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             INGERSOLL, A BIOGRAPHICAL APPRECIATION

                           CHAPTER 8.

                  FROM EIGHTEEN NINETY-THREE TO
                      EIGHTEEN NINETY-SIX.

     As already evident, Ingersoll was the pronouncer of many
eulogies of the dead; but of all his contributions to what I shall
venture to term elegiac prose-poetry, none, perhaps, is more
interesting, as far as the memory of Ingersoll himself is
concerned, than the one which was made in the little town of
Dowagiac, Mich., on January 25, 1893. The family of Philo D.
Beckwith, in pursuance of an ideal which he had dearly cherished,
but which he had not yet realized at the time of his death, had
caused to be erected for the benefit of the people among whom he
had risen from poverty to fortune, in the manufacture of stoves, a
theater in which should be seen and heard only the highest and
noblest in drama and music. When Ingersoll, in the fitness of
things, came to dedicate this theater to the memory of the generous
dead, he was far less profoundly impressed by its magnificent and
luxurious interior than by its rather plain and simple exterior;
for the latter, despite its truly monumental perspective, was seen
to be scarcely as memorial of the individual philanthropist
concerned as of genius in general. Conspicuous in the entablature
of this palace of music and song, of mirth and tragedy the orator
beheld a series of medallion portraits of such of his artistic and
intellectual idols as Shakespeare, Voltaire, Paine, Wagner, and
Whitman. Nor was this all that he beheld. Mr. Beckwith had
possessed profound admiration and affection for the individual who
had done more than any other that had ever lived, to destroy
superstition; and, accordingly, beside that of Shakespeare, on the
exterior of the second memorial theater to be erected. -- the
handsomest theater of its size in the world -- had been placed a
medallion portrait of Ingersoll himself.

                               2.
     During the following year, Ingersoll published three more
original lectures: Abraham Lincoln, which, as a literary
masterpiece, ranks first after Shakespeare; which ranks second; and
About the Holy Bible.

     It is biographically interesting and important to note that
the above-mentioned lecture on Voltaire is not the one originally
written. Nor is it probably the equal of the latter, which was
prepared some twenty years earlier, and which, therefor likely
contained (though it scarcely seems possible) more verve and ardor.
Written in Peoria, it was delivered in the First Unitarian Church
of that city, -- under no slight emotional strain, as may readily
be imagined. To eulogize Voltaire from a pulpit! -- that was almost
too great a privilege. The whereabouts of the manuscript of this
lecture is unknown. The present lecture was first delivered in
Chicago, under the auspices of the Chicago Press Club, to an
audience of six thousand people, five hundred being seated on the
stage. There is in the annals of oratory no nobler, grander passage
than one which this production contains -- the one in which the
body of Voltaire rests upon the ruins of the Bastille! --

     "On reaching Paris the great procession moved along the Rue
St. Antoine. Here it paused, and for one night upon the ruins of 

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the Bastille rested the body of Voltaire -- rested in triumph, in
glory -- rested on fallen wall and broken arch, on crumbling stone
still damp with tears, on rusting chain and bar and useless bolt --
above the dungeons dark and deep, where light had faded from the
lives of men, and hope had died in breaking hearts.

     "The conqueror resting upon the conquered. -- Throned upon the
Bastille, the fallen fortress of Night, the body of Voltaire, from
whose brain had issued the Dawn."

                               3.

     Is Suicide A Sin, a short letter printed in the New York
World, was so flagrantly misunderstood and so bitterly attacked, by
clergymen and others, as to call forth from the great humanitarian
a second letter. The intense interest and excitement occasioned by
this controversy, second only to those aroused by A Christmas
Sermon, did not wholly subside for nearly four years.

     The Foundations of Faith were assailed in a lecture published
with that title in 1895.

                               4.

     The most memorable happening of that year, however, if not the
most memorable happening of all his later years, was the reunion of
the surviving members of his old war regiment, the Eleventh
Illinois Cavalry, at Elmwood, on September 5th The reunion was a
joint one, members of five other Illinois regiments taking part.
Thousands of veterans not only, but others, -- representative men
and women, -- were present. It was therefore something more than a
reunion of the maimed and scarred and gray, who, in the flush and
vigor of manhood, had borne the Stars and Stripes from Bull Run to
Appomattox, -- pathetic, memorable, and inspiring as suck a reunion
always is. Nor did its significance to Ingersoll lie solely in the
fact that he was a veteran colonel; for, in addition, he was the
honored guest, and of course the orator of the occasion.

