The Conspiracy—Relations with Mr. Bowen—Disputes and
Arbitration—Theodore Tilton’s Early Promise and Intimacy with Mr.
Beecher—Bowen’s Ill-Will and Tilton’s Malice—Tilton discharged from
_Independent_ and Brooklyn _Union_—Tripartite Agreement—Moulton and
Tilton conspire to Blackmail Mr. Beecher—Tilton consults Dr. Storrs.
While it will not be possible in the space of a volume such as this, nor
at all desirable if it were possible, to go to any considerable extent
into the details of that experience in Mr. Beecher’s life, commonly
called “the Scandal,” yet no biography would be complete or truthful
which ignored this period.
Therefore, while we avoid all those details likely to offend against a
rational public sentiment, we shall try to give such an outline of the
general facts as may be necessary for a clear understanding of this
monstrous conspiracy.
To do this we must necessarily go back to the beginnings, some of which
exerted a powerful influence on subsequent events. In 1856 Mr. Beecher
was invited to become a contributor to the _Independent_, then published
and controlled by Henry C. Bowen and his partner, Mr. McNamee. This was
accepted, and in November of that year a contract was made between them
to that effect.
This contract, with a few subsequent modifications, remained in force
until the year 1860, when a new one was made by which Mr. Beecher became
the editor-in-chief, Theodore Tilton, his assistant, relieving him
wholly of the office routine work. Mr. Tilton was at this time a young
man with the promise of a brilliant future before him. Determining upon
journalism and public speaking as his profession, he sought to
familiarize himself with the speeches and writings of those most
prominent in his chosen field. Early in the “Fifties” he began reporting
Mr. Beecher’s sermons for the _Observer_. This led to an acquaintance
between them.
Tilton, though scarcely more than a boy, was even then very clever. His
bright speeches, his boyish enthusiasm in following out the high
purposes he had formed, the really manly aspirations he then felt, and,
above all, his sunny disposition, soon won for him a very warm place in
Mr. Beecher’s heart, which he only lost years later, when his
uncontrollable egotism and vanity—the mildew of precocity—worked his
destruction, wrecking his reputation, his morals, and his life.
Mr. Beecher delighted in aiding and promoting him, seeking by wise
counsels to strengthen every good quality and to hold in check every
malign tendency, advancing him as rapidly as possible in his profession.
All this Mr. Tilton fully recognized, writing Mr. Beecher, a short time
before he began his plotting:
“MY FRIEND: From my boyhood up you have been to me what no other man has
been, what no other man can be. While I was a student the influence of
your mind on mine was greater than all books and all teachers. The
intimacy with which you honored me for twelve years has been, next to my
wife and family, the chief affection of my life. By you I was baptized;
by you married; you are my minister, teacher, father, brother, friend,
companion. The debt I owe you I can never pay. My religious life, my
intellectual development, my open door of opportunity for labor, my
public reputation—all these, my dear friend, I owe in so great a degree
to your own kindness that my gratitude cannot be written in words, but
must be expressed only in love.”
Early in their intimacy Tilton left the _Observer_ and joined his
fortunes to the _Independent_.
Through the affection and influence of his friend he was advanced
steadily, until, in the fall of 1860 or early 1861, he was made
assistant editor. In the spring of 1861 occurred an incident that was to
produce ultimately no little trouble.
Mr. Beecher had from time to time bought, from Mr. Bowen’s dry-goods
store, various articles to be sent to the Brooklyn Phalanx, a regiment
largely enrolled from the youths and friends of Plymouth Church, and in
which Mr. Beecher’s eldest son was an officer. These purchases were
charged against Mr. Beecher’s salary account. In May, 1861, Mr. Bowen
claimed that Mr. Beecher’s account had been very greatly overdrawn, by
goods purchased and money drawn out. The matter was finally arbitrated,
the arbitrator awarding Mr. Bowen $1,000, which was paid.
Whether it was the failure to receive all that he expected, or some
other and unknown grievance, we cannot say, but from about this time
began a feeling of hostility on the part of Mr. Bowen, which a few years
later, after Mr. Beecher had finally left the _Independent_, took shape
in scandalous whisperings behind Mr. Beecher’s back, but always so
carefully guarded as not, at that time, to reach his ears.
In 1863 Mr. Beecher made his memorable visit to England. During his
absence he arranged to have Mr. Tilton take the entire editorial charge
of the _Independent_. In this the latter did so well, that in February,
1864, Mr. Beecher, being then in need of relief from the care and
responsibility of his position, made a new arrangement with Mr. Bowen,
whereby Mr. Tilton was to be retained as editor-in-chief, Mr. Beecher
contributing editorially and by “Star articles” (his articles were
unsigned, but marked with * at the foot, hence the name); the
publication of his sermons and lecture-room talks being continued, his
name remaining for a year as one of the editors. After one year Tilton
was to be announced as the actual editor-in-chief.
In 1865, then, Theodore Tilton found himself at the head of one of the
most influential papers in the land; for the _Independent_, though a
religious paper, had, largely through the controversies on slavery, war,
and other important topics carried on by Mr. Beecher in its columns,
acquired a reputation and influence, in general public affairs, that was
equalled by no other journal of its kind.
Soon Mr. Tilton’s inordinate conceit began to manifest itself. He was to
supersede, in influence, his patron. From his lofty pedestal he could
look down upon his old friend and adviser, dwarfed by comparison.
Already he had begun to entertain “advanced” ideas, repudiating as
old-fogy and behind the times the principles and beliefs which he had
received from his former instructor. Not content with his fancied
overshadowing of Mr. Beecher, he began about this time to take part in
Bowen’s campaign of scandalous whisperings; but when one of his tales
came to Mr. Beecher’s ears he promptly denied it and assured Mr. Beecher
that he had never said anything of the kind, that it was wholly false.
This denial satisfied Mr. Beecher, who thought no more of the tale.
When in 1866 Mr. Beecher wrote his “Cleveland letters,” the
_Independent_ assailed him so virulently, through its editorial columns,
that he felt he could no longer be connected with it, even as a
contributor, and thereupon terminated his contract and all further
connection with the paper. This was a further aggravation in Mr. Bowen’s
eyes, as it was likely to be a pecuniary loss to the paper, and so to
him. Shortly after this Mr. Tilton began in the editorial columns of the
_Independent_ to take a decidedly “advanced” stand upon religious and
ethical subjects. His views began to savor very strongly of the
atheistic, and he more than intimated a belief in theories, on the
subject of marriage, that seemed hardly appropriate in the columns of a
religious newspaper; so that when he published his “Editorial Soliloquy”
in 1867, there broke out an indignant protest both from the East and
West against such a use of the columns of the _Independent_. Tilton’s
course, together with Bowen’s retention of certain objectionable
advertisements, threatened serious injury to the paper. Steps were taken
to start a new religious paper in Chicago, to supersede the
_Independent_ in the West; at about the same time overtures were made to
Mr. Beecher, to accept the control of a new paper to be started in New
York. This alarmed Mr. Bowen, who at once promised to muzzle Tilton and
prevent the publication of any more objectionable “views.” On this
assurance the opposition to the _Independent_ was suspended. The
contract was a larger one, however, than Bowen had anticipated. Tilton
soon began anew ventilating his theories, and in December, 1870, wrote
an editorial so pronounced in its advocacy of his peculiar views, that
the public patience was exhausted. The _Advance_ was at once established
in Chicago and became a formidable rival to the _Independent_, Dr.
Edward Beecher, the elder brother of Henry Ward, being one of its
promoters.
In the fall of 1869 the _Christian Union_ was organized in New York
City, and in January, 1870, Mr. Beecher took control of it. Bowen was in
despair. Here were two dangerous rivals to his paper. He was afraid to
discharge Tilton; he had said too much in his presence to care to offend
him. He must in some way, however, get Tilton out of the editorial chair
of the _Independent_. After some negotiation he arranged with Tilton
that he should resign the editorship of the _Independent_, and a new
contract was made by which he should take the editorship of the Brooklyn
_Union_ for five years, at five thousand dollars a year, and should be
the chief contributor to the _Independent_, receiving a further five
thousand dollars therefor. This change was effected on the 20th of
December, 1870, and on the 22d his valedictory was published in the
_Independent_. Up to the year 1870 Tilton could hardly be said to have
been hostile to Mr. Beecher, certainly in no such sense as he was during
the following year. At this time he looked upon him as his mental and
social inferior, and not infrequently spoke of him patronizingly, as one
whom he had outgrown, bestowing upon him a sort of affectionate pity
because he had been cast in a mould so much smaller than his own. It is
true that, in that kind of “strictest confidence” which always insures a
quiet circulation, he whispered stories, from time to time, derogatory
to Mr. Beecher’s reputation, but these were born of his vanity, rather
than of malice. He was still able to see that his own vagaries did not
meet with public favor. He felt that he was a little ahead of his times,
and it might benefit him to saddle similar theories upon Mr. Beecher. He
probably had no intention of doing an injury, at least at that time.
