Students of the University of Virginia. A semi-centennial catalogue with brief biographical sketches. |
Mr. Jefferson's Pet. |
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 | Students of the University of Virginia. |  |
Mr. Jefferson's Pet.
IT WAS a bright, sunny day, such as the Indian summer is apt to bring to our favored
land, when, in the little town of Charlottesville, a solemn meeting was held by its most
influential citizens. They had assembled to consult about the expediency of reviving a
modest country school, known under the somewhat ambitious name of the Albemarle Academy,
which had originally been endowed out of the spoils of the old church establishment, but was
no longer able to support itself. The worthy men who had taken the matter in charge, partly
with a view to the needs of that portion of the State, which was growing rapidly in wealth
and intelligence, and stood sadly in want of a good school, partly with an eye to their own
interest, were much at a loss how to organize a satisfactory scheme. They were on the point
of abandoning the plan, when one of them descried afar off the tall form of a horseman
rapidly coming down the public road that led from an eminence called Carter's Mountain in
the village. He was superbly mounted on a thorough-bred horse, and managed it with the
perfect ease of a consumate rider who has been familiar with horseback exercise from childhood
up. As he came nearer, the stately proportions of his frame became more and more
distinct, and even the fire of his clear blue eye could be discerned under his broad-brimmed
hat. He was clad from head to foot in dark gray broadcloth of homely cut, while his noble
open countenance was rising with a firm and self-poised expression from an immense white cravat
in which his neck was swathed. Fast as he came, it was evident that nothing escaped his
attention: here he noticed an open panel in a farmer's fence, and there the leaking gutter of
a townsman's house; he cast a searching glance at every horse or ox he met, and courteously
returned the greeting of young and old. As he was recognized by the anxious men in council,
they rose instinctively from their seats on the court-house green, and an expression of welcome
relief rose to every face. When one of them said, "let us consult Mr. Jefferson," he received no
reply: he had only uttered what was in every man's heart at the same moment.
So they invited their illustrious neighbor, who had but a short while before exchanged
the White House, with all its high honors and severe labors, for the ease and comfort of his
own Monticello, to join their council and to aid them by his advice. He dismounted with
the alacrity of youth, carefully fastening the reins of his horse to the railing, as he had tied
him to the palisades of the President's house in Washington, after riding there on horseback
to his inauguration; and unscrewing the top of his cane, he opened its three parts, which
formed the legs of a stool, and seated himself on the ingenious contrivance, one of the many
results of his own inventive skill. Then courteously acknowledging the honor done him by his
friends and neighbors, the ex-President listened attentively to their arguments, now and
then throwing in a judicious question so as to elicit the most important facts, and then gave
his opinion. Great was the astonishment of the good men of the village when he rejected
urbanity. But greater still was their surprise when he continued, and now urged them to
convert their paltry academy at once into a college, and to do something that might redound
to the credit not only of their good county of Albemarle, but of the State of Virginia. This
was so far beyond the range of their vision, and the plan seemed to them so much above
the means of the youthful commonwealth—especially with old William and Mary College rising
before their mind's eye in all its prestige of ancient fame and ample means—that they could
not at once enter heartily into his views. Still, Mr. Jefferson's words were law to his neigh_
bors then, and when he suggested a way in which an endowment might be obtained, by
subscriptions in the adjoining counties as well as in their own, and indorsed his view by
pledging himself at once to a considerable sum, they hesitated no longer, and, in their official
capacity as trustees, on the spot drew up the necessary resolutions.
It was no new thing, however, with Mr. Jefferson, this idea of a great college for his
native State. As far back as the year 1779, when he was called upon by the General Assembly
of Virginia to prepare a code of laws, he had incorporated in it, with the reluctant consent
of his eminent co-laborers, not only a provision for a university, but, what is far more remarkable
and interesting, by the light of modern progress, a complete scheme of free common
schools. His almost marvelous sagacity and foresight induced him to declare then — nearly a
hundred years ago — that free schools were an essential part, one of the columns as he expressed
it, of the republican edifice, and that without such instruction, free to all, the sacred
flame of liberty could not be kept burning in the hearts of Americans. And what appears
perhaps equally striking is that in his plan for a university, minutely elaborated so far back
in the past century, he already introduced ample and wise provision for schools of applied
science, such as are but now beginning to form an essential part of our best institutions.
Like all great men, however. Mr. Jefferson was far in advance of his age, and we need not
wonder, therefore, that his State followed him but slowly and at a great distance in his farseeing
plans. It was not till 1796 that his proposal was acted upon by the Legislature, though
to their honor be it said, a law was then passed providing for a general system of free schools.
The enactment, unfortunately, shared the fate of so many Virginia resolutions — it remained an
empty promise on the statute-book, and was not carried into effect till in our own day.
