But our French hero still maintained an independent mind. “I wish to see more than what is on my official itinerary here in New York. I should like you to reveal to me the true United States. What must I see?”
“Me?” I was most assuredly not part of Monroe’s plans for this visit, the realization of which made me instantly intrigued.
“Indeed. For while I feel an inexpressible delight in the progress of every thing that is noble-minded, honorable, and useful throughout the United States, I will not look away from the flaws. And, in particular, the status of the Negro raises a sigh, or a blush, according to the company. The measure of a country is, for me, not to be found in prosperity, but in a virtuous resistance to oppression. Even as President Monroe’s guest, I will not miss an occasion to raise the question of slavery and defend the rights of all men. Which is why I presume upon you.”
My heart beat in sudden excitement that there remained amongst us a patriot willing to stand against Virginian hypocrisy. “I . . . I will do whatever is in my power if you should name it.”
Lafayette smiled. “I wish to know more about your work here and at the Free School for Young Africans that your husband and the Manumission Society founded for poor children of former slaves. In fact, I would like to tour both with you as my guide.”
My work.
During the War of 1812, I’d been too tired to fight for the country anymore. I’d decided that I’d fight only for my children. And for the hundreds of orphans who depended on me. For whatever I had, or had not been, to Alexander Hamilton, my maker had pointed out a duty to me and given me the ability and inclination to perform it.
My husband had a gift for government, but I had a gift for charity. A talent for it, if there be such a thing. I’d already helped to found a society to care for widows, an orphanage to shelter children, and a school to provide guidance and learning. There was not an aspect of the management for any of these endeavors with which I wasn’t intimately acquainted. I laid cornerstones, raised money, rented property, made visits to the needy, nursed the sick, procured coal, food, shoes, and Bibles. I kept account books, wrote charters, and lobbied legislatures.
How gratifying that Lafayette should appreciate all that and treat me as a person of moral consequence. A warmth stole through me at the flattering notion that he felt I could guide him in seeing the true America. But for the recognition of my calling, I felt more honored than I could ever remember being. More energized, too, as if remembering myself after a long slumber.
* * *
“MARQUIS, MAY I present to you our instructors and students,” I said, introducing him to the gathered ladies and rows of smiling public school children at the African Free School, all wearing Lafayette badges made of satin ribbon, each straining to catch a glimpse of the great man. Our tour of the orphanage had been short but had allowed me to send someone ahead to prepare the school administrators for this little assembly. And that someone was Mrs. Fanny Anthill Tappan—my adoptive daughter, now returned to New York all grown and happy with a husband and children of her own. For years now, it’d been a balm to have Fanny in my busy life again, and her eagerness to assist in my charitable work filled me with pride.
Bracing upon his cane, Lafayette kissed both of Fanny’s cheeks in the French style, then he walked the length of the gathering, greeting every child. “What a bright, industrious group of pupils,” he said.
“The original Free School for Africans was only one room, and could admit only forty students,” I explained as we toured the new buildings, in which were educated more than seven hundred of the best and brightest. “The English headmaster finds these black children every bit as capable as white children.”
Lafayette didn’t seem surprised. “I regret that my own efforts to emancipate slaves in the French colonies was forestalled . . .”
He trailed off there, his mind seeming to retreat to a dark place, and I worried it was the darkness of his old prison cell. To draw him back, I said, “There’s still more to be done, but our state legislature passed a law of gradual emancipation, and complete abolition is nearly accomplished. It cannot happen soon enough.”
Though I’d long been a convert to the cause of abolition, I hadn’t before spoken in public against the national cancer. And Lafayette’s presence encouraged me. No longer needing to measure my words for fear of how they might affect my husband’s political career, I felt a freedom to say exactly how disillusioned I was. “In the South, the vile institution of slavery spreads like a contagion. Such is inevitable when the country has been run these past twenty years by presidents and congresses elected by the counting of slaves as three-fifths of a person for the purpose of representation, while not otherwise counting them as a person at all. The South doubly reaps the benefits of slavery at the expense of fairness, morality, and liberty.”
Lafayette turned an appraising smile on me. “I hear something of the passion of Hamilton in your speech, madame.”
Heat infused my cheeks as I struggled with the complicated emotions dredged up by the comparison, but fortunately, a gaggle of awed children swarmed the general, distracting him from my reaction to words which were, at once, the highest praise and a painful reminder.
Finally, Lafayette escorted me outside and turned to me with fondness. “You do good work here, Elizabeth. You will perhaps finish what we started.”
I tilted my head. “What we started?”
“The revolution. It is unfinished. Maybe liberty must always be fought for. And you have kept fighting
