“IF one had arranged events in America to one’s own liking one could
not have had them go along more pleasantly,” said Irving, one Sunday
afternoon, when he was giving me an account of his visit to Mr. Henry
Ward Beecher and Mrs. Beecher, at Brooklyn; “indeed, one would have
had to lay in a stock of vanity to even dream of such a reception as
we have had. It needs a little hostility here and there in the press
at home, and on this side, to give a wholesome flavor to the sweets.
It is a great reward, all this, for one’s labor. I was struck the
other day with some passages of Emerson, in his essay on Fate, where
he says, ‘Concentration is the secret of strength in politics, in war,
in trade; in short, in all management of human affairs.’ One of the
high anecdotes of the world is the reply of Newton to the inquiry, how
he had ‘been able to achieve his discoveries’: ‘By always intending
my mind.’ _Diligence passe sens_, Henry VIII. was wont to say, or,
Great is drill. John Kemble said that the worst provincial company of
actors would go through a play better than the best amateur company.
No genius can recite a ballad at first reading so well as mediocrity
can at the fifteenth or twentieth reading. A humorous friend of
mine thinks the reason Nature is so perfect in her art, and gets up
such inconceivably fine sunsets, is, that ‘she has learned at last
by dint of doing the same thing so very often.’ A wonderful writer,
Emerson! He gives the right cue to all stage-managers,—rehearsal!
rehearsal! Mr. Beecher has evidently been a hard-worker all his life,
a persistent man; and nothing is done without it. First lay down your
lines; settle what you mean to do, what you find you can do, and do
it; the greater the opposition the more courageous and persevering you
must be; and if you are right, and strength and life hold out, you
must win. But I want to tell you about the visit to Brooklyn. Miss
Terry and I were invited to visit Mr. Henry Ward Beecher. We went on
Sunday to his church. He preached a good, stirring sermon, full of
strong common-sense. It was what might, in some respects, be called
an old-fashioned sermon, though it was also exceedingly liberal.
The spirit of its teaching was the doctrine of brotherly love. The
preacher told his congregation that a man was not simply a follower
of Christ because he went to church on Sundays. A man could, he said,
be a follower of the Saviour without going to church at all. He could
also be a follower of Christ, if he wished, and belong to any church
he liked,—Baptist, Wesleyan, Lutheran. A Pagan could be a follower
of Christ if he lived up to His doctrine of charity. To do good is
the chief end and aim of a good life. It was an extemporaneous sermon
so far as the absence of manuscript or notes went, and was delivered
with masterful point and vigor, and with some touches of pure comedy;
Mr. Beecher is a great comedian. After the service Mr. Beecher came
to us, and offered his arm to Miss Terry. She took one arm, his wife
the other. I followed with his son, and several other relations. A few
members of the congregation joined the little procession. Following Mr.
Beecher with the ladies, we walked down the aisle and into the street,
to his house. There was something very simple and dignified about the
whole business, something that to me smacked of the primitive churches,
without their austerity. Mrs. Beecher is seventy-one years of age,—a
perfect gentlewoman, Quaker-like in her dress and manners, gentle of
speech, but with a certain suggestion of firmness of purpose. Beecher
struck me as a strong, robust, genial, human man, a broad, big fellow.
We had dinner,—the early dinner that was in vogue when I was a boy. It
was, I should say, a regular solid New England meal,—rich soup, plenty
of fish, a joint of beef; and some generous port was on the table. The
host was most pleasant and simple; the hostess, most unsophisticated
and kindly. She took greatly to Miss Terry, who also took greatly to
her.”
“Mr. Beecher had been at the theatre the night before?”
“Yes, to see ‘Louis XI.’”
“Did he talk much?”
“Oh, yes! and his conversation was most interesting. He related,
and very graphically, an incident of the troubled times before the
abolition of slavery. ‘One day in the pulpit,’ he said, ‘I asked my
people, suppose you had a sister, and she came to you and said, “I
would like to stay in your city of Brooklyn; I think I would be very
happy here; but I must go away, I cannot stay; I must depart, probably
to live with a reprobate, some hard, cruel man, who will lay claim
to me, body and soul.” You say, “Why, why must you go?” She answers,
“Because my body is worth so much, and I am to be sold; and my little
child, it, too, is of value in the same way; my child will be sold, and
we shall be separated.” There was a dead silence in the church. ‘My
friends,’ I said, ‘you have a sister in that position; and I want you
to buy that woman!’ “Come up here, Dinah Cullum” (or whatever her name
was), I said, and out of the congregation stepped a beautiful woman,
a mulatto, and I said, “Here she is; here is my sister, your sister!”