Now, however, when relieved of his grave and oppressive duties as head of a great nation,
he reverted with increased ardor to his first love, and with an energy and affection very
touching in a man so eminent among the great of the world, and so overwhelmed with work
and admiration alike, he devoted himself heart and soul to his favorite idea, the building up of a
great university. After subscribing a thousand dollars for the new school, an example which
was at once followed by eight of his more opulent neighbors, he obtained a charter for the
new "Central College," refusing with wonted modesty the use of his own name for the institution,
and forthwith proceeded to select the site and erect the buildings.
Fortunately there was no lack of beautiful sites in the immediate neighborhood of his
beloved home. From his lofty dwelling he looked down upon scenes favored as few are in this
land abounding with fair land-scapes and majestic sights. Overlooking from the terrace before
his front-door the picturesque breach in the mountains through which the Rivanna makes its
way from the higher table-lands of the Old Dominion to the lower districts on the sea-coast,
our hearts. Dotted here and there with ample woods, now rising dark and solemn in masses
of evergreen, and now glorious in a rich exuberance of colors, the pride of the tulip, the gum,
and the maple, with an undergrowth of rosy redbud and virgin dogwood blossoms, the land
rises in rolling waves till it reaches here gently swelling hills and there abrupt towering masses,
called in the homely language of the people the Ragged Mountains. And thus range follows
range, unfolding in unbroken succession new beauties and varied views, till the enchanted eye,
gently led upward from terrace to terrace, rests with ineffable delight upon the marvelous blue
and the soft outlines of the long, lofty mountain range which stretches along the horizon from south
to north, worthy of its well-known name, the Blue Ridge. The silvery band of the Rivanna
binds for miles and miles the lower scenes to the mountains above, while thriving villages and
cozy homesteads, each, after Virginia fashion, snugly sheltered under a noble group of oaks
and locusts, suggest pleasing thoughts of happy hearths and well-rewarded labor. Far as the
eye could see, all was peace and prosperity, and no visitor ever came from foreign shores who
did not, upon beholding this beautiful scene, lift up his heart to the great Creator, and bless
the happy people whose lines had fallen in such truly pleasant places.
There was no difficulty, therefore, in finding for Mr. Jefferson's pet a suitable and attractive
site; the only trouble was to choose between so many that all seemed equally eligible. He
selected a hill of commanding elevation, a little more than a mile to the north of the village,
which seemed to combine in an unusual degree all the requisites for a desirable site. Tradition,
however, says that the owner of the land, a political opponent of the ex-President's, held his
principles in such utter detestation that he would on no account have any thing to do with
him, and preferred the loss of a certain and considerable increase of wealth to the abandonment
of his personal feelings. It became thus necessary to choose a less commanding eminence,
which was speedily leveled down so as to present a vast plateau of nearly two thousand feet
in length with a proportionate width, and, opening toward the south, commanded in that
direction a vast prospect full of picturesque beauty.
Who can tell what feelings of gratification and just pride must have swelled the heart of
the great man when at last he saw the first buildings rise on the ground on which he hoped
to see a great and prosperous university gather within its walls a thousand of the young men
of the land? He had cherished this hope amidst the throes of the Revolution, and in the
very first years of the independence of his native country. When our people were still learning
the first rudiments of political wisdom he had already foreseen the wants they would
feel in full manhood; and while his neighbors and the whole South were still content
with old corn-field schools and ill-taught academies, he bore in his mind the full-grown
scheme of a university that should rival Harvard and successfully imitate the great institutions
of the Old World. For nearly two-score years he had persistently pursued the great object,
and, against all odds, obtained at least sufficient success to fill him with new hopes and encourage
him to new efforts. Utterly unselfish in his great scheme, he never thought for a
moment of his own interests or his fame; but with a singleness of purpose blended in rare
harmony with marvelous sagacious intuition, he merely desired to prepare his countrymen for
the novel and important functions to which they were summoned by their new-born independence.
Fortunately he had noble coadjutors in his labors. Presidents Madison and Monroe,
in the councils of the nation and at the rudder of the ship of state; and inferior only in
worldly renown, but fully their equal in lofty virtues and eminent ability, Joseph Carrington
Cabell stood by his side, fighting his battles in the Legislature, and winning many a victory
over public and private enemies which his illustrious friend could not easily have obtained.
In 1817 the three Presidents met in solemn council at Monticello to discuss the details of a
university—for such Mr. Jefferson had in the mean time decided the "Central College" should
become, not in name only, but in all essential features; and from that day the university became
the subject of his most earnest efforts during advanced manhood, as it was the last care
of his declining years.
The familiar saying that God gives the opportunity, and man has to improve it, had in
the mean time found a most striking illustration in his native State. By the agency of a
gentleman unknown to Mr. Jefferson a literary fund had been created by act of Legislature.
It consisted of the proceeds from certain escheats, forfeitures, fines, property derelict, and similar
sources of smaller value, and was intended to provide for the educational wants of the State.