With Mr. Bowen, however, it was different. Mr. Beecher’s resignation
first from the editorship, and then as contributor, and withdrawing his
sermons from the _Independent_, was an injury in his eyes for which
Tilton’s appointment did not compensate, and seemed to intensify that
ill-will which had its origin at the time of the pecuniary
misunderstanding, already referred to. And now, to have Mr. Beecher’s
brother participate in starting the _Advance_ in Chicago, while he
himself accepted the management of the _Christian Union_ in New York—a
paper that sprang at once into a very large circulation, threatening to
crowd the _Independent_ in the East as the _Advance_ promised to do in
the West—this capped the climax. Bowen’s dislike was the more intense
since there seemed no way in which he could assail Mr. Beecher with any
hope of success. His whisperings necessarily had to be guarded, and his
confidants did not seem inclined, or able, to give him much comfort.
This hostility Mr. Beecher was aware of, though little suspecting at the
time its extent, attributing it to the fact that he had been obliged to
withdraw from the _Independent_, and take a stand squarely opposed to
its apparent policy. For he wrote to a friend: “It is well known that I
am in a positive antagonism with the whole general drift of the paper.
Mr. Bowen will scarcely recognize me on the street, and feels bitterly
my withdrawal from all part or lot in the paper.”
By December, 1870, Tilton’s attitude had become decidedly hostile. His
patronizing had now begun to change into fear. For he thought that Mr.
Beecher might become a dangerous rival; and when finally he was retired
from the editorship of the _Independent_ he felt sure that it was
through some intentional and malign influence of Mr. Beecher. That his
own conduct and expressed opinions were responsible for the change, his
vanity would not permit him to think.
As soon as it was publicly known that Tilton had been deposed from the
editorial chair of the _Independent_, the stories of his past life began
to pour in on Mr. Bowen like a flood. The latter was alarmed and began
to doubt the possibility of retaining him in any capacity.
The expression of this fear to mutual friends led to an interview
between the two. Tilton characteristically mounted his high horse, and
imperiously demanded an investigation and that he be confronted with his
accusers. In a very few moments Mr. Bowen satisfied him that he was
quite fully posted, and that an investigation was the last thing that he
would desire.
Tilton then struck out on a new line of operations. Knowing Mr. Bowen’s
fear and dislike of Mr. Beecher, intensified daily by the steadily
increasing circulation of the _Christian Union_, Tilton cunningly began
to suggest the great danger that threatened the _Independent_ from the
_Christian Union_.
He struck the keynote to Bowen’s animosity, and, skilfully working on
his feelings, he suggested that their mutual welfare demanded the
overthrow of Mr. Beecher. Bowen was all attention. To destroy Mr.
Beecher, and cripple the _Christian Union_, would be a wonderful stroke
of good-fortune.
After referring to the injuries that Bowen had suffered at the hands of
Mr. Beecher, he suggested that he, too, had a grievance against him.
This was news to Bowen, who eagerly besought Tilton to tell him what it
was. He then stated that Beecher had been guilty of “_improper
proposals_” to his wife. Bowen was quick to discover the situation. This
was the first tangible bit of evidence which had ever come to him
against Mr. Beecher. He had never dared publicly father any of his own
stories.
Now, if Tilton would attack Mr. Beecher on such a charge, he could stand
by and watch the fight without becoming involved himself, but would be
ready, from his safe point of vantage, to take profit by the result,
whichever way it ended. If Tilton succeeded, so much the better. If he
failed, he would be rid of him; and would not be responsible for the
attack, which Tilton would both originate and carry on.
Mr. Bowen suggested to Tilton the writing of a letter to Mr. Beecher,
which was written, calling on him to resign his pastorate, and leave
Brooklyn. This Bowen was to carry to Mr. Beecher, which he did.[8]
-----
Footnote 8:
We take the details of this interview from Tilton’s sworn
testimony—very poor evidence by itself, but, as it has never been
contradicted by Mr. Bowen, is consistent with many known facts; and as
the fact of the interview was admitted by Mr. Bowen, we have given it
place.
-----
Mr. Tilton, returning home, reported to his friend Francis D. Moulton
what he had done, and was informed that he had made “a ——— fool” of
himself, that he had put himself in Bowen’s hands. At this point the
conspiracy may be said to have been born. With the conspiracy proper,
from this time out, Mr. Bowen seems to have had nothing to do. Both
Tilton and Moulton distrusted him. While his hostility towards Mr.
Beecher did not abate, and he was soon afterwards clearly recognized as
a bitter enemy, yet we do not learn that he ever thereafter actively
co-operated with the two arch-conspirators; for a short time after
Tilton’s letter he professed to be friendly to Mr. Beecher.
The carrying of Tilton’s letter to Mr. Beecher, and the calling in of
Moulton, were the starting-point of this conspiracy.
Bowen, as we shall see later, discharged Tilton from both the
_Independent_ and the _Union_.
The latter was in desperate straits, and then it was that he and Moulton
seemed to have come to the determination to try through Mr. Beecher to
better Tilton’s fortunes. At the first it is highly improbable that
either had any very definite plan of operations against Mr. Beecher, and
certainly not the faintest idea of the desperate step they would finally
be driven to by the logic of their own falsehoods. Little by little,
deeper and deeper, they worked themselves into the mud and mire, until,
as a last desperate venture, they were compelled to make the final
plunge in the hope of forcing through to a solid footing. With this
introduction we give Mr. Beecher’s account of this trouble in his own
words, as written in 1874, when the facts were all fresh in his mind;
condensing it somewhat to meet the requirements of our space, and
omitting details which, though necessary then, need not now be gone
into. This presents the history as he saw it, and shows how Moulton by
cunning treachery wormed himself into Mr. Beecher’s confidence for the
purpose of destroying him:
“Four years ago Theodore Tilton fell from one of the proudest editorial
chairs in America, where he represented the cause of religion, humanity,
and patriotism, and in a few months thereafter became the associate and
representative of Victoria Woodhull and the priest of her strange cause.
By his follies he was bankrupt in reputation, in occupation, and in
resources. The interior history, of which I now give a brief outline, is
the history of his attempts to so employ me as to reinstate himself in
business, restore his reputation, and place him again upon the eminence
from which he had fallen. It is a sad history, to the full meaning of
which I have but recently awaked. Entangled in a wilderness of
complications, I followed until lately a false theory and a delusive
hope, believing that the friend who assured me of his determination and
ability to control the vagaries of Mr. Tilton, to restore his household,
to rebuild his fortunes, and to vindicate me, would be equal to that
promise. This self-confessed failure has made clear to me what for a
long time I did not suspect—the real motive of Mr. Tilton. My narrative
does not represent a single standpoint only as regards my opinion of
Theodore Tilton. It begins at my cordial intimacy with him in his
earlier career, and shows my lamentation and sorrowful but hopeful
affection for him during the period of his initial wanderings from truth
and virtue. It describes my repentance over evils befalling him of which
I was made to believe myself the cause; my persevering and finally
despairing efforts to save him and his family by any sacrifice of myself
not absolutely dishonorable; and my growing conviction that his
perpetual follies and blunders rendered his recovery impossible. I can
now see that he is and has been from the beginning of this difficulty a
selfish and reckless schemer, pursuing a plan of mingled greed and
hatred, and weaving about me a network of suspicions, misunderstandings,
plots, and lies, to which my own innocent words and acts, nay, even my
thoughts of kindness toward him, have been made to contribute.
“That I was blind so long to the real nature of the intrigue going on
around me was due partly to my own overwhelming public engagements,
partly to my complete surrender of this affair and all papers and
questions connected with it into the hands of Mr. Moulton, who was
intensely confident that he could manage it successfully. I suffered
much, but I inquired little. Mr. Moulton was chary to me of Mr. Tilton’s
confidences to him, reporting to me occasionally in a general way Mr.
Tilton’s moods and outbreaks of passion only as elements of trouble
which he was able to control, and as additional proofs of the wisdom of
leaving it to him. His comment of the situation seemed to me, at the
time, complete, immersed as I was in incessant cares and duties, and
only too glad to be relieved from considering the details of such
wretched complications, the origin and the fact of which remain, in
spite of all friendly intervention, a perpetual burden to my soul. I
would not read in the papers about it; I would not talk about it. I made
Moulton for a long period my confidant and my only channel of
information.
“From time to time suspicions were aroused in me by indications that Mr.