The collecting basket was sent around. More than enough was realized to
buy the woman. And I said to her, “Dinah Cullum, you are free.” Then
addressing my people again, I said, “Now you can buy the child”; and
they did, and we gave the child to its mother!’
“It used to be said of Lord Beaconsfield,” Irving continued, “that
his Oriental blood and his race instincts gave him his fondness for
jewels; but Beecher seems to have the same kind of taste. He brought
out from a cabinet a handful of rings, and asked me which I thought
Miss Terry would like best. Then he took them to her and she selected
an _aqua marina_, which he placed upon her finger, and begged her to
accept as a souvenir of her visit to Brooklyn. ‘May I?’ said Miss Terry
to Mrs. Beecher. ‘Yes, my dear, take it,’ said Mrs. Beecher; and she
did. It was quite touching to see the two women together, so different
in their stations, their years, their occupations. Miss Terry was the
first actress Mrs. Beecher had ever known. To begin with, she was very
courteous; her greeting was hospitable, but not cordial. The suggestion
of coldness in her demeanor gradually thawed, and at the close of the
visit she took Miss Terry into her arms, and the two women cried. ‘One
touch of nature makes the whole world kin.’ Human sympathy,—what a
fine thing it is! It is easy to understand how a woman of the training
and surroundings that belong to the class in which Mrs. Beecher has
lived might regard an actress, and especially one who has made a name,
and is therefore the object of gossip. All the more delightful is the
bit of womanly sympathy that can bind together two natures which the
austerity of professed religionists would keep asunder.”
“It is a greater triumph for the stage than you, perhaps, quite
appreciate,—this visit to the home of a popular preacher; for, however
liberal Mr. Beecher’s sentiments may be in regard to plays and players,
there are members of his congregation who will not approve of his going
to the theatre, and who will probably be horrified at his entertaining
you at his own home.”
“No doubt,” Irving replied. “Beecher said to me, ‘I wish you could come
and spend a week with me at my little country-house. You might leave
all the talking to me, if you liked. I would give you a bit of a sermon
now and then, and you in return should give me a bit of acting. Oh, we
should have a pleasant time! You could lie on your back and smoke and
rest. I suppose some day you will allow yourself a little rest.’”
“What was the Beecher home like? New or old,—characteristic of the
host or not?”
“Quite characteristic, I should say. It impressed me as a home that
had been gradually furnished over a period of many years. That was
particularly the case with regard to the library. Around the walls
were a series of cabinets, with old china and glass in them. The room
had an old English, or what I suppose would be called an old New
England, appearance. Books, pictures, china, and a wholesome perfume
of tobacco-smoke. Mr. Beecher does not smoke, but his sons do. ‘I
cannot pretend to put down these small vices,’ he said. ‘I once tried
to, I believe.’—‘Oh, yes,’ said one of his sons, a fine fellow,—‘the
only thrashing he ever gave me was for smoking a cigar; and when the
war broke out, and I went to the front, the first present I received
from home was a box of cigars, sent to me by my father.’ Altogether
I was deeply impressed with Beecher. A robust, fearless man, I can
quite understand how great he might be in face of opposition. Indeed,
I was witness of this on the occasion of his famous platform fight at
Manchester, during the war. I was acting in a stock company there at
the time, and either in the first or last piece, I forget which, I was
able to go and hear him speak. The incident, as you know, is historical
on this side of the Atlantic, and it created quite a sensation in
Manchester. The lecture-room was packed with secessionists. Beecher
was attacking the South, and upholding the Federal cause. The great,
surging crowd hooted and yelled at him. I fear I did not know much
about the rights or wrongs of the matter. I had my work to do, and,
though I watched the course of the American trouble, I had no very
definite views about it. But I admired the American preacher. He faced
his opponents with a calm, resolute face,—stood there like a rock.
Whenever there was a lull in this commotion he would speak, and his
words were defiant. There was the sound of the trumpet in them. We
English admire courage, worship pluck, and after a time the men who had
tried their hardest to shout Beecher down evidently felt ashamed. There
presently arose cries of ‘Hear him!’ and ‘Fair play!’ Beecher stood
there firm and defiant, and I felt my heart go out to him. Once more
he got a few words in. They bore upon the rights of free speech, and
in a little while he had the floor, as they say in America, and kept
it. It seemed as if he were inspired. He spoke with a fervid eloquence
I don’t think I have ever heard equalled. In the end he carried the
entire meeting with him. The crowd evidently knew no more about the
real merits of the quarrel between North and South than I did. They
entered the hall Confederates, and left it out-and-out Federals, if one
should judge by the thundering cheers that broke out every now and then
during the remainder of Beecher’s oration, and the unanimous applause
that marked the finish of it.”