At a later period it was largely increased by considerable sums of money paid by the government
of the United States to Virginia for services rendered and sacrifices made during the war
of independence. This fund perhaps first suggested to Mr. Jefferson the possibility of carrying
out his pet scheme; and in the sequel he knew how to employ his almost intuitive knowledge
of the springs of human action, and his great skill in putting them into operation, so well
as to obtain from the Legislature a lion's share for his favorite child. In the following year,
acting in accordance with an act passed in early spring, and authorizing the use of $45,000
annually for the primary education of the poor, and $15,000 to endow and support a university,
commissioners met at Rockfish Gap to digest and prepare the necesary measures.
It is one of the peculiarities of this country, due to its exceptional mode of development,
that the great cities, New York, perhaps, excepted, are but rarely the scenes of important assemblies;
for as the centres of population and wealth are shunned by legislative bodies, who
prefer to meet in smaller towns, free from undue and yet unavoidable influences, so very often,
also, the greatest movements have not only originated but reached their consummation in obscure
places, unknown to the world and often to the country itself. Such was the case in
this instance. High up in the Blue Ridge, at an elevation from which the eye takes in at a
single glance a variety of scenes unequalled on this continent for beauty and loveliness, a little
river rises in a dark gorge, to fall gently from terrace to terrace, and after a brief and rapid
course, abounding with falls and cascades of infinite attractiveness, to pour its waters into James
River. As the mountains here sink to a lower level, and thus afford one of the passes through
which in older days immigrants passed from what is called the Piedmont region of the State
to the great Valley of Virginia, the place has received the idiomatic name of Rockfish Gap.
Here, at a modest country inn, unpretending in appearance, but offering an abundant and
well-served table, far from the turmoil of cities and the excitement of politics, met a party
of men remarkable for their ability and virtue amidst a people which had already given four
Presidents to the Union, and was well known to possess as much private as public worth. In
the low-ceiled, whitewashed room, the whole furniture of which consisted of a dining-room table
and rude "split-bottom" chairs of home make, sat the President of the United States, Mr.
judges and eminent statesmen. "Yet," says one of Mr. Jefferson's biographers, "it was remarked
by the lookers-on that Mr. Jefferson was the principal object of regard both to the
members and spectators, that he seemed to be the chief mover of the body—the soul that
animated it—and some who were present, struck by these manifestations of deference, conceived
a more exalted idea of him on this simple and unpretending occasion than they had
ever previously entertained." He certainly gave a striking proof here of his marvelous sagacity
combined with unwearying industry. He had shrewdly foreseen that competing interests would
conflict with his own wishes, and especially with the selection of a site for the new university.
His sagacity was not at fault, for various other towns, and among them Lexington, where an
institution, endowed by Washington himself, was already doing much good, urged their claims
through able representatives. But he was fully prepared to meet them, and came armed cap-a-pie.
He first exhibited to the board an imposing list of octogenarians who were still living
in his neighborhood, and thus proved more conclusively than all reasoning could have done the
remarkable salubrity of the climate of Albemarle. Having thus completely defeated his adversaries,
who founded their special claims for the valley upon its superior healthfulness, he next
produced a piece of card-board, cut in the shape of the State of Virginia, and showed by a
glance that Central College was actually the territorial centre of the commonwealth, thus establishing
a strong argument in favor of his own choice. But he did not rest there: by another ingenious
device he proved, on a similar piece of board, on which he had, with painstaking industry,
entered the population of every part of Virginia, that he had succeeded in selecting nearly the
centre of the population also; and thanks to these practical proofs of the wisdom of his choice,
and the almost paramount prestige which his name exercised on the commissioners, they agreed
unanimously that Central College should be hereafter the "University of Virginia."
In the following year, 1819, the General Assembly granted a charter for the new institution,
and no more striking proof can be given of the earnestness with which the great founder pursued
the darling device of his later years than the fact that he transcribed with his own hand, and in
his well-known, beautiful writing, the minutes of the board down to the smallest detail. He who
had for so many years, and in the most troublous times, ruled the affairs of a great nation, after
having filled the highest offices in the gift of the people abroad and at home—he whose house
never ceased to overflow with admiring visitors from every part of the globe, and who yet ever
entertained the humblest of his fellow-citizens with the same scrupulous courtesy and urbanity
which he showed to foreign princes and renowned generals—he whose correspondence occupied
him, as he tells us, from sunrise till one or two o'clock, and often all night long—this man, so
rich in honors, so vast in his thoughts, performed the very humblest labor, and condescended to
the minutest details, when his pet, the university, seemed to require his attention. He recorded
with his own hands the minutes of the Board of Visitors, and twice, at least, copied their annual
reports to the General Assembly. These interesting proofs of his industry and the deep interest
he took in the child of his old age are still preserved in the archives of the University, and recall
forcibly the words of the wise king: "Seest thou a man diligent in his business, he shall
stand before kings!" Even in the purely formal entries of routine business in the visitor's record
there are every now and then most touching indications of the joy of heart with which he witnessed
the gradual fulfillment of his hopes; and in his letters, especially in some of the most
this sentiment of intense and yet unselfish satisfaction shines forth conspicuously.