Tilton was acting the part of an enemy; but these suspicions were
repeatedly allayed by his own behavior towards me in other moods, and by
the assurances of Mr. Moulton, who ascribed the circumstances to
misunderstanding or to malice on the part of others. It is plain to me
now that it was not until Mr. Tilton had fallen into disgrace and lost
his salary that he thought it necessary to assail me with charges which
he pretended to have had in mind for six months. The domestic offence
which he alleged was very quickly and easily put aside, but yet in such
a way as to keep my feelings stirred up, in order that I might, through
my friends, be used to extract from Mr. Bowen $7,000, the amount of a
claim in dispute between them. The check for that sum in hand, Mr.
Tilton signed an agreement of peace and concord—not made by me, but
accepted by me as sincere. The _Golden Age_ had been started. He had the
capital to carry it on for a while. He was sure that he was to lead a
great social revolution. With returning prosperity he had apparently no
griefs which could not be covered by his signature to the articles of
peace.[9] Yet the changes in that covenant, made by him before signing
it, and represented to me as necessary merely to relieve him from the
imputation of having originated and circulated certain old and shameless
slanders about me, were really made, as now appears, to leave him free
for future operations upon me and against me.
-----
Footnote 9:
Tripartite agreement.
-----
“So long as he was, or thought he was, on the road to a new success, his
conduct toward me was as friendly as he knew how to make it. His
assumption of superiority and magnanimity, and his patronizing manner,
were trifles at which I could afford to smile, and which I bore with the
greater humility since I still retained the profound impression made
upon me as explained in the following narrative—that I had been a cause
of overwhelming disaster to him, and that his complete restoration to
public standing and household happiness was a reparation justly required
of me, and the only one which I could make.
“But, with a peculiar genius for blunders, he fell almost at every step
into new complications and difficulties, and in every such instance it
was his policy to bring coercion to bear upon my honor, my conscience,
and my affections, for the purpose of procuring his extrication at my
expense. Theodore Tilton knew me well. He has said again and again to
his friends that if they wished to gain influence over me they must work
upon the sympathetic side of my nature. To this he has addressed himself
steadily for four years, using as a lever, without scruple, my
attachment to my friends, to my family, to his own household, and even
my old affection for himself.
“Not blind to his faults, but resolved to look on him as favorably and
hopefully as possible, and ignorant of his deeper malice, I labored
earnestly, even desperately, for his salvation. For four years I have
been trying to feed his insatiable egotism, to make the man as great as
he conceived himself to be, to restore to popularity and public
confidence one who, in the midst of my efforts in his behalf, patronized
disreputable people and doctrines, refused when I besought him to
separate himself from them, and ascribed to my agency the increasing
ruin which he was persistently bringing upon himself, and which I was
doing my utmost to avert. It was hard to do anything for such a man. I
might as well have tried to fill a sieve with water. In the latter part
of the history he actually incited and created difficulties, apparently
for no other purpose than to drive me to fresh exertions. I refused to
endorse his wild views and associates. The best I could do was to speak
well of him, mention those good qualities and abilities which I believed
him to possess in his higher moods, and keeping silent concerning the
evil things which, I was assured and believed, had been greatly
exaggerated by public report. I could not think him so bad as my friends
did. I trusted to the germs of good which I thought still lived in him,
to Mr. Moulton’s apparent power over him, and to the power of my
persistent self-sacrifice.
“Mr. Moulton came to me at first as the schoolmate and friend of Mr.
Tilton, determined to reinstate him, I at first suspected, without
regard to my interests, but on further acquaintance with me he undertook
and promised to serve his friend without doing wrong to me. He said he
saw clearly how this was to be done, so as to restore peace and harmony
to Mr. Tilton’s home, and bring a happy end to all misunderstandings.
Many things which he counselled I absolutely refused, but I never
doubted his professed friendship for me, after friendship had grown up
between us; and whatever he wished me to do I did, unless it seemed to
me wrong.
“My confidence in him was the only element that seemed secure in that
confusion of tormenting perplexities. To him I wrote freely in that
troublous time, when I felt that secret machinations were going on
around me, and echoes of the vilest slander concerning me were heard of
in unexpected quarters; when some of my near relatives were set against
me, and the tattle of a crowd of malicious women, hostile to me on other
grounds, was borne to my ears; when I had lost the last remnant of faith
in Mr. Tilton or hope for him; when I heard with unspeakable remorse
that everything I had done to stay his destruction had made matters
worse and worse; that my attempt to keep him from a public trial
(involving such a flood of scandal as has now been let loose) had been
used by him to bring up new troubles; that his unhappy wife was, under
his dictation, signing papers and recantations, and I knew not what;
that, in short, everything was breaking up, and the destruction from
which I had sought to save the family was likely to be emptied on other
families, the church, the community, with infinite horrors of woe for
me; that my own innocence was buried under heaps and heaps of rubbish,
and nobody but my professed friend (if even he) could save us. To his
assurances that he could still do so I gave at least so much faith as to
maintain under these terrible trials the silence which he enjoined. Not
until Mr. Tilton, having attempted, through Frank Carpenter, to raise
money from my friends, openly assailed me in his letter to Dr. Bacon,
did I break that silence, save my simple denial of the slanderous rumors
against me a year before.
“On the appearance of the first open attack from Mr. Tilton I
immediately, without consulting Mr. Moulton, called for a thorough
investigation with a committee of my church. I am not responsible for
the delay, the publicity, or the details of that investigation. All the
harm which I have so long dreaded and have so earnestly striven to avoid
has come to pass. I could not have further prevented it without a full
surrender of honor and truth. The time has arrived when I can freely
speak in vindication of myself. I labor under great disadvantages in
making a statement. My memory of states of the mind is clear and
tenacious, better than my memory of dates and details. During four
troubled years, in all of which I have been singularly burdened with
public labor, having established and conducted the _Christian Union_,
delivered courses of lectures, preaching before the Theological Seminary
of Yale College, written the first volume of the ‘Life of Christ,’
delivered each winter Lyceum lectures in all the North and West—all
these duties, with the care of the great church and its outlying schools
and chapels, and the miscellaneous business which falls upon a clergyman
more than upon any other public man, I have kept in regard, and now,
with the necessity of explaining actions and letters resulting from
complex influences apparent at the time, I find myself in a position
where I know my innocence without being able to prove it with detailed
explanation. I am one upon whom trouble works inwardly, making me
outwardly silent but reverberating in the chambers of my soul; and when
at length I do speak it is a pent-up flood and pours without measure or
moderation. I inherit a tendency to sadness, the remains in me of
positive hypochondria in my father and grandfather, and in certain moods
of reaction the world becomes black and I see very despairingly.
“If I were, in such moods, to speak as I feel, I should give false
colors and exaggerated proportions of everything. This manifestation is
in such contrast to the hopefulness and courage which I experience in
ordinary times that none but those intimate with me would suspect one so
full of overflowing spirit and eager gladsomeness to have within him a
cave of gloom and despondency. Some of my letters to Mr. Moulton reflect
this morbid feeling. He understood it, and at times reproved me for
indulging in it. With this preliminary review I proceed to my narrative.
“Mr. Tilton was first known to me as a reporter of my sermons. He was
then a youth just from school and working on the New York _Observer_.
From this paper he passed to the _Independent_, and became a great
favorite with Mr. Bowen. When, about 1861, Drs. Bacon, Storrs, and
Thompson resigned their places, I became editor of the _Independent_, to
which I had been from its start a contributor. One of the inducements
held out to me was that Mr. Tilton should be my assistant and relieve me
wholly from routine office work. In this relation I became very much
attached to him. We used to stroll the galleries and print-shops and
dine often together. His mind was opening freshly and with enthusiasm
upon all questions. I used to pour out my ideas of civil affairs, public
policy, religion, and philanthropy. Of this he often spoke with grateful
appreciation, and mourned at a later day over its cessation.
“August was my vacation month, but my family repaired to my farm in June
and July, and remained there during September and October. My labors
confining me to the city, I took my meals in the families of friends,
and from year to year I became so familiar with their children and homes
that I went in and out daily almost as in my own house. Mr. Tilton often
alluded to this habit, and urged me to do the same by his house. He used
to often speak in extravagant terms of his wife’s esteem and affection
for me. After I began to visit his house he sought to make it
attractive. He urged me to bring my papers down there and use his study
to do my writing in, as it was not pleasant to write in the office of
the _Independent_. When I went to England in 1863 Mr. Tilton took
temporary charge of the _Independent_. On my return I paved the way for
him to take sole charge of it, my name remaining for a year, and then he
becoming the responsible editor. Friendly relations continued until
1866, when the violent assaults made upon me by Mr. Tilton in the
_Independent_, on account of my Cleveland letter, and the temporary
discontinuation of the publication of my sermons in that paper, broke
off my connection with it. Although Mr. Tilton and I remained personally
on good terms, yet there was a coolness between us in all matters of
politics. During this whole period I never received from Mr. Tilton or
any member of his family the slightest hint that there was any
dissatisfaction with my familiar relations to his household. As late, I
think, as the winter of 1869, when going upon an extended lecturing
tour, he said: ‘I wish you would look in after, and see that Libby is
not lonesome or does not want anything,’ or words to that effect. Never
by sign or word did Mr. Tilton complain of my visits to his family until
he began to fear that the _Independent_ would be taken from him, nor did
he break out into violence until on the eve of dispossession from both
the papers—the _Independent_ and the _Brooklyn Union_—owned by Mr.
