The death of Sargeant S. Prentiss has called forth an universal
feeling of sorrow; the consciousness that "a great man has fallen" is
depicted upon the faces of the multitude.
The eloquent offerings to his virtues and to his genius that
everywhere follow the news of his demise, are but slight tokens of
that sorrow that fills the heart of all who knew the gifted Prentiss.
Having known him long, and having had frequent occasions to witness
exhibitions of his great mental powers, I cannot refrain from paying
an imperfect tribute to his memory.
I first met Mr. Prentiss when he was in the full maturity of his
power, but I have the pleasure of knowing hundreds who were well
acquainted with his early history and early triumphs. Volumes of
interest might be written upon the life of Mr. Prentiss. And then
his high sense of honor, his brave spirit, his nobleness of soul, his
intense but commendable pride, his classical attainments, and his deep
knowledge of the law, can scarcely be illustrated, so universal and
superior were his accomplishments and acquirements.
In his early career, I consider Mr. Prentiss both fortunate and
unfortunate. I have often imagined the shrinking but proud boy, living
unnoticed and unknown among the wealthiest citizens of the south.
Buried in the obscurity of his humble school, he looked out upon the
busy world, and measured the mighty capacities of his own soul with
those whom society had placed above him. I think I see him brooding
over his position, and longing to be free, as the suffocating man
longs for the boundless air of heaven. His hour of triumph came,
and surpassed, perhaps, his own aspirations. From the schoolroom he
entered that of the court--a chance offered--a position gained--the
law his theme, he at once not only equaled, but soared even beyond the
aim of the most favored of his compeers.
The era was one of extravagance. The virgin soil of Mississippi was
pouring into the laps of her generous sons untold abundance. There
were thousands of her citizens, full of health and talent, who adorned
excesses of living by the tasteful procurements of wealth, and the
highest accomplishments of mind. Into this world Prentiss entered,
heralded by naught save his own genius. The heirs of princely
fortunes, the descendants of heroes, men of power and place, of family
pride, of national associations, were not more proud, more gallant,
than was Prentiss, for "he was reckoned among the noblest Romans of
them all."
Each step in his new fortune seemed only to elicit new qualities
for admiration. At the forum he dazzled--the jury and the judge were
confounded--the crowd carried him to the stump, and the multitude
listened as to one inspired. Fair ladies vied with each other in
waving tiny hands in token of admiration--the stolid judges of the
Supreme Court wondered at the mind of the apparent boy--even the walls
of Congress echoed forth pæans to his praise. His course was as rapid
and brilliant as that of the meteor that suddenly springs athwart the
heavens, but he was human and accomplished his task, herculean as he
was, at the price of an injured constitution.
In personal appearance Prentiss was eminently handsome, and yet
eminently manly. Although of medium height, there was that in the
carriage of his head that was astonishingly impressive. I shall never
forget him on one occasion, "in '44," when he rose at a public meeting
to reply to an antagonist worthy of his steel. His whole soul was
roused, his high smooth forehead fairly coruscated. He remained silent
for some seconds, and only _looked_. The bald eagle never glanced
so fiercely from his eyry. It seemed as if his deep blue eye would
distend until it swallowed up the thousands of his audience. For an
instant the effect was painful; he saw it and smiled, when a cheer
burst from the admiring multitude that fairly shook the earth.
His voice was clear and sweet, and could be heard at an immense
distance, and yet, to be all like Demosthenes, he had a perceptible
impediment in his speech. As a reader he had no superior. His
narration was clear and unadorned, proper sentences were subduedly
humorous, but the impressive parts were delivered with an effect that
reminded me of the elder Kean.
His imagination was unsurpassed, and the rich stores of his mind
supplied him with never-ending material, quoted and original.
The slightest allusion to anything gave him the key to all its
peculiarities if he had occasion to allude to the diamond, its bed in
the Golconda, its discovery by some poor native, its being associated
with commerce, its polish by the lapidary, its adorning the neck
of beauty, its rays brilliant and serene, its birth, its life,
its history, all flashed upon him. So with every idea in the vast
storehouse of his mind. He seemed to know all things, in mass and in
particulars, never confused, never at a loss--the hearer listened,
wondered, and dreamed. Thoughts of moment came forth as demanded, but
ten thousand other thoughts rare and beautiful, continued to bubble
up, after all effort ceased.