The buildings originally intended for the Central College, but now considerably enlarged, so as
to fit them for a university, soon began to engross his whole attention. Every hour he could
spare from his almost overwhelming correspondence, from his boundless hospitality, and the rare
intervals he devoted to quiet enjoyment in the bosom of his family, was henceforth given to the
superintendence of his great work. He soon found that all his energy and activity were barely
able to accomplish the task, while during the same time his superior judgment and matchless
address in overcoming obstacles of every kind were urgently needed to provide the pecuniary
means for securing its completion. On him devolved the duty not only of furnishing the architectural
plans and elevations, but also of procuring workmen, at a time when skilled labor was still rare in
our cities, and almost unknown at any distance from the sea-board. With indefatigable diligence
and perseverance he engaged the best bricklayers and carpenters that could be obtained, and with
his own hand showed them how to measure and how to work. He prepared draughts of every
subordinate detail, and then watched over their faithful execution with unremitting care. Fortunately
he had, among other tastes, cultivated also a special taste for architecture; and his port-folios
were filled with drawings from Palladio and other great masters, as well as with copies of all the
most famous structures of antiquity. He now found an opportunity to carry out the long-cherished
schemes of his patriotism in providing for the education of the youth of his country,
and at the same time to gratify his great fondness for building. Each of the professors' houses,
which he preferred calling pavillions, was thus adorned with a Grecian portico, in which he exhibited
to his admiring countrymen models of all orders, and forever brought before the eyes of
the students the finest specimens of classic architecture. Skilled sculptors and able carvers were
by him imported from Italy for the special purpose of copying in costly marble the best models,
and he himself watched over their faithful execution to the smallest detail. Descendants of
these Italians still live in the neighborhood, and look with just pride at the excellent work with
which their fathers adorned the noble structures. Mr. Jefferson, however, soon found out that the
same work could be done more cheaply in Italy, and thereafter sent his orders across, and received
the finished capitals and pediments from abroad. Thus house after house arose on two
sides of the handsome lawn, sloping in three terraces toward the open side, which faces the South,
while the ten pavillions intended for the professors were connected by long, pillared arcades, which
furnished covered access to all the houses, and at the same time screened the dormitories occupied
by the students. Two parallel ranges of similar rooms, each occupied by two tenants, ran to the
East and West of the lawn at a lower level, and the intervening space, intersected by carriageways,
furnished the necessary yards and gardens. The upper side of the long quadrangle was
subsequently inclosed by a large rotunda, built after the model of the Pantheon at Rome, though
reduced to one-third of its size, and deprived of its lofty columns, except in front. As each house
had its own portico, and the magnificent pillars of the central building with their ornate marble
capitals overtowered the whole in majestic beauty, this mixture of orders necessarily destroyed the
unity of effect; nevertheless, the general impression is decidedly imposing, and Mr. Jefferson had
good cause to feel much pride in showing it to the many distinguished strangers who during those
years visited him at Monticello. Some of these refer in their published accounts to the gratification
which their illustrious host felt in exhibiting to them this favorite work of his old age; and
(then Mr. Stanley) and even the young Duke Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, must have
been not unwelcome to the sage of Monticello, as he was often called.
Like all builders of houses, Mr. Jefferson also had his share of criticism to bear, since
there are few men who do not fancy that, whatever else they may be deficient in, they can surely
improve a fire and — a house. It cannot be denied that the great architect cared too much
for the beauty of the exterior, and rather too little for the comfort within. Considerations of
judicious economy might excuse the single stack of chimneys in the centre of the professors'
houses, around which the rooms had to arrange themselves as well as they could, and his
quaint hope that the future dons would, like the fellows of English universities, remain unmarried
forever, might explain the large lecture halls which received the visitor as he entered
the front door, without vestibule or porch. But that even closets were forbidden seemed to
be a peculiar hardship, and when Mr. Jefferson once opened the door of the only one in the
university, and utterly unprepared for such a solecism, walked into it instead of out of the
pavilion, the anecdote was received with universal and not undeserved hilarity.
Nor did he escape the other penalty to which architects are doomed: the buildings cost
more money than was actually available or even finally intended for the purpose. But Mr.
Jefferson was not to be daunted by such difficulties. Aided by his faithful friend and coadjutor
Mr. Cabell, he appealed to the Legislature again and again, obtaining now an appropriation
and now a loan, till three hundred thousand dollars had been spent upon the principal
buildings, including the rotunda. He might have obtained still more, perhaps, but for one of
those unfortunate trifles which often prove more serious obstacles to great enterprises than the
most formidable events. In a letter to a friend he had answered the question, why he had
not asked for a large sum at once, instead of making so many repeated applications, by an
anecdote of a well-known politician who had explained his own similar mode of procedure by
saying that no one would like to have more than one hot potato at a time crammed down
his throat. This homely figure of speech was made public by the indiscretion of a correspondent,
and when it reached the ears of the men who had really shown great liberality, excited
their indignation, and led to a peremptory refusal of further grants. But if Mr. Jefferson
encountered gradually more and more determined opposition to his plans and the sums he
asked for, representing, it must be borne in mind, nearly tenfold their present purchase-value—
if he had to endure many bitter mortifications, the effect of which he could not always conceal
from his friends—he reaped, on the other hand, no small immediate reward from his labors.
