretted not having seen more of it when he was there, as he was much pleased with the place. He remembers Professor Silliman and others with great affection.

"I have left but little room in this letter to express my affection for my dearly loved wife and children; but of that I need not a.s.sure them. I long to hear from you, but direct your letters next to New York, as I shall probably be there by the end of next week, or the beginning of the succeeding one.

"Love to all the family and friends and neighbors. Your affectionate husband, as ever."

Alas! that there should have been no telegraph then to warn the loving husband of the blow which Fate had dealt him.

As he was light-heartedly attending the festivities at the White House, and as he was penning these two interesting letters to his wife, letters which she never read, and antic.i.p.ating with keenest pleasure a speedy reunion, she lay dead at their home in New Haven.

His father thus conveys to him the melancholy intelligence:--

"_February 8th, 1825._ My affectionately beloved Son,--Mysterious are the ways of Providence. My heart is in pain and deeply sorrowful while I announce to you the sudden and unexpected death of your dear and deservedly loved wife. Her disease proved to be an _affection of the heart_--incurable, had it been known. Dr. Smith's letter, accompanying this, will explain all you will desire to know on this subject.

"I wrote you yesterday that she was convalescent. So she then appeared and so the doctor p.r.o.nounced. She was up about five o'clock yesterday P.M. to have her bed made as usual; was unusually cheerful and social; spoke of the pleasure of being with her dear husband in New York ere long; stepped into bed herself, fell back with a momentary struggle on her pillow, her eyes were immediately fixed, the paleness of death overspread her countenance, and in five minutes more, without the slightest motion, her mortal life terminated.

"It happened that just at this moment I was entering her chamber door with Charles in my arms, to pay her my usual visit and to pray with her.

The nurse met me affrighted, calling for help. Your mother, the family, our neighbors, full of the tenderest sympathy and kindness, and the doctors thronged the house in a few minutes. Everything was done that could be done to save her life, but her 'appointed time' had come, and no earthly power or skill could stay the hand of death.

"It was the Lord who gave her to you, the chiefest of all your earthly blessings, and it is He that has taken her away, and may you be enabled, my son, from the heart to say: 'Blessed be the name of the Lord.'... The shock to the whole family is far beyond, in point of severity, that of any we have ever before felt, but we are becoming composed, we hope on grounds which will prove solid and lasting.

"I expect this will reach you on Sat.u.r.day, the day after the one we have appointed for the funeral, when you will have been in Was.h.i.+ngton a week and I hope will have made such progress in your business as that you will soon be able to return....

"You need not hurry home. Nothing here requires it. We are all well and everything will be taken good care of. Give yourself no concern on that account. Finish your business as well as you will be able to do it after receiving this sad news."

This blow was an overwhelming one. He could not, of course, compose himself sufficiently to continue his work on the portrait of Lafayette, and, having apprised the General of the reason for this, he received from the following sympathetic letter:--

I have feared to intrude upon you, my dear sir, but want to tell you how deeply I sympathize in your grief--a grief of which n.o.body can better than me appreciate the cruel feelings.

You will hear from me, as soon as I find myself again near you, to finish the work you have so well begun.

Accept my affectionate and mournful sentiment.

LAFAYETTE.

The day after he received his father's letter he left Was.h.i.+ngton and wrote from Baltimore, where he stopped over Sunday with a friend, on February 13:--

MY DEAR FATHER,--The heart-rending tidings which you communicated reached me in Was.h.i.+ngton on Friday evening. I left yesterday morning, spend this day here at Mr. Cus.h.i.+ng's, and set out on my return home to-morrow. I shall reach Philadelphia on Monday night, New York on Tuesday night, and New Haven on Wednesday night.

Oh! is it possible, is it possible? Shall I never see my dear wife again?

But I cannot trust myself to write on this subject. I need your prayers and those of Christian friends to G.o.d for support. I fear I shall sink under it.

Oh! take good care of her dear children.

Your agonized son, FINLEY.

Another son had been born to him on January 20, 1825, and he was now left with three motherless children to provide for, and without the sustaining hope of a speedy and permanent reunion with them and with his beloved wife.

Writing to a friend more than a month after the death of his wife, he says:--

"Though late in performing the promise I made you of writing you when I arrived home, I hope you will attribute it to anything but forgetfulness of that promise. The confusion and derangement consequent on such an afflicting bereavement as I have suffered have rendered it necessary for me to devote the first moments of composure to looking about me, and to collecting and arranging the fragments of the ruin which has spread such desolation over all my earthly prospects.

"Oh! what a blow! I dare not yet give myself up to the full survey of its desolating effects. Every day brings to my mind a thousand new and fond connections with dear Lucretia, all now ruptured. I feel a dreadful void, a heart-sickness, which time does not seem to heal but rather to aggravate.

"You know the intensity of the attachment which existed between dear Lucretia and me, never for a moment interrupted by the smallest cloud; an attachment founded, I trust, in the purest love, and daily strengthening by all the motives which the ties of nature and, more especially, of religion, furnish.

"I found in dear Lucretia everything I could wish. Such ardor of affection, so uniform, so unaffected, I never saw nor read of but in her.