     The greeting which was extended by the veterans to their old
commander and comrade was as touching, pathetic, and cordial as
greeting ever was -- a time for reminiscences and hearty good will;
and the greeting which was extended by citizens in general was that
of a community to one whom it loves, by whom it feels honored, and
of whom it feels proud; for Elmwood is not far from Peoria.When,
therefore, the special train bearing Ingersoll (accompanied by some
five hundred of the prominent citizens of Peoria) arrived in
Elmwood, pictures and busts of him were to be seen in all windows.
He was met at the station by a reception committee, and afterwards,
escorted by an army of veterans, he marched to the west side of the
public square. There he passed between lines of his old friends and
comrades. We're glad to see you, 'Bob,'" came the shout to him who,
in the old days, was accustomed to receive from the same source the
formal military salute. "I have attended many soldiers' reunions,"
says Colonel Clark E. Carr, "but I never attended another one when
there was so muck affection and devotion manifested by officers and
men of the regiment as was manifested for him. To them, what
mattered it whether they agreed or not in politics, or in religion?
There was their old colonel; and every man expressed in tears, 

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which he vainly endeavored to conceal, that he knew his name was
graven upon that great, generous, loving heart." As Colonel
Ingersoll was escorted to the stand from which he was to review the
parade of the veterans, he was saluted with thirteen guns from
Peoria's historic cannon.

     After the conclusion of the parade, and following certain
exercises, a part of which was the rendering of a song to
Ingersoll, composed for the occasion by Mr. E.R. Brown, the latter
introduced Ingersoll as "the greatest of living orators," referring
to Ingersoll's declaration of a quarter-century before, in Rouse's
Hall, Peoria, that thenceforth there would be "one free man in
Illinois," and expressing gratitude for what Ingersoll had since
accomplished for the freedom and happiness of mankind, by his
mighty brain, his great spirit, and his gentle heart. The
appearance of Ingersoll was the signal for a mighty shout that was
heartily joined in by every one present. It was fully ten minutes
before the cheering subsided, and as the orator attempted to speak,
it was renewed, and he was forced to wait several minutes more.
Then he began: --

     "Ladies and Gentlemen, Fellow-citizens, Old Friends and
Comrades:

     "It gives me the greatest pleasure to meet again those with
whom I became acquainted in the morning of my life. It is now
afternoon. The sun of life is slowly sinking in the west, and, as
the evening comes, nothing can be more delightful than to see again
the faces that I knew in youth.

     "When first I knew you the hair was brown; it is now white.
The lines were not quiet so deep, and the eyes were not quiet so
dim. Mingled with this pleasure is sadness, -- sadness for those
who have passed away -- for the dead."

     These are the first links of the golden chain with which, for
an hour and a half, he held the vast audience before him. Rejoicing
at the good fortune of his hearers in being citizens of "the first
and grandest Republic ever established upon the face of the earth,"
he praised, in words impassioned and beautiful, the deeds of her
founders; presented, in graphic panorama, her political,
agricultural, industrial, financial, and intellectual progress; and
concluded with this touching tribute and farewell to those of her
defenders who were present: --

     "And what shall I say to you, survives of the death-filled
days? To you, my comrades, to you whom I have known in the great
days, in the time when the heart beat fast and the blood flowed
strong; in the days of high hope -- what shall I say? All I can say
is that my heart goes out to you, one and all. To you who bared
your bosoms to the storms of war; to you who left loved ones, to
die if need be, for the sacred cause. May you live long in the land
you helped to save; may the winter of your age be as green as
spring, as full of blossoms as summer, as generous as autumn, and
may you, surrounded by plenty, with your wives at your sides and
your grandchildren on your knees, live long. And when at last the
fires of life burn low; When you enter the deepening dusk of the 


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last of many, many happy days; when your brave hearts beat weak and
slow, may the memory of your splendid deeds; deeds that freed your
fellow-men; deeds that kept your country on the map of the world;
deeds that kept the flag of the Republic in the air -- may the
memory of these deeds fill your souls with peace and perfect joy.
Let it console you to know that you are not to be forgotten.
Centuries hence your story will be told in art and song, and upon
your honored graves flowers will be lovingly laid by millions of
men and women now unborn."