His novel but congenial occupation so fully engrossed his time that while he was building
house after house, and one range of dormitories after another, he forgot entirely every cause
of care and anxiety, of which more than he could otherwise have been able to bear began to
press upon him during the latter years of his life. Troublesome debts, family sorrows, political
attacks—all were forgotten as he mounted his horse, day by day, and merrily rode over the
country to his darling pet; and when he returned, tired and often exhausted, he had so much
to tell of what had been accomplished, and to discuss so many new questions that had suddenly
arisen, that fatigue was forgotten and trouble laid aside, to enjoy only the cheering progress
of the day and the bright hopes of the future.
None of these questions was more important, none likely to be fraught with graver consequences,
that brick and mortar, and all the money a liberal State may be willing to spend, are not
able to make a university. He had next to procure a rarer commodity than these — brains;
and with the knowledge, the tact, the kindly sympathies, and the earnest zeal without which
all instruction remains barren, and young men may be taught without being educated. It was
his ambition that the university of his native State should give a course of education equal
to any other in the United States, for he never thought of building the institution up into
a monument of his own greatness. His aim was as pure as it was lofty. He loved literature
and science for their own sakes, and wanted to see them cultivated in his native land; but
he also valued education, and especially the highest grade of it, as an essential condition of
republican institutions. No doctrine is more frequently repeated in those of his letters which
refer to the university than this — that a wide diffusion of knowledge among the people is
essential to a wise administration of a popular government, and perhaps even to its stability.
Before deciding this grave question of the future faculty, he took pains to inform himself
thoroughly on the subject, studying the history of German universities as well as of Oxford
and Cambridge, and inducing his old friend and frequent visitor, Mr. Dupont de Nemours —
high authority on such subjects — to write an essay on the best scheme of colleges in the
United States. When he proceeded, with all this light before him, to look around for able
professors, he soon found that the most capable men in this country were already engaged,
as such talents and ability as he required were then by no means redundant. To entice them
from other institutions would have been invidious, and so unwarrantable as to expose him to
severe censure; to take inferior men would have disappointed public expectation, and was contrary
to all his hopes and aspirations. He had to turn to Europe, therefore, and fortunately
was able, through a well-chosen agent, in 1824, to engage a number of well-qualified professors,
among whom there was not an obscure man, nor one whose private character and general
religious principles were not such as to bear the closest scrutiny. The names of Charles
Bonnycastle, well known in science, and of Robley Dunglison, pre-eminent in the annals of
medicine, have a good sound wherever they are heard, while Thomas Hewitt Key and George
Long earned no small fame in Virginia, and even more, subsequently, in England, to which
they returned, and where the latter still stands foremost, enjoying the highest reputation for
ripe scholarship and rare critical powers. John P. Emmett, a nephew of the great Emmett,
was chosen for the chair of chemistry, and an accomplished German for that of modern
languages — for long years the only chair of its kind in any American college of high standing.
Only the two professorships of law and moral philosophy Mr. Jefferson, with his usual tact
and intuitive justness of perception, determined to bestow, at all hazards, upon natives, as the
subjects here to be taught ought to be national in the highest sense of the word. He even
suggested that the text-books to be used by the professor of law should be prescribed, so
that "orthodox political principles" might be taught, and "the vestal flame of republicanism"
be kept alive. The Hon. George Tucker, a native of Bermuda, but long a resident and at that
time a representative in Congress from Virginia, was chosen for the chair of moral philosophy,
and soon justified Mr. Jefferson's choice by his success as a teacher and the fame he acquired
by his literary works. Another Virginian, John Tayloe Lomax, was subsequently appointed
professor of law.
But even here all the prestige of Mr. Jefferson's great name and the hearty support he
received from his friends did not shield him against bitter attacks and fierce opposition, which
at times threatened seriously to interrupt his noble undertaking. It must be admitted that
occasionally there seemed to be good ground for objection and whenever this was the case the
wise statesman did what wisdom suggests as the best remedy, but what so few of our great
men even know how to do at the right time and in the right way — he yielded. Such was
the violent opposition made to the election of Dr. Cooper, in 1820, by the Board of Visitors,
at Mr. Jefferson's suggestion, to a chair in the State University. Dr. Cooper, well-known to
history as Dr. Priestley's friend and a victim of the sedition law, was reputed to be a Unitarian—an
unpardonable sin, at that time, in the eyes of the cleargy of Virginia. There was
already a strong religious excitement existing in the State with regard to the university. The
leading sects had hoped that, after the example of the great institutions of the North, the new
university also would fall under the control of one of their number, and thus they watched
each other with anxious jealousy. But they were all united in the still greater apprehension—
unfounded as it was—that the illustrious founder would give it a decided irreligious tendency.