Bowen.
“In the latter part of July, 1870, Mrs. Tilton was sick, and at her
request I visited her. She seemed much depressed, but gave me no hint of
any trouble having reference to me. I cheered her as best I could, and
prayed with her just before leaving. This was our last interview before
trouble broke out in the family. I describe it because it was the last,
and its character has a bearing upon a later part of my story.
Concerning all my visits it is sufficient to say that _at no interview
which ever took place between Mrs. Tilton and myself did anything occur
which might not have occurred with perfect propriety between a brother
and sister, between a father and child, or between a man of honor and
the wife of his dearest friend_; nor did anything ever happen which she
or I sought to conceal from her husband.
“Some years before any open trouble between Mr. Tilton and myself, his
doctrines, as set forth in the leaders of the _Independent_, aroused a
storm of indignation among the representative Congregationalists in the
West; and as the paper was still very largely supposed to be my organ, I
was written to on the subject. In reply I indignantly disclaimed all
responsibility for the views expressed by Mr. Tilton. It was understood
that Mr. Bowen agreed, in consequence of proceedings arising out of this
remonstrance, to remove Mr. Tilton or suppress his peculiar views, but
instead of that he seemed firmer in the saddle than before, and his
loose notions of marriage and divorce began to be shadowed editorially.
This led to the starting of the _Advance_ in Chicago, to supersede the
_Independent_ in the Northwest, and Mr. Bowen was made to feel that Mr.
Tilton’s management was seriously injuring the business, and Mr. Tilton
may have felt that his position was being undermined by opponents of his
views with whom he subsequently pretended to believe I was in league.
Vague intimations of his ‘feeling hard’ toward me I ascribed to this
misconception. I had in reality taken no step to harm him.
“After Mr. Tilton’s return from the West in December, 1870, a young girl
whom Mrs. Tilton had taken into the family, educated, and treated like
an own child was sent to me with an urgent request that I would visit
Mrs. Tilton at her mother’s. She said that Mrs. Tilton had left her home
and gone to her mother’s in consequence of ill-treatment of her husband.
She then gave an account of what she had seen of cruelty and abuse on
the part of the husband that shocked me; I immediately visited Mrs.
Tilton at her mother’s, and received an account of her home life, and of
the despotism of her husband, and of the management of a woman whom he
had made housekeeper, which seemed like a nightmare dream. The question
was whether she should go back or separate for ever from her husband. I
asked permission to bring my wife to see them, whose judgment in all
domestic relations I thought better than my own; and accordingly a
second visit was made. The result of the interview was that my wife was
extremely indignant toward Mr. Tilton, and declared that no
consideration on earth would induce her to remain an hour with a man who
had treated her with a hundredth part of such insult and cruelty. I felt
as strongly as she did, but hesitated, as I always do, at giving advice
in favor of a separation. It was agreed that my wife should give her
final advice at another visit. The next day, when ready to go, she
wished a final word; but there was company, and the children were
present, and so I wrote on a scrap of paper, ‘I incline to think that
your view is right, and that a separation and a _settlement of support_
will be wisest, and that in his present desperate state her presence
near him is far more likely to produce hatred than her absence.’
“Mrs. Tilton did not tell me that my presence had anything to do with
this trouble, nor did she let me know that on the July previous he had
extorted from her a confession of excessive affection for me.
“On the evening of December 27, 1870, Mr. Bowen, on his way home, called
at my house and handed me a letter from Mr. Tilton. It was, as nearly as
I can remember, in the following terms:
“‘HENRY WARD BEECHER: For reasons which you explicitly know, and which I
forbear to state, I demand that you withdraw from the pulpit and quit
Brooklyn as a residence.
“‘THEODORE TILTON.’
“I read it over twice, and turned to Bowen and said: ‘This man is crazy;
this is sheer insanity,’ and other like words. Mr. Bowen professed to be
ignorant of the contents, and I handed him the letter to read. We at
once fell into a conversation about Mr. Tilton. He gave me some account
of the reasons why he had reduced him from the editorship of the
_Independent_ to the subordinate position of contributor—namely, that
Mr. Tilton’s religious and social views were ruining the paper. But he
said as soon as it was known that he had so far broken with Mr. Tilton,
there came pouring in upon him so many stories of Mr. Tilton’s private
life and habits that he was overwhelmed, and that he was now considering
whether he could consistently retain him on the Brooklyn _Union_ or as
chief contributor to the _Independent_. We conversed for some time, Mr.
Bowen wishing my opinion. It was frankly given. I did not see how he
could maintain his relations with Mr. Tilton. The substance of the
conversation was that Tilton’s inordinate vanity, his fatal facility for
blundering (for which he had a genius), and ostentatious independence in
his own opinions, and general impracticableness, would keep the _Union_
at disagreement with the political party for whose service it was
published; and now, added to all this, these revelations of these
promiscuous immoralities would make his connection with either paper
fatal to its interests. I spoke strongly and emphatically under the
great provocation of his threatening letter to me and the revelation I
had just had concerning his domestic affairs.
“Mr. Bowen derided this letter of Tilton’s which he had brought to me,
and said earnestly that if trouble came out of it I might rely upon his
friendship. I learned afterwards that in the further quarrel, ending in
Tilton’s peremptory expulsion from Bowen’s service, this conversation
was repeated to Mr. Tilton. Although I have no doubt that Mr. Tilton
would have lost his place at any rate, I have also no doubt that my
influence was decisive and precipitated his final overthrow. When I came
to think it all over, I felt very unhappy at the contemplation of Mr.
Tilton’s impending disaster. I had loved him much, and at one time he
had seemed like a son to me.
“But now all looked dark; he was to be cast forth from his eminent
position, and his affairs at home did not promise that sympathy and
strength which make one’s house, as mine has been, in times of
adversity, a refuge from the storm and a tower of defence.
“It now appears that on the 29th of December, 1870, Mr. Tilton, having
learned that I had replied to his threatening letter, by expressing such
an opinion of him as to set Mr. Bowen finally against him, and bring him
face to face with immediate ruin, extorted from his wife, then suffering
under a severe illness, a document incriminating me, and prepared an
elaborate attack upon me.
“In my then morbid condition of mind I thought that this charge,
although entirely untrue, might result in great disaster, if not
absolute ruin. The great interests which were entirely dependent on me,
the church which I had built up, the book which I was writing, my own
immediate family, my brother’s name, now engaged in the ministry, my
sisters, the name which I had hoped might live after me and be in some
slight degree a source of strength and encouragement to those who should
succeed me, and, above all, the cause for which I had devoted my life,
seemed imperilled. It seemed to me that my life-work was to end abruptly
and in disaster. My earnest desire to avoid a public accusation, and the
evils which must necessarily flow from it, and which now have resulted
from it, has been one of the leading motives that must explain my action
during these four years with reference to this matter.
“It was in such a sore and distressing condition that Mr. Moulton found
me. His manner was kind and conciliatory; he seemed, however, to be
convinced that I had been seeking Tilton’s downfall, that I had leagued
with Mr. Bowen against him, and that I had by my advice come near
destroying his family. I did not need any argument or persuasion to
induce me to do, and say, anything which would remedy the injury, of
which I then believed, I had certainly been the occasion if not the
active cause. But Mr. Moulton urged that, having wronged so, the wrong
meant his means of support taken away, his reputation gone, his family
destroyed, and that I had done it. He assured me of his own knowledge
that the stories which I had heard against Mr. Tilton, and which I had
believed and repeated to Mr. Bowen, were all false. I was persuaded into
the belief of what he had said, and felt convicted of slander in its
meanest form. He drew the picture of Mr. Tilton wronged in reputation,
in position, wronged in purse, shattered in his family where he would
otherwise have found a refuge, and at the same time looking upon me out
of his deep distress, while I was abounding in friends, most popular,
and with ample means; he drew that picture—my prosperity overflowing and
abounding, and Tilton’s utter degradation. I was most intensely excited.