No man had a more delicate or subtle wit than Prentiss, or a more
Falstaffian humor when it suited his purpose. Who will ever forget the
spending of a social dinner hour with him, when his health was high
and his mind at ease? Who so lovely?--who so refined? What delight
was exhibited by sweet ladies who listened to his words! Who could
so eloquently discourse of roses and buds, of lilies and pearls, of
eyes and graces, of robes and angels, and yet never offend the most
sensitive of the sex, or call other than the blush of pleasure and
joy to the cheek? Who could, on the "public day," ascend so gracefully
from the associations of tariffs, and banks, and cotton, and sugar,
to greet the fair ladies that honored him with their presence? How
he would lean toward them, as he dwelt upon "the blessed of all God's
handiwork," compared their bright eyes to "day-stars" that lit up the
dark recesses of his own clouded imagination; and how he would revel,
like another Puck, among the rays and beams of smiles called forth by
his own happy compliments--and how he would change from all this, and
in an instant seemingly arm himself with the thunderbolts of Jove,
which he would dash with appalling sound among his antagonists, or at
principles he opposed, and yet with such a charm, with such a manner,
that these very daughters of the sunny South who had listened to his
syren-song so admiringly, would now stare, and wonder, and pallor, and
yet listen, even as one gazes over the precipice, and is fascinated at
the very nearness to destruction.
Prentiss had originally a constitution of iron; his frame was so
perfect in its organization, that, in spite of the most extraordinary
negligence of health, his muscles had all the compactness, glossiness,
and distinctiveness of one who had specially trained by diet and
exercise. It was this constitution that enabled him to accomplish
so much in so short a time. He could almost wholly discard sleep for
weeks, with apparent impunity; he could eat or starve; do anything
that would kill ordinary men, yet never feel a twinge of pain. I
saw him once amidst a tremendous political excitement; he had been
talking, arguing, dining, visiting, and traveling, without rest for
three whole days. His companions would steal away at times for sleep,
but Prentiss was like an ever-busy spirit, here, and there, and
everywhere. The morning of the fourth day came, and he was to appear
before an audience familiar with his fame, but one that had never
heard him speak; an audience critical in the last degree, he desired
to succeed, for more was depending than he had ever before had cause
to stake upon such an occasion. Many felt a fear that he would be
unprepared. I mingled in the expecting crowd: I saw ladies who had
never honored the stump with their presence struggling for seats,
counselors, statesmen, and professional men, the elite of a great
city, were gathered together. An hour before I had seen Prentiss,
still apparently ignorant of his engagement.
The time of trial came, and the remarkable man presented himself,
the very picture of buoyant health, of unbroken rest. All this had
been done _by the unyielding resolve of his will_--his triumph was
complete; high-wrought expectations were more than realized, prejudice
was demolished, professional jealousy silenced, and he descended from
the rostrum, freely accorded his proper place among the orators and
statesmen of the "Southern Metropolis."
Mr. Clay visited the South in the fall of '44, and, as he was
then candidate for the Presidency, he attracted in New Orleans, if
possible, more than usual notice. His hotel was the St. Charles;
toward noon he reached that magnificent palace. The streets presented
a vast ocean of heads, and every building commanding a view was
literally covered with human beings. The great "Statesman of the West"
presented himself to the multitude between the tall columns of the
finest portico in the world. The scene was beyond description, and of
vast interest. As the crowd swayed to and fro, a universal shout was
raised for Mr. Clay to speak; he uttered a sentence or two, waved his
hand in adieu, and escaped amidst the prevailing confusion. Prentiss
meanwhile was at a side window, evidently unconscious of being himself
noticed, gazing upon what was passing with all the delight of the
humblest spectator. Suddenly his name was announced. He attempted to
withdraw from public gaze, but his friends pushed him forward. Again
his name was shouted, hats and caps were thrown in the air, and he
was finally compelled to show himself on the portico. With remarkable
delicacy, he chose a less prominent place than that previously
occupied by Mr. Clay, although perfectly visible. He thanked his
friends for their kindness by repeated bows, and by such smiles as he
alone could give. "A speech! A speech!" thundered a thousand voices.
Prentiss lifted his hand; in an instant everything was still--then
pointing to the group that surrounded Mr. Clay, he said,
"Fellow-citizens, when the eagle is soaring in the sky, the owls
and the bats retire to their holes." And long before the shout that
followed this remark had ceased, Prentiss had disappeared amid the
multitude.
But the most extraordinary exhibition of Prentiss' powers of mind and
endurance of body, was shown while he was running for Congress. He
had the whole State to canvass, and the magnitude of the work was just
what he desired. From what I have learned from anecdotes, that canvass
must have presented some scenes combining the highest mental and
physical exertion that was ever witnessed in the world. Prentiss was
in perfect health, and in the first blush of success, and it cannot be
doubted but that his best efforts of oratory were then made, and now
live recorded only in the fading memories of his hearers. An incident
illustrative of the time is remembered, that may hear repeating.
The whole state of Mississippi was alive with excitement; for the
moment, she felt that her sovereign dignity had been trifled with,
and that her reputation demanded the return of Prentiss to Congress.
Crowds followed him from place to place, making a gala time of weeks
together. Among the shrewd worldlings who take advantage of such times
"to coin money," was the proprietor of a traveling menagerie, and he
soon found out that the multitude followed Prentiss. Getting the list
of that remarkable man's "appointments," he filled up his own, and it
was soon noticed as a remarkable coincidence, that the orator always
"arrived along with the other 'lions.'" The reason of this meeting was
discovered, and the "boys" decided that Prentiss should "next time"
speak from the top of the lion's cage. Never was the menagerie more
crowded. At the proper time, the candidate gratified his constituents,
and mounted his singular rostrum. I was told by a person, who
professed to be an eye witness, that the whole affair presented a
singular mixture of the terrible and the comical. Prentiss was, as
usual, eloquent, and, as if ignorant of the novel circumstances with
which he was surrounded, went deeply into the matter in hand, his
election. For a while the audience and the animals were quiet, the
former listening, the latter eyeing the speaker with grave intensity.
The first burst of applause electrified the menagerie; the elephant
threw his trunk into the air and echoed back the noise, while the
tigers and bears significantly growled. On went Prentiss, and as each
peculiar animal vented his rage or approbation, he most ingeniously
wrought in its habits, as a facsimile of some man or passion. In the
meanwhile, the stately king of beasts, who had been quietly treading
the mazes of his prison, became alarmed at the footsteps over
his head, and placing his mouth upon the floor of his cage, made
everything shake by his terrible roar. This, joined with the already
excited feelings of the audience, caused the ladies to shriek, and
a fearful commotion for a moment followed. Prentiss, equal to every
occasion, changed his tone and manner; he commenced a playful strain,
and introduced the fox, the jackal, and hyena, and capped the climax
by likening some well known political opponent to a grave baboon that
presided over the "cage with monkeys"; the resemblance was instantly
recognized, and bursts of laughter followed, that literally set many
into convulsions. The baboon, all unconscious of the attention he
was attracting, suddenly assumed a grimace, and then a serious face,
when Prentiss exclaimed--"I see, my fine fellow, that your feelings
are hurt by my unjust comparison, and I humbly beg your pardon."
The effect of all this may be vaguely imagined, but it cannot be
described.
Of Prentiss' power before a jury too much cannot be said. Innumerable
illustrations might be gathered up, showing that he far surpassed
any living advocate. "The trial of the Wilkinsons" might be cited,
although it was far from being one of his best efforts. Two young men,
only sons, and deeply attached as friends, quarreled, and in the mad
excitement of the moment, one of them was killed. Upon the trial, the
testimony of the mother of the deceased was so direct, that it seemed
to render "the clearing of the prisoner" hopeless. Prentiss spoke to
the witness in the blandest manner and most courtly style. The mother,
arrayed in weeds, and bowed down with sorrow, turned toward Prentiss,
and answered his inquiries with all the dignity of a perfectly
accomplished lady--she calmly uttered the truth, and every word she
spoke rendered the defense apparently more hopeless.
"Would you punish that young man with death?" said Prentiss, pointing
to the prisoner.
The questioned looked, and answered--"He has made me childless, let
the law take its course."
"And would wringing his mother's heart and hurrying her gray hairs
with sorrow into the grave, by rendering her childless, assuage your
grief?"
All present were dissolved in tears--even convulsive sobbing was heard
in the courtroom.
"No!" said the witness, with all the gushing tenderness of a
mother--"No! I would not add a sorrow to her heart, nor that of her
son!"
Admissions in the evidence followed, and hopes were uttered for
the prisoner's acquittal, that changed the whole character of the
testimony. What was a few moments before so dark, grew light, and
without the slightest act that might be construed into an unfair
advantage, in the hands of Prentiss, the witness pleaded for the
accused.
Soon after Mr. Prentiss settled in New Orleans, a meeting was held
to raise funds for the erection of a suitable monument to Franklin.
On that occasion, the lamented Wilde and the accomplished McCaleb
delivered ornate and chaste addresses upon the value of art, and the
policy of enriching New Orleans with its exhibition. At the close
of the meeting, as the audience rose to depart, some one discovered
Prentiss, and calling his name, it was echoed from all sides--he tried
to escape, but was literally carried on the stand.
As a rich specimen of off-hand eloquence, I think the address he
delivered on that occasion was unequaled. Unlike any other speech,
he had the arts to deal with, and of course the associations were of
surpassing splendor. I knew that he was ignorant of the technicalities
of art, and had paid but little attention to their study, and my
surprise was unbounded to see him, thus unexpectedly called upon,
instantly arrange in his mind ideas, and expressing facts and
illustrations that would have done honor to Burke, when dwelling upon
the sublime and beautiful. Had he been bred to the easel, or confined
to the sculptor's room, he could not have been more familiar with the
details of the studio--he painted with all the brilliancy of Titian,
and with the correctness of Raphael, while his images in marble
combined the softness of Praxiteles, and the nervous energy of Michael
Angelo. All this with Prentiss was intuition--I believe that the whole
was the spontaneous thought of the moment, the crude outlines that
floated through his mind being filled up by the intuitive teachings of
his surpassing genius. His conclusion was gorgeous--he passed Napoleon
to the summit of the Alps--his hearers saw him and his steel clad
warriors threading the snows of Mount St. Bernard, and having gained
the dizzy height, Prentiss represented "the man of destiny" looking
down upon the sunny plains of Italy, and then with a mighty swoop,
descending from the clouds and making the grasp of Empire secondary to
that of Art.
I had the melancholy pleasure of hearing his last, and, it would seem
to me, his greatest speech. Toward the close of the last Presidential
campaign, I found him in the interior of the State, endeavoring
to recruit his declining health. He had been obliged to avoid all
public speaking, and had gone far into the country to get away from
excitement. But there was a "gathering" near by his temporary home,
and he consented to be present. It was late in the evening when
he ascended the "stand," which was supported by the trunks of two
magnificent forest trees, through which the setting sun poured with
picturesque effect. The ravages of ill health were apparent upon his
face, and his high massive forehead was paler, and seemingly more
transparent than usual. His audience, some three or four hundred, was
composed in a large degree of his old and early friends. He seemed to
feel deeply, and as there was nothing to oppose, he assumed the style
of the mild and beautiful--he casually alluded to the days of his
early coming among his Southern friends--of hours of pleasure he had
massed, and of the hopes of the future. In a few moments the bustle
and confusion natural to a fatiguing day of political wrangling
ceased--one straggler after another suspended his noisy demonstration,
and gathered near the speaker. Soon a mass of silent but heart-heaving
humanity was crowded compactly before him. Had Prentiss, on that
occasion, held the very heart-strings of his auditors in his hand, he
could not have had them more in his power. For an hour he continued,
rising from one important subject to another, until the breath was
fairly suspended in the excitement. An uninterested spectator would
have supposed that he had used sorcery in thus transfixing his
auditors. While all others forgot, he noticed the day was drawing to a
close, he turned and looked toward the setting sun, and apostrophized
its fading glory--then in his most touching voice and manner,
concluded as follows:--
"Friends--That glorious orb reminds me that the day is spent, and
that I too must close. Ere we part, let me hope that it may be our
good fortune to end our days in the same splendor, and that when the
evening of life comes, we may sink to rest with the clouds that close
in on our departure, gold-tipped with the glorious effulgence of a
well-spent life!"
In conclusion, I would ask, will some historian, who can sympathize
with the noble dead, gather up the now fleeting memorials that still
live in memory, and combine them together, that future generations may
know something of the mighty mind of Prentiss.
The remains of the orator must ever be imperfect--the tone of
voice--the flashing eye--the occasion, and the mighty shout of the
multitude, cannot be impressed; but still Prentiss has left enough
in his brilliant career, if treasured up, to show posterity that he
was every inch a man. Let his fragmentary printed speeches--let the
reminiscences of his friends that treat of his power as an orator,
be brought together, and unsatisfactory as they may be, there will
be found left intrinsic value enough to accomplish the object. There
will be in the fluted column, though shattered and defaced, an Ionian
beauty that will tell unerringly of the magnificent temple that it
once adorned.
BATON ROUGE, July 9, 1850.
* * * * *
[FROM HOUSEHOLD WORDS.]