In vain did his friends represent that, so far from any such wish, Mr. Jefferson had, on the
contrary, made special and ample provision for the establishment of separate schools of theology
in the immediate vicinity of the university, holding out large pecuniary advantages and valuable
privilege to all divinity students. The clergy saw in Dr. Cooper's appointment a danger
threatening the souls of the youth of the land; they raised what Mr. Jefferson called a "hue
and cry" against him, and soon were reinforced by a powerful party in the State Legislature.
They succeeded in annoying and provoking their victim seriously; he criticised their action in
severe terms, and even allowed himself to be carried away so far as to accuse, in his correspondence,
the Presbyterians of a desire to restore a "Holy Inquisition." But soon his good
sense triumphed over the feeling of vexation, and, yielding to the force of public opinion and
his own views of expediency, he caused the appointment to be canceled on terms equally
satisfactory to all parties.
How deeply he felt these mortifications, however, may be judged from a letter he wrote
afterward to his friend Mr. Cabell, in which he says: "It is from posterity we are to expect
remuneration for the sacrifices which we are making for their service of time, quiet, and goodwill,
and I fear not the appeal. The multitude of fine young men whom we shall redeem
from ignorance, and who will feel that they owe to us the elevation of mind, of character,
and station they will be able to obtain from the result of our efforts, will insure their remembering
us with gratitude: we will not, then, be `weary in well-doing.' "
On the 1st of February, 1825, the university was to be opened, but, to the intense mortification
of Mr. Jefferson, three of the professors had not yet arrived from Europe, and to
begin without them seemed to be neither courteous nor expedient. Perhaps nothing shows
more forcibly the deep interest which he took in the success of his "pet" than the anxiety
which he manifested on this occasion. In a letter to a friend he spoke of himself as "dreadfully
non-plused"—a term of unusual force and homeliness for one who generally wrote both
calmly and carefully. To increase his apprehension, news came that a terrible storm had raged
on the Atlantic, doing serious injury to the shipping, and causing a grievous loss of life. His
anxiety during these days reached a fearful point, and when at last the welcome message
safely at anchor in Plymouth Harbor, he wrote that the news had "raised him from the dead,
for he was almost ready to give up the ship."
At last the travelers arrived, in the month of February, and were courteously received by
the President's kinsmen in Richmond, and by himself upon their arrival in Charlottesville.
"Soon afterward," wrote one of them in his memoranda, "the venerable ex-President presented
himself, and welcomed us with that dignity and kindness for which he was celebrated. He was
then eighty-two years old, with his intellectual faculties unshaken by age, and the physical man
so active that he rode to and from Monticello, and took exercise on foot with all the activity
of one twenty or thirty years younger. He sympathized with us on the discomforts of our
long voyage, and on the disagreeable journey we must have passed over the Virginia roads,
and depicted to us the great distress he had felt lest we had been lost at sea; for he had
almost given us up when my letter arrived with the joyful intelligence we were safe." On the
seventh day of March, 1825, the university was solemnly opened in the presence of all the
professors (except Mr. Tucker) and forty students, which number was increased during the
session to one hundred and twenty-three.
Mr. Jefferson's interest in the success of the university seemed but to increase now that
it was fairly launched on its career. It looked as if he had regained all the activity and assiduity
of his youth, and presented an almost unique example of energy after four-score years.
He ordered all things, and watched with his own eyes that everything was done well. In
former years he had stood, hour after hour, on the little terrace before his dining-room window
watching through a telescope the workmen as they were busily raising story upon story. But
now he was no longer content with such distant observation. Almost daily he would ride up
from his home on the mountain, crossing a dangerous stream and passing over execrable roads,
to spend several hours at the university, observing everything, correcting errors and suggesting
improvements, and then return in the same way, making ten miles on horseback, and working
incessantly with body and mind alike. He was specially interested now in framing a code of
laws for the government of the young men, and tried, unsuccessfully as it proved, to ingraft
upon this code some of his own peculiar political doctrines. Thus he rejected at once all idea
of punishment. No slavish fear, he said, no dread of disgrace, ought ever to be the motive of
a young man's actions. He proposed to govern them solely by appeals to their patriotism and
honor, and framed his laws accordingly. The students themselves were to form a part of their
government, and to establish a court for the trial of minor offenses and the infliction of punishment
on delinquent fellow-students. Unfortunately the youth of the land were not yet prepared
to be governed by appeals to "their reason, their hopes, and their generous feelings," as
the illustrious founder had hoped in his ardent admiration of ideal republicanism. Offenses were
committed, and, being allowed to pass unpunished, led to graver disorders, till, passing from
step to step they reached a point of excess which could no longer be tolerated. When at
length the professors interfered, forbearance having become impossible, the students fancied their
rights were violated, and declared open resistance.
On the very night on which the Board of Visitors had assembled at Monticello to prepare
business for their annual meeting at the university, these disorders culminated in open rebellion.