Indeed, I felt that my mind was in danger of giving way. I walked up and
down the room, pouring forth my heart in the most unrestrained grief and
bitterness of self-accusation, telling what my ideas were of the
obligation of friendship and of the sacredness of the household;
denying, however, an intentional wrong, saying that if I had been the
cause, however remotely, of that which I then beheld, I never could
forgive myself, and heaping all the blame on my own head. The case, as
it then appeared to my eyes, was strongly against me. My old
fellow-worker had been dispossessed of his eminent place and influence,
and I had counselled it. His family had well-nigh been broken up, and I
had advised it; his wife had been long sick and broken in health and
body, and I, as I fully believed it, had been the cause of all this
wreck by continuing that blind heedlessness and friendship which had
beguiled her heart and had roused her husband into a fury of jealousy,
although not caused by any intentional act of mine. And should I coldly
defend myself? Should I pour indignation upon this lady? Should I hold
her up to contempt as having thrust her affections upon me unsought?
Should I tread upon the man and his household in their great adversity?
I gave vent to my feelings without measure. I disclaimed with the
greatest earnestness all intent to harm Theodore in his home or his
business, and with inexplicable sorrow I both blamed and defended Mrs.
Tilton in one breath.
“I had not then the light that I now have. There was much then that
weighed heavily upon my heart and conscience which now weighs only on my
heart. I had not the light which analyzes and discriminates things. By
one blow there opened before me a revelation full of anguish: an
agonized family, whose inmates had been my friends, greatly beloved; the
husband ruined in worldly prospects, the household crumbling to pieces,
the woman, by long sickness and suffering, either corrupted to deceit,
as her husband alleged, or so broken in mind as to be irresponsible; and
either way it was her enthusiasm for her pastor, as I was made to
believe, that was the germ and beginning of the trouble. It was for me
to have forestalled and prevented that mischief. My age and experience
in the world should have put me more on my guard. I could not at that
time tell what was true, and what was not true, of all the
considerations urged upon me by Mr. Tilton and Moulton. There was a gulf
before me in which lay those who had been warm friends, and they alleged
that I had helped to plunge them therein. That seemed enough to fill my
soul with sorrow and anguish. No mother who has lost a child but will
understand the wild self-accusation that grief produced, against all
reason, blaming herself for what things she did do, and for what she
neglected to do, and charging upon herself, her neglect or heedlessness,
the death of her child, while ordinarily every one knows that she had
worn herself out with her assiduities.
“Mr. Moulton and Mr. Tilton both strove to obliterate from my mind all
belief in the rumors that had been circulated about Mr. Tilton. There
was much going on in silencing, explaining, arranging, etc., that I did
not understand as well then as now. But of one thing I was then
convinced, viz., that Mr. Tilton had never strayed from the path of
virtue. I was glad to believe it true, and felt how hard it was that he
should be made to suffer by evil and slanderous foes. I could not
explain some testimony which had been laid before me; but, I said, there
is undoubtedly some misunderstanding, and if I knew the whole I should
find Theodore, though with obvious faults, at heart sound and good.
These views I often expressed to intimate friends in spite of their
manifest incredulity, and what, in the light of the facts, I must now
call their well-deserved ridicule. Mr. Moulton lost no occasion of
presenting to me the kindest view of Mr. Tilton’s character and conduct.
On the other hand, he complained that Mrs. Tilton did not trust her
husband or him, and did not assist him in his effort to help Theodore. I
knew that she distrusted Mr. Moulton, and felt bitterly hurt by the
treatment of her husband. I was urged to use my influence with her to
inspire confidence in Moulton and to lead her to take a kinder view of
Theodore. Accordingly, at the instance of Mr. Moulton, on February 7,
1871, I wrote a letter to her of that date, designed for the purpose of
giving her confidence in Mr. Moulton.
“In my letter to Mrs. Tilton I alluded to the fact that I did not
expect, when I saw her last, to be alive many days. That statement
stands connected with a series of symptoms which I first experienced in
1856. I went through the Fremont campaign, speaking in the open air
three hours at a time, three days in the week. On renewing my literary
labors I felt I must have given way; I very seriously thought that I was
going to have apoplexy or paralysis, or something of the kind. On two or
three occasions, while preaching, I should have fallen in the pulpit if
I had not held on to the table. Very often I came near falling in the
streets. During the last fifteen years I have gone into the pulpit, I
suppose a hundred times, with a very strong impression that I should
never come out of it alive. I have preached more sermons than any human
being would believe, when I felt all the while, that whatever I had got
to say to my people I must say then, or I never would have another
chance to say it. If I had consulted a physician, his first advice would
have been, ‘You must stop work.’ But I was in such a situation that I
could not stop work. I read the best medical books on symptoms of
nervous prostration, and overwork, and paralysis, and formed my own
judgment of my case. The three points I marked were: I must have good
digestion, good sleep, and I must go on working. These three things were
to be reconciled; and in regard to my diet, stimulants, and medicines I
made the most thorough and searching trial, and, as the result, managed
my body so that I could get the most work out of it without essentially
impairing it. If I had said a word about this to my family, it would
have brought such distress and anxiety on the part of my wife, as I
could not have borne. I have for many years so steadily taxed my mind to
the utmost that there have been periods when I could not afford to have
people express even sympathy with me. To have my wife or friends anxious
about my health, and showing it to me, would be just the drop too much.
“In 1863 I came again into the same condition just before going to
England, and that was one of the reasons why I wished to go. The war was
at its height. I carried my country in my heart. I had the _Independent_
in charge, and was working, preaching, and lecturing continually. I knew
I was likely to be prostrated again.
“In December, 1870, the sudden shock of these troubles brought on again
these symptoms in a more violent form. I was very much depressed in
mind, and all the more, because it was one of those things that I could
not say anything about; I was silent with everybody. During the last
four years these symptoms had been repeatedly brought on by my intense
work, carried forward on the underlying basis of so much sorrow and
trouble.
“My friends will bear witness, that in the pulpit, I have very
frequently alluded to my expectation of sudden death. I feel that I have
more than once, already, been near a stroke that would have killed or
paralyzed me, and I carry with me now, as I have so often carried, in
years before this trouble began, the daily thought of death, as a door
which might open for me, at any moment, out of all cares and labors into
most welcome rest.[10]
-----
Footnote 10:
These impressions of impending death he carried with him constantly
during the year or two just preceding the final outbreak of this plot.
In the spring of 1873 he wrote to his wife:
“MY DEAR WIFE: Thanks for your letter from Jacksonville. It cheered
me. God knows that I do not need any more loads; and a comforting
letter never could come to a better market.
“My life is almost over. I am like one waiting for the stage, his
things all packed. The world is bright enough and good enough, and I
enjoy a hundred things in it, and am neither moody nor morbid. Yet I
have an abiding sense that my work is almost done. Every new thing
done, lecture, sermon, or course of lectures, I count as clear gain—so
much more than I expected, What the other life is I do not know, and
none know so little as those who pretend to know best. That it will be
bright and gladdening I am sure; that is all. That I have had success
and achieved something gives me pleasure, chiefly because my life has
been used for those who were weak and helpless. My lot has been cast
in a time when the rights of the under-classes were to be considered.
That I have been identified with that great movement of humanity is
reward enough, and is the chief satisfaction which I take in the
retrospect. But enough, enough.”
In another letter:
“I wish I were with you. When you are gone I feel how much you are to
me. May God keep you for me for many years to come, if many years are
in store for me.
“Your loving but heavy-hearted husband,
“H. W. B.”
In his private diary he wrote:
“I have not lived for myself; all my force has been devoted to the
promotion of men’s happiness—happiness through justice, truth,
goodness. Whatever prosperity I have had came to me almost
unconsciously, certainly not by any wit or wisdom of my own. I am
grateful for having lived. I shall go without murmur or discontent.
“I hope that there will be those who will be sorry when I leave, and
those beyond who will be glad when I arrive.”
This same feeling remained with him, more or less, though not in so
pronounced a form, through the remainder of his life.
-----
“During the whole of the year 1871 I was kept in a state of suspense and
doubt, not only as to the future of the family, for the reunion and
happiness of which I had striven so earnestly, but as to the degree to
which I might be personally subject to attack and misconstruction, and
the trouble be brought into the church and magnified by publicity. The
officers of the church sought to investigate Mr. Tilton’s religious
views and moral conduct. On the latter point I had been deceived into
the belief that he was not in fault. As to the religious views, I still
hoped for a change for the better. It was proposed to drop him from the
list of members for non-attendance; and as he asserted to me his
withdrawal, this might have been done, but his wife still attended the
church and hoped for his restoration. I recollect having with him a
conversation in which he dimly hinted to me that he thought it not
unlikely that he might go back into his old position. He seemed to be in
a mood to regret the past. And so, when I was urged by the Examining
Committee to take some steps, I said I was not without hopes that by
patience and kindness Tilton might come back again into his old church
works and be one of us once more. I therefore delayed a decision upon
this point for a long time. Many of our members were anxious and
impatient, and there were many tokens of trouble from this quarter.