     Julius Caesar was both a great soldier and a great orator; but
if he ever addressed to his veteran legions a passage as eloquent
as this, it was not preserved to thrill the hearts and dim the eyes
of posterity.

                               5.

     In Chapter 1, it was stated, with regret, that Ingersoll left
no autobiography of the ordinary kind It is here stated, with
pleasure, that he did leave one of the extraordinary kind -- an
autobiography of his mental life. To be sure, it lacks much in that
comprehensiveness and exhaustiveness of detail, -- that scorching
self-analysis, -- which are desirable in such a work. It does not
favorably compare in these respects with the Discourse on Method,
by Descartes, the Confessions of Rousseau, nor the Autobiography of
Spencer. We may be certain, however, that it possesses, page for
page, fully as high a literary and esthetics value as any of these,
while it is, at the same time, far from deficient in the more
substantial qualities of intellect.

     Why I Am An Agnostic, a lecture, published in 1896, gives a
succinct, clear, and interesting account of Ingersoll's literary
and philosophical evolution. It is a charming and fascinating story
of his intellectual voyage, from the shifting sands and changeful
mists of boyhood's mental shore, across life's perilous ocean, to
the rock-like convictions that he in the calm and silvered harbor
of age. Never did a group of simple folk around a returned
navigator of the Middle Ages listen with more enthralled attention
to tales of adventure among the strange inhabitants of mysterious
lands in far-off seas than did the most enlightened audiences at
the close of the nineteenth century to this story of Ingersoll's
mental voyage.

     Why I Am An Agnostic was the crowning work of Ingersoll's
anti-theological career. It gave, in a coherent and unified form,
as no other work had done, a frank and lucid account of the
multitudinous factors and influences that had shaped his mental
course -- an analytic description of the foundation on which he
finally stood. As you read the first pages of this unique mental
autobiography, -- this confession of "the Agnostic faith," -- here
is presented, in unmistakable clearness, the rural theology of
fifty years ago. You view all its trappings and paraphernalia,
become sensible of all its auxiliaries, and breathe the close and
stifling atmosphere that hangs like a pall over the credulous
multitude. "Environment is a sculptor -- a painter," says
Ingersoll; and so it is -- with most of us. Not so with Ingersoll
himself. In the very environment which I have described, -- before 


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the sombrous background of crude and provincial theology, -- you
watch, in Why I Am An Agnostic, the unfolding, the development, the
ascending struggle, the enfranchisement, the triumph, of a great
mind. Nor is the goal attained a merely negative one. You perceive
not only the reasons for doubt, but the reasons for belief. You are
shown not only why Ingersoll did not believe what others believed,
but why he believed what he did believe; and few other great men
have believed things more profoundly, or more profound things, than
he.

                               6.

     On April 12th (1896), at the Columbia Theater Chicago, he
addressed the Militant Church on How To Reform Mankind. In this
address, great in wisdom, in its profound insight into the depths
of things; great in its love of humanity, -- its pity for those who
toil, -- for the oppressed, the criminal the despised; great in its
epigram, its reasoning, its beauty, its eloquence, he gave
expression to many of the reformatory ideas which we shall note in
presenting, in subsequent chapters, his domestic and sociological
teachings.

                               7.

     During the political campaign of this year, he again gave his
mighty eloquence to the cause of Republicanism. And he gave
something more -- something more, even, than any other American
could give: he gave his moral and intellectual prestige, a quality
which, in the minds of millions of his fellow-citizens, was fully
equal to his eloquence. For, whatever may have been the opinion of
a few individuals twenty years before, it had become generally and
definitely settled in 1896, that Robert G. Ingersoll was an
absolutely hones man; that he was in no sense a politician; that he
wanted nothing from the people; that it was beyond the power of any
party to do him either harm or honor; and that, therefore, if he
classed himself in the ranks of the Republican party, it was
because that party was going in his direction, that is, because it
stood, in the main, for those political principles which he
sincerely believed would bring "the greatest happiness for the
greatest number" in this Republic. On such a foundation, -- with
the undisputed scepter of Pulymnia in his hand, and the wreath of
integrity upon his brow, -- he was able to throw into the political
balance greater weight than any other extra-political individual
beneath the flag.