Mr. Jefferson's mortification was intense. He felt that public confidence would be shaken, and
of the erroneousness of his favorite idea of self-government. With sorrow in his heart, and grief
mingled with indignation in his features, he accompanied his distinguished guests the next
morning to the university, summoned the students to their presence, and then addressed them
in forcible terms, representing to them the heinousness of their offense, and appealing in touching,
tender terms to their better feelings and their sense of honor. Mr. Madison and others
followed his example, and so impressive were the words of these venerable men that the ringleaders
came forward, one by one, confessing their guilt. Mr. Jefferson witnessed the affecting
scene with silent sorrow; but when a near kinsman of his appeared, and thus proved to him that
the efforts of the last ten years of his life had been foiled, and all his bright hopes of what he
would do for his native land had been destroyed by one of his own blood, his self-control gave
way, and he indulged for once, in words of burning indignation and violent reproach. The principal
rioters were expelled, and among them his guilty kinsman, and others more lightly punished;
but from that day a stricter code of laws was introduced. Even now, however, the government
of the university was strictly based upon the moral sense of the students, and every effort
made to cultivate truth and uprightness among them. To this day this is the leading principle
—no marks of merit or demerit are given, no fines imposed, no threats held over the young
men. Their word is taken without questioning, and a falsehood punished so instantly and so
severely by their own condemnation that no attempt to obtain honors or avoid punishment by
prevarication has been made for nearly a generation! Another principle inculcated by Mr.
Jefferson has largely contributed to this happy result—that the government of a great institution
depends largely on the friendly social relations between students and professors. Hence he
placed the former, in their dormitories, close to the door of their teachers, counting upon the
happy effects of daily intercourse and foreseeing that the mutual kindly sympathy thus created
could not fail to become an important aid in educating the moral faculties as well as in cultivating
the understanding. This custom also has ever since been kept up: the professors are
at all times accessible to the students, and perfect confidence and mutual sympathy bind them
to each other. What he thus wished others to do, Mr. Jefferson took good care to practice
himself with scrupulous exactness. The professors were regularly invited two or three times a
week to dine with him at Monticello, and the memory of those who longest survived their
illustrious friend returned during their life-time with unmixed delight to those meetings, when
he interested them for hours by pouring forth the rich treasures of his mind, and cheered them
by his kindly sympathy with all their joys and their sorrows. The students, also, were frequently
invited, and four or five every Sunday. He received them with great kindness, entertained
them with rare tact, and never failed to impress them deeply with the elevation of his
character and the tender kindness of his heart. On these occasions he generally ate by himself
in a small recess connected with the dining room; for, being at that period of his life somewhat
deaf, he could not hear well amidst the clatter of knives and the chat of a merry company,
and yet, with unselfish regard for the comfort of others, did not wish to impose any
restraint upon their enjoyment.
The attention he had heretofore so minutely bestowed upon the erection of buildings and
the laying out of grounds was now given, with a far deeper interest, to the studies to be
pursued in his beloved university; for he was, of all men, perhaps, best qualified to judge of
accomplished foreigner and the far-famed savant by their extensiveness, and if his knowledge
was not always equally accurate, he was too wise a man ever to fancy himself infallible, and
willingly learned, not from the scholar only, but with equal readiness and humility from the
simple mechanic. It may safely be said that there was no branch of human knowledge in
which he was not more or less proficient. His favorite readings in the last months of his life
were—next to the Bible, for which he ever expressed the most profound admiration and reverence—the
great writers of ancient Greece, whose majestic grandeur and ripe art he appreciated
with rare enjoyment. And yet he would turn with true zest from the lofty flights in
which he had accompanied their genius to the work-bench and turning-lathe which he kept near
his bedroom, or saunter into the garden and watch with intense delight the blooming forth of
a bulb or the growth of a tree he had planted with his own hand. No wonder, then, that
in his scheme of studies for the university he went far in advance of his contemporaries, and
provided for wants which the majority of colleges have but recently thought proper to satisfy.
Mention has already been made of the ample provision he made for schools of applied science,
such as are now the boast of the leading colleges of the land, and of the important position
he assigned, from the beginning, to the study of modern languages, by the side of Latin and
Greek and Hebrew. But he went even farther; the first man in this country, he wisely discerned
the eminent usefulness of Anglo-Saxon, mainly as a help to the proper understanding
of our mother-tongue, and while he wrote—more than fifty years ago—to the Hon. J. E. Denison
strongly recommending the taste for "the recovery of the Anglo-Saxon dialect," which he had
noticed in English writings, and the actual publication of existing "country dialects of English,
which would restore to our language all its shades of variation," he labored like a diligent
pupil in the cause he so warmly urged upon others. His manuscript work on the "Anglo-Saxon
Tongue," since published for gratuitous distribution, by the university, is a most touching
instance of his indefatigable assiduity, and at the same time a striking evidence of his vast
knowledge and sagacious appreciation of precious lore. In accordance with these views he prescribed
a course of lectures to be delivered on Anglo-Saxon—the first chair of its kind that
was devised abroad or at home.
Thus he was closely and personally engaged, from morn till night, from season to season,
in getting the great institution into operation, delighted to see at last his patriotic schemes
approaching a happy realization. In the early part of 1826, and throughout its beautiful spring,
he was still watching keenly, and even minutely, over all its concerns, with unclouded vigor
of intellect, but, alas! no longer with the energy and elasticity of former years. His wrists were
swollen and crippled by an accident, he moved with difficulty, and, finally, a serious chronic
affection consumed slowly but irresistibly the scanty remnant of his former strength. His utter
unselfishness, never more touching than in the last days of his life, led him to conceal the
ravages of this disease, and to decline all help from others. He still joined the family circle
and entertained visitors; above all, he still manifested the most lively interest in the welfare
of the university; and only a few weeks before his death he once more rode the ten miles,
going and coming, to see his darling pet.
But it was no longer the "gay cavalier," as he had appeared a few years before to the
German prince, even as Eagle was no longer the impetuous colt that had thrown him more
thorough-bred beauty, was tied to a hook and staple driven into the trunk of a Persian willow
near Mr. Jefferson's study. There he stood, well stricken in years, but pawing and stamping
as of old, with fiery impatience, every now and then laying his ears back on the arched neck,
to listen for the well-known footstep, or turning the finely cut head around to glance with his
liquid eye at the door through which his master was wont to come. At last the familiar
form appeared: the costume was still the same, but the auburn hair had changed by turns
into gray and white, and now hung in long locks around the striking face. A low, grateful
neigh responded to the master's cheerful greeting, which was never omitted, and then the horse
was led to the long, low terrace, stretching from the house to the distant pavilions, for Mr.
Jefferson was no longer able to rise from the stirrup, and had to get into the saddle from
above. The noble animal, full of intelligence, and clearly appreciating all the details, stood
still and immovable till he once more felt the master's hand — utterly helpless as it was — on
the reins, and moved off, stepping gently and cautiously, though with many a quiver and
half-checked toss of the head in his efforts to subdue the innate fire. No servant followed,
for Mr. Jefferson still refused to be thus accompanied, and had met all the entreaties of his
family with the firm declaration that, if they insisted upon it, he would give up riding
altogether, but that as long as he rode at all he must ride alone.
Thus the two friends — for such they literally were — made their way slowly down, following
the picturesque roads which had been laid out on the mountain-side with a keen appreciation
of a favorable grade, and a still more cunning adaptation to skillfully contrived openings here
and there, which afforded glorious views over the enchanting landscape on that side. They
passed down into the plain, crossed the treacherous mountain stream that meanders through
rich meadows along the foot of the ridge, looking utterly innocent now of all the havoc it
causes in times of heavy rains or sudden meltings of snow, though dyed a deep chocolate
from the rich red clay through which it flows in its whole course. As they approached the
village they were recognized at once by old and young; and if here and there a surly face
and a cold shoulder turned toward the venerable horseman spoke of violent political prejudice,
ample amends were made by the respectful salutations and the hearty greetings which met
him on all sides. He was constantly stopped on the way by friends inquiring after his health,
or neighbors requesting advice; now a Swiss watch maker, whom he had induced to come to
this country, would inform him of some news from Fatherland, in which the ex-President
ever showed a lively interest: and now a skillful glazier, who had come at his bidding from
England, would thank him for some recent favor he had obtained at his hand. And as he
left the little town again, and from the hill on the outskirts first beheld once more the
stately buildings and long ranges of his beloved university, who will say what feelings of
gratitude to his Maker then filled his heart for the gift of years and health and strength
which had allowed him to finish so great a work? His visits to the university were so frequent
that they excited but little attention; but those who saw him on this occasion never
after forgot the beaming eye, the kindly smile, and the still erect, noble form which they
then beheld for the last time. He made his way slowly up to the modest library in the
beautiful room of the rotunda; and the librarian, who of all the officers appointed by the
illustrious man alone survives, and still faithfully discharges his duties, well remembers the
deep impression made upon his mind by this last visit of the sage of Monticello.
For after his return home he grew rapidly weaker and worse; but even when bound to
his couch, from which he was never to rise again, he still manifested his deep interest in the
university, repeatedly urging upon his friends to stand by the institution, dependent as it was
upon the pleasure of the Legislature. Amidst all his cares and anxieties for the welfare of
his family, amidst the minute arrangements he made with his grandson for his private affairs,
he would constantly break off the thread of his conversation to speculate upon the person
who might succeed him as rector, to express his desire that Mr. Madison should be appointed,
and to repeat his hopes that his illustrious colleague and all his friends would make every
possible exertion in behalf of his beloved university. It was the bursar of the institution who,
reaching Monticello shortly before his death, and inquiring in a whisper at the door whether
he might enter, was mistaken by the dying man for the minister of the neighborhood, and
led to his expressing a willingness to see him: and when he expired on the 4th of July,
1826, he left behind him no prouder claim than that expressed in the last line of the
inscription he directed to be placed upon his tombstone:
"FATHER OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA."
| Students of the University of Virginia. | |