Meanwhile one wing of the female-suffrage party, had got hold of his
story in a distorted and exaggerated form, such as had never been
intimated to me by Mr. Tilton or his friends. I did not then suspect
what I now know, that these atrociously false rumors originated with Mr.
Tilton himself. I only saw the evil growing instead of diminishing, and
perceived that while I was pledged to silence, and therefore could not
speak in my own defence, some one was for ever persevering in falsehood,
growing continually in dimensions, and these difficulties were immensely
increased by the affiliation of Mr. Tilton with the extremists in the
female-suffrage party.
“The winter following (1871-72) Mr. Tilton returned from the
lecture-field in despair. Engagements had been cancelled, invitations
withdrawn, and he spoke of the prejudice and repugnance with which he
was everywhere met as indescribable. I urged him to make a prompt
repudiation of these women and their doctrines. I told him that no man
could rise against the public sentiment with such a load. Mr. Tilton’s
vanity seldom allowed him to regard himself as in the wrong or his
actions faulty. He could never be made to believe that his failure to
rise again was caused by his partnership with these women, and by his
want of sensible work, which work should make the public feel that he
had in him power for good. Instead of this he preferred, or professed,
to think that I was using my influence against him, that I was allowing
him to be traduced without coming generously to the front to defend him,
and that my friends were working against him; to which I replied that,
unless the laws of mind were changed, not Almighty God Himself could
lift him into favor if these women must be lifted with him. Nevertheless
I sought in every way to restore peace and concord to the family which I
was made to feel had been injured by me and was dependent on my
influence for recovery.
“But one thing was constant and apparent—when Tilton, by lecturing or
otherwise, was prosperous, he was very genial and affectionate to me.
Whenever he met rebuffs and was in _pecuniary trouble_, he scowled
threateningly upon me as the author of his troubles, and Moulton himself
seemed at times to accuse me of indifference to Tilton’s misfortunes.
“I now come in my narrative to give an account of the origin of the
somewhat famous tripartite agreement. Early in February, 1872, Mr.
Tilton returned to the city thoroughly discouraged with the result of
his lecturing tour. The _Golden Age_ (a paper organized for Tilton by
his friends), which had then been established for about twelve months,
had not succeeded, and was understood to be losing money. His pecuniary
obligations were pressing, and although his claim against Bowen for the
violation of his two contracts had a year previously been put under the
exclusive control of Moulton with a view of settlement, it had not as
yet been effected. About this time Mr. Moulton, who was sick, sent for
me and showed me a galley-proof of an article, prepared by Mr. Tilton
for the _Golden Age_, in which he embodied a copy of a letter written by
him to Mr. Bowen, dated January 1, 1871, in which he charged Mr. Bowen
with making scandalous accusations against my character. This was the
first time that I had ever seen these charges, and I had never heard of
them except by mere rumor, Mr. Bowen never having, at any time, said a
word to me on the subject. I was amazed at the proposed publication. I
did not then understand the real object of giving circulation to such
slanders. My first impression was that Mr. Tilton designed, under cover
of an attack upon me in the name of another, to open the way for the
publication of his own pretended personal grievances. I protested
against the publication in the strongest terms, but was informed that it
was not intended as an hostile act to myself, but to Mr. Bowen. I did
not any the less insist upon my protest against this publication. On its
being shown to Mr. Bowen he was thoroughly alarmed, and speedily
consented to the appointment of arbitrators to bring about an amicable
settlement. The result of this proceeding was that Mr. Bowen paid Mr.
Tilton over $7,000, and that a written agreement was entered into by
Bowen, Tilton, and myself of amnesty, concord, and future peace.[11] It
was agreed that the offensive article, the publication of which had
produced such an effect upon Mr. Bowen and secured a settlement, should
be destroyed without seeing the light. It was an act of treachery
peculiarly base that this article was permitted to get into hands which
would insure its publication, and that it was published. I was assured
that every vestige of it had been destroyed, nor until a comparatively
recent period did I understand how Mr. Tilton secured its publication
without seeming to be himself responsible for the deed.
-----
Footnote 11:
“We three men, earnestly desiring to remove all causes of offence
existing between us, real or fancied, and to make Christian reparation
for injuries done, or supposed to have been done, and to efface the
disturbed past, and to provide concord, good-will, and love for the
future, do declare and covenant each to the others as follows:
“I. I, Henry C. Bowen, having given credit, perhaps without due
consideration, to tales and innuendoes affecting Henry Ward Beecher,
and being influenced by them, as was natural to a man who receives
impressions suddenly, to the extent of repeating them (guardedly,
however, and within limitations, and not for the purpose of injuring
him, but strictly in the confidence of consultation), now feel therein
that I did him wrong.
“Therefore I disavow all the charges and imputations that have been
attributed to me, as having been by me made against Henry Ward
Beecher, and I declare fully and without reserve that I know nothing
which should prevent me from extending to him my most cordial
friendship, confidence, and Christian fellowship; and I expressly
withdraw all the charges, imputations, and innuendoes imputed as
having been made and uttered by me, and set forth in a letter written
to me by Theodore Tilton on the 1st day of January, 1871; and I
sincerely regret having made any imputations, charges, or innuendoes
unfavorable to the Christian character of Mr. Beecher, and I covenant
and promise that for all future time I will never by word or deed
recur to, repeat, or allude to any or either of said charges,
imputations, and innuendoes.
“II. And I, Theodore Tilton, do, of my own free will and friendly
spirit toward Henry C. Bowen and Henry Ward Beecher, hereby covenant
and agree that I will never again repeat, by word of mouth or
otherwise, any of the allegations, or imputations, or innuendoes
contained in my letter hereunto annexed, or any other injurious
imputations or allegations suggested by or growing out of these; and
that I will never again bring up or hint at any cause of difference or
ground of complaint heretofore existing between the said Henry C.
Bowen and myself or the said Henry Ward Beecher.
“III. And I, Henry Ward Beecher, put the past for ever out of sight
and out of memory. I deeply regret the causes of suspicion, jealousy,
and estrangement which have come between us. It is a joy to me to have
my old regard for Henry C. Bowen and Theodore Tilton restored, and a
happiness to me to resume the old relations of love, respect, and
reliance to each and both of them. If I have said anything injurious
to the reputation of either, or have detracted from their standing and
fame as Christian gentlemen and members of my church, I revoke it all,
and heartily covenant to repair and reinstate them to the extent of my
power.
“HENRY WARD BEECHER.
“THEODORE TILTON.
“HENRY C. BOWEN.”
-----
“After vainly attempting to obtain money both from myself and my wife as
the price of its suppression, the Woodhull women published their version
of the Tilton scandal in the November of 1872. The details given by them
were so minute, though so distorted, that suspicion was universally
directed toward Mr. Tilton as the real author of this, which he so
justly calls ‘a wicked and horrible scandal,’ though it is not a whit
more horrible than that which he has now fathered, and not half so
wicked, because they did not have personal knowledge of the falsity of
their story, as Mr. Tilton has of his.
“To rid himself of this incubus Mr. Tilton drew up a voluminous paper
called ‘A true statement,’ but which was familiarly called ‘Tilton’s
case.’ Tilton’s furor for compiling statements was one of my familiar
annoyances. Moulton used to tell me that the only way to manage him was
to let him work off his periodical passion on some such document, and
then to pounce on the document and suppress it. This particular ‘true
statement’ was a special plea in abatement of the prejudices excited by
his Woodhull partnership. It was a muddle of garbled statements,
manufactured documents, and downright falsehoods. This paper I knew he
read to many, and I am told that he read it to not less than fifty
persons, in which he did not pretend to charge immorality upon his wife;
on the contrary, he explicitly denied it and asserted her purity, but
charged me with improper overtures to her. It was this paper which he
read to Dr. Storrs, and poisoned therewith his mind, thus leading to the
attempt to prosecute Tilton in Plymouth Church, the interference of
neighboring churches, and the calling of the Congregational Council.
After the Woodhull story was published, and while Mr. Tilton seemed
really desirous for a short time of protecting his wife, I sent through
him the following letter to her:
“‘MY DEAR MRS. TILTON: I hoped that you would be shielded from the
knowledge of the great wrong that has been done to you, and through you
to universal womanhood. I can hardly bear to speak of it or allude to a
matter than which nothing can be imagined more painful to a pure and
womanly nature. I pray daily for you “that your faith fail not.” You
yourself know the way and the power of prayer. God has been your refuge
in many sorrows before. He will now hide you in His pavilion until the
storm be overpast. The rain that beats down the flower to the earth
shall pass at length, and the stem bent but not broken will rise again
and blossom as before. Every pure woman on earth will feel that this
wanton and unprovoked assault is aimed at you, but reaches to universal
womanhood. Meantime your dear children will love you with double
tenderness, and Theodore, at whom the shafts are hurled, will hide you
in his heart of hearts. I am glad that revelation from the pit has given
him a sight of the danger that was before hidden by spurious appearances
and promises of usefulness. May God keep him in courage in this arduous
struggle which he wages against adversity, and bring him out through
much trial, like gold seven times fined! I have not spoken of myself. No
words could express the sharpness and depth of my sorrow in your behalf,
my dear and honored friend. God walks in the fire by the side of those
He loves, and in heaven neither you nor Theodore nor I shall regret the
discipline, how hard soever it may seem now. May He restrain and turn
those poor creatures who have been given over to do all this sorrowful
harm to those who have deserved no such treatment at their hands! I
commend you to my mother’s God, my dear friend! May His smile bring
light in darkness, and His love be a perpetual summer to you!
“Very truly yours,
“HENRY WARD BEECHER.”
“The whole series of events, beginning with the outbreak of the Woodhull
story, brought upon me a terrible accumulation of anxieties. Everything
that had threatened before now started up again with new violence.
Tilton’s behavior was at once inexplicable and uncontrollable. His card
‘to a complaining friend’ did not produce the effect he pretended to
expect from it, of convincing the public of his great magnanimity. Then
his infamous article and letter to Mr. Bowen made its appearance in the
_Eagle_. It had been suggested that the publication of the ‘tripartite
covenant’ would have a good effect in counteracting the slanderous
stories about Mrs. Tilton and myself, which Tilton professed to regard,
but which his foolish card and the publication of that article had done
so much to revive and render mischievous. Mr. Moulton urged me to get
from the gentleman who held the ‘tripartite covenant’ a copy of it for
us, when suddenly Mr. Wilkeson came out with it on his own
responsibility. Its publication in this manner I made strenuous but
unavailing efforts to prevent. He had originally kept a copy of it.
(Everybody in this business seems to have copies of everything except
myself.) On the appearance of that paper Tilton went into a rage. It put
him, he said, in a ‘false position’ before the public, and he said he
would publish another card giving a statement something like what he
afterward wrote to Dr. Bacon—that is, as I recollect the matter,
declaring that I had committed an offence, and that he had been the
magnanimous party in the business. It was necessary to decide what to do
with him. Moulton strongly urged a card from me exonerating Tilton (as I
could honestly do) from the authorship of the particular scandals
detailed in his article to Mr. Bowen and alluded to in the covenant.
“I said I would think it over, and perhaps write something. This was
Friday or Saturday. The covenant appeared on Friday morning, and the
alarm was sounded on me immediately that Tilton would do something
dreadful if not restrained. On Sunday I had made up my mind to write to
Mr. Moulton the following letter, garbled extracts of which are given in
Mr. Tilton’s statement:
“‘SUNDAY MORNING, June 1, 1873.
“‘MY DEAR FRANK: The whole earth is tranquil and the heaven is serener,
as befits one who has about finished this world-life.
“‘I could do nothing on Saturday. My head was confused.
“‘But a good sleep has made it like crystal. I have determined to make
no more resistance. Theodore’s temperament is such that the future, even
if temporarily earned, would be absolutely worthless, filled with abrupt
changes, and rendering me liable at any hour or day to be obliged to
stultify all the devices by which we saved ourselves.
“‘It is only fair that he should know that the publication of the card
which he proposes would leave him far worse off than before. _The
agreement_ was made after my letter through you was written. He had had
it a year. He had condoned his wife’s fault. He had enjoined upon me
with the utmost earnestness and solemnity not to betray his wife nor
leave his children to a blight. I had honestly and earnestly joined in
the purpose.
“‘Then this settlement was made and signed by him [Tripartite]. It was
not my making. He revised his part so that it should wholly suit him,
and signed it. It stood unquestioned and unblamed for more than a year.
_Then it was published._ Nothing but that. That which he did in private,
when made public excited him to fury, and he charges me with _making him
appear_ as one _graciously pardoned by me_! It was his own deliberate
act, with which he was perfectly content till others saw it, and then he
charges a grievous wrong home on me!
“‘My mind is clear; I am not in haste. I shall write for the public a
statement that will bear the light of the judgment day. God will take
care of me and mine. When I look on earth it is deep night. When I look
to the heavens above I see the morning breaking. But, oh! that I could
put in golden letters my deep sense of your faithful, earnest, undying
fidelity, your disinterested friendship! Your noble wife, too, has been
one of God’s comforters. It is such as she that renews a waning faith in
womanhood.
“‘Now, Frank, I would not have you waste any more energy on a hopeless
task. With such a man as T. T. there is no possible salvation for any
that depend on him. With a strong nature, he does not know how to govern
it. With generous impulses, the undercurrent that rules him is self.
With ardent affections, he cannot love long that which does not repay
but with admiration and praise. With a strong theatric nature, he is
constantly imposed upon with the idea that a position, a great stroke—a
_coup d’état_—is the way to success. Besides these he has a hundred good
things about him, but these named traits make him _absolutely
unreliable_. Therefore there is no use in further trying. I have a
strong feeling upon me, and it brings great peace with it, that I am
spending my _last Sunday_ and preaching my last sermon. Dear, good God,
I thank Thee! I am indeed beginning to see rest and triumph. The pain of
life is but a moment; the glory of the everlasting emancipation is
wordless, inconceivable, full of breaking glory. O my beloved Frank! I
shall know you then, and for ever hold fellowship with you, and look
back and smile at the past. Your loving
H. W. B.’
“There are intimations at the beginning and end of this letter that I
felt the approach of death. With regard to that I merely refer to my
previous statement concerning my bodily symptoms, and add that on this
day I felt symptoms upon me. The main point is that I was worried out
with the whole business, and would have been glad to escape by death, of
which I long had little dread. I could see no end but death to the
accumulation of torture, but I resolved to stop short and waste no more
time in making matters worse. I felt that Mr. Moulton had better stop,
too, and let the whole thing come out. I determined, then, to make a
full and true statement, which I now make, and to leave the result with
God. Mr. Tilton had repeatedly urged me, as stated in my letter, not to
betray his wife, and I felt bound by every sense of honor, in case I
should be pressed by inquiries from my church or family as to the
foundations of rumors which might reach them, to keep this promise. By
this promise I meant only that I would not betray the excessive
affection which his wife, as I had been told, had conceived for me and
had confessed to him. In reply to this note, which was calm and reserved
rather than gloomy, Mr. Moulton wrote that same day a letter of three
and a half sheets of copy-paper. He began as follows:
“‘MY DEAR FRIEND: You know I have never been in sympathy with the mood
out of which you have often spoken as you have written this morning. If
the truth must be spoken let it be. I know you can stand if the whole
case was published to-morrow, and in my opinion it shows a selfish faith
in God.’
“Having proceeded thus far, Mr. Moulton seems to have perceived that the
tone of this letter was rather likely to encourage me in my
determination to publish the whole case than otherwise; and as this was
opposed to the whole line of his policy, he crossed out with one dash of
the pencil the whole of this and commenced anew, writing the following
letter:
“‘SUNDAY, June 1, 1873.
“‘MY DEAR FRIEND: Your letter makes this first Sabbath of summer dark
and cold like a vault. You have never inspired me with courage or hope,
and if I had listened to you alone my hands would have dropped helpless
long ago. You don’t begin to be in the danger to-day that has faced you
many times before. If you now look at it square in the eyes it will
cower and slink away again. You know that I have never been in sympathy
with, but that I absolutely abhor, the unmanly mood out of which your
letter of this morning came. This mood is a reservoir of mildew. _You_
can stand it if the _whole case_ were published to-morrow. In my opinion
it shows only a selfish faith in God to go whining into heaven, if you
could, with a truth that you are not courageous enough, with God’s help
and faith in God, to try to live on earth. You know that I love you, and
because I do I shall try and try and try as in the past. You are
mistaken when you say that ‘Theodore charges you with making him appear
as one graciously pardoned by you.’ He said the form in which it was
published in some of the papers made it so appear, and it was from this
that he asked relief. I do not think it impossible to frame a letter
which will cover the case. May God bless you! I know He will protect
you.
FRANK.’
“In the haste of writing Mr. Moulton apparently failed to perceive what
he had already written. In the first instance, he wrote on one side of a
half-sheet of paper, then, turning it over, inadvertently used the clean
side of that half-sheet for the purpose of the letter, which he sent in
the final shape above given. But it will be seen that he deliberately,
and twice in succession, reaffirmed his main statement that there was
nothing in the whole case on which I could not safely stand. He treats
my resolution as born of such morbid despair, as he had often reproached
me for, and urged me strongly to maintain my faith in him. Tilton
yielded to his persuasion, and graciously allowed himself to be soothed
by the publication of a card exonerating him from the authorship of the
base lies to which the tripartite covenant referred. So once more, and
this time against my calmer judgment, I patched up a hollow peace with
him.
“That I have grievously erred in judgment with this perplexed case no
one is more conscious than I am. I chose the wrong path, and accepted a
disastrous guidance in the beginning, and have indeed travelled on a
‘rough and ragged edge’ in my prolonged efforts to suppress this
scandal, which has at last spread so much desolation through the land.
But I cannot admit that I erred in desiring to keep these matters out of
sight. In this respect I appeal to all Christian men, to judge whether
almost any personal sacrifice ought not to have been made, rather than
to suffer the morals of an entire community, and especially of the
young, to be corrupted by the filthy details of scandalous falsehoods,
daily iterated and amplified, for the gratification of impure curiosity,
and the demoralization of every child that is old enough to read.
“The full truth of this history requires that one more fact should be
told, especially as Mr. Tilton has invited it. Money has been obtained
from me in the course of these affairs, in considerable sums; but I did
not, at first, look upon the suggestions that I should contribute to Mr.
Tilton’s pecuniary wants, as savoring of blackmail. Afterward I
contributed at one time $5,000, which I came to do in this way: There
was a discussion about the _Golden Age_. Moulton was constantly
advancing money, as he said to me, to help Tilton. The paper was needy.
One evening I was at his house. We were alone together in the back
parlor, and Moulton took out of his pocket a letter from ———. It was
read to me, in which the writer mentioned contributions which he had
made to Theodore. I understood from him, that the writer of this letter
had given him some thousands of dollars down in cash, and then taking
out two time-checks or drafts, which, as I recollected, were on bluish
paper—although I am not sure of that. There were two checks, each of
them amounting to one or two thousand dollars more, and I should think
it amounted in all to about six thousand dollars, although my memory
about quantities and figures is to be taken with great allowance; but it
produced the impression in me, that the writer had given him one or two
thousand dollars in cash down, and, as the writer explained in the
letter, it was not convenient to give the balance in money at that time,
but had drawn time-drafts, which would be just as useful as money; and
Moulton slapped the table and said, ‘_That_ is what I call friendship,’
and I was stupid, and said, ‘Yes, it was.’ Afterward, when I got home, I
got to thinking about it. ‘Why,’ said I, ‘what a fool! I never dreamed
what he meant.’ Then I went to him and said to him, ‘I am willing to
make a contribution and put the thing beyond a controversy.’ Well, he
said something like this: ‘That he thought it would be the best
investment that ever I made in my life.’ I then went to the savings-bank
and put a mortgage of five thousand dollars on my house. I took a check
which was given me by the bank’s lawyer, and put it into the bank, and,
on Moulton’s suggestion that it would be better than to have a check
drawn to his order, I drew the money in five-hundred-dollar or
one-thousand-dollar bills—I have forgotten which, but I know that they
were large, for I carried the roll in my hand—and these I gave into his
hands. After the money had been given to Mr. Moulton, I felt very much
dissatisfied. Finally a square demand and a threat was made to one of my
confidential friends, that if $5,000 more were not paid, Tilton’s
charges would be laid before the public. This I saw at once was
blackmail in its boldest form, and I never paid a cent of it, but
challenged and requested the fullest exposure.”
As we have seen, the “Woodhull scandal,” at the secret instigation of
Tilton, was published late in October, 1872.
On the 2d of November Dr. Storrs wrote to Mr. Beecher:
“MY DEAR BEECHER: I hear from different quarters that scandalous and
annoying publications have been made about you.
“If they are such as to trouble you, and if I can at any time be of any
service to you, you know, of course, that you have only to intimate the
wish to get all the help that I can give, on any occasion or in any way.
Ever affectionately yours,
“R. S. STORRS, JR.”
At this time Mr. Beecher felt that he was bound in honor to be silent.
It was not until the spring of 1873, when realizing that Tilton was
industriously, in person, and through his friends, whispering tales
against his character, and stimulating the publication of the scandal,
that he felt himself relieved from this obligation. Then he published a
card in the Brooklyn _Eagle_, emphatically branding the stories as false
and challenging the production of any evidence against him.
But, at the time of Dr. Storrs’s letter, to say a little and not say
all, would be worse than silence, while to confide the whole matter to
Dr. Storrs would necessitate repeating the statements against Tilton and
Bowen, which would be a breach of the tripartite agreement (a pledge
which he alone had observed). He did not call on the doctor or answer
the letter. He kept silent. A short time later (December 16) Tilton
called upon Dr. Storrs with a friend, and read to him his so-called
“true statement,” which, as we have seen, he had drawn up to counteract,
as he pretended, the Woodhull scandal. In this he asserted most
positively his wife’s innocence, and charged Mr. Beecher with “improper
proposals.”
The effect of this interview played an important part in the subsequent
events. We are not aware that Dr. Storrs ever went directly to his old
friend and laid what he had heard before him, or indignantly denied the
charges as a slander; but, on the contrary, almost in the face of his
letter of November 2d proffering aid, he lent his ear to tales, carried
by such a man as he knew Tilton to be; and we very soon find him acting,
in conjunction with Dr. Budington, as the recognized champion and
adviser of Mr. Beecher’s enemies; his hostility, later on, ripening into
the most intense personal bitterness, the fierce heat of which seemed to
grow stronger rather than weaker as years rolled by, and did not seem to
abate even when the cold hand of death fell upon his former friend. We
have searched in vain for any reasonable justification for this sudden
change, from the most glowing friendship, to the most scorching enmity.
We feel unwilling to believe the commonly accepted theory of jealousy,
while the doctor’s own suggestion that his feelings were hurt by Mr.
Beecher’s neglect of his friendly overtures, seems belittling to a man
so gifted and refined, and one cast in so large an intellectual mould.
We say that injured feelings were the reason suggested; for when, about
a year later, he appeared in open hostility to Mr. Beecher, and
wondering friends inquired the reason, he stated in effect that he felt
hurt by Mr. Beecher’s neglect to even answer his friendly letter (of
November 2, 1872), though admitting that it did not necessarily call for
an answer. Later, after the publication of the scandal, Mr. Beecher
explained to both Drs. Storrs and Budington the reason for his silence,
which explanation they then professed to accept as satisfactory.[12] On
November 7, 1873, a friend of both Dr. Storrs and Mr. Beecher called on
the doctor, to whom he stated that while Mr. Beecher’s enemies had come
to him, and he had not felt it right to refuse to hear what any one had
to say, Mr. Beecher’s friends had not come near him; that _he himself_
(Dr. S.) _had never once commenced a conversation with any one on this
subject_, and that he was sorry that he could not see this affair as Mr.
Beecher’s friends did, and wished he could believe that he was suffering
for the sins of others.
-----
Footnote 12:
This occurred early in 1874, when Drs. Storrs and Budington were in
conference with Mr. Beecher, seeking for some way of avoiding the
complications between the three churches, which ultimately led to the
Advisory Council of 1874. During this period they addressed Mr.
Beecher in their letters as “My dear Brother,” joined with him in
prayer asking for divine guidance out of the existing complications.
Neither of them intimated any belief in the scandalous stories then
afloat, but put the whole burden of their complaint on the ground of
discourtesy, and, when Mr. Beecher explained his reasons for silence
and the pledge he felt himself to be under, expressed themselves as
fully satisfied, and as late as 1876 their clerical friends understood
that their hostility grew out of feelings hurt by fancied neglect, and
not from a belief in any guilt on the part of Mr. Beecher. See Dr.
Bacon’s letter of February 27, 1876, page 559.
-----
From his own statement, then, it would seem that he gave his ear to the
tale-bearer, listening to all that was brought to him by Mr. Beecher’s
enemies, but _he himself never once sought_ for information from Mr.
Beecher’s friends.
About the first of June, 1873, Mr. Beecher had become satisfied that
there was no longer any use of trying to help Mr. Tilton, his eyes being
at last opened to the fact, that Tilton had been deceiving him right
along, and little by little had been dealing scandalous stories out to
the public. He declared that he would stand it no longer, and when it
was stated that Mrs. Woodhull had implicating letters from him he
published the following card in the Brooklyn _Eagle_:
“I have just returned to the city to learn that application has been
made to Mrs. Victoria Woodhull for letters of mine supposed to contain
information respecting certain infamous stories against me. I have no
objection to have the _Eagle_ state, in any way it deems fit, that Mrs.
Woodhull, or any other person or persons who may have letters of mine in
their possession, have my cordial consent to publish them. In this
connection, and at this time, I will only add that the stories and
rumors which for some time past have been circulated about me are
grossly untrue, and I stamp them, in general and in particular, as
utterly false.
“Respectfully,
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
“BROOKLYN, N. Y., June 30, 1873.”
At this time the stories afloat were vague and general.