     In this connection, the following extract from a letter of
September 27, 1896, from Mr. Frank Gilbert, then political editor
of the Chicago Inter-Ocean, is of interest: --

     "I am delighted that you are to give us so many speeches. * *
* I want to see the silver craze, not the man Bryan, honored with
a regular Napoleonic tomb. Pile the stones up until there can be no
body-snatching four years hence! In fact, it is high time for the
American people to put a stop to the jeopardizing of business for
campaign purposes. * * * That is the reason I want your voice
heard. Of course there is a personal element too. I just want the 



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country to realize that the orator of orators still lives, and that
the genius which flashed out at Cincinnati has lost none of its
fire."

     On October 8th and 29th, Ingersoll delivered in Chicago and
New york, respectively, what has since been termed The Chicago and
New York Gold Speech.

     In Chicago, the meeting was held in a huge tent, near the
corner of Sacramento Avenue and Lake Street. It was filled from
center-pole to circumference. by an audience of over twenty
thousand, thousands more being unable to gain admittance.

     In presenting the orator, the chairman, Mr. William P. McCabe,
according to the Chicago Inter-Ocean, said, in part: --

     "My duty is to introduce to you one whose big heart and big
brain are filled with love and patriotic care for the things that
concern the country he fought for and loves so well."

     "'This world will see but one Ingersoll,'" said The Inter-
Ocean, in the same report, quoting the spontaneous declaration of
a celebrated statesman, in 1876, who had listened to the "Plumed
Knight Speech." The Inter-Ocean continued: --

     "'That same statement, in thought, emotion, or vocal
expression, emanated from upward of twenty thousand citizens last
night who heard the eloquent and magic Ingersoll * * * as he
expounded the living gospel of true Republicanism.

     "the old war-horse, silvered by long years of faithful service
to his country, aroused the same all-pervading enthusiasm as he did
in the campaigns of Grant and Hayes and Garfield.

     "He has lost not one whit, not one iota, of his striking
physical presence, his profound reasoning, his convincing logic,
his rollicking wit, grandiloquence -- in fine, all the graces of
the orator of old, reinforced by increased patriotism and the ardor
of the call to battle for his country, are still his in the fullest
measure.

     "Ingersoll in his powerful speech at Cincinnati, spoke in
behalf of a friend; last night he pled for his country. In 1876 he
eulogized a man; last night, twenty years afterward, he upheld the
principles of democratic government. Such was the difference in his
theme; the logic, the eloquence, of his utterances, was the more
profound in the same ratio.

     "He came to the ground-floor of human existence and talked as
man to man. His patriotism, be it religion, sentiment, or that
lofty spirit inseparable from man's soul, is his life. Last night
he sought to inspire those who heard him with the same loyalty, and
he succeeded.

     "Those passionate outbursts of eloquence, the wit that fairly
scintillated, the logic as inexorable as heaven's decrees, his rich
rhetoric and immutable facts driven straight at his hearers with 


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the strength of bullets, aroused applause that came as spontaneous
as sunlight."

     This speech, published in full in the same issue of The Inter-
Ocean, caused the sale of "more than forty thousand extra copies of
that issue" of that paper alone (says The Inter-Ocean of July 22,
1899, editorially); "and the demand was only cut off by the
publication of the speech, in pamphlet form, by the Republican
State Central Committee. Fully one hundred thousand copies of the
pamphlet were sent out by the committee, in response to calls from
all over the country." How such popularity would delight the
publisher of even your "best seller"!

     Ingersoll's appearance in New York marked the final rally of
the campaign there. Admission was by ticket only; but the fact that
the rarest of oratorical viands and sparkling cordials from the
same source and vintage as those which had thrilled the veins of
the populace in 1876 were again to be served, brought together an
audience which, not only because of size, but because of
exclusiveness and intelligence, must have made even Ingersoll
proud. Carnegie Music Hall, from the rear of its stage to the last
row of seats in its deep gallery, was crowded to its utmost
capacity. As to enthusiasm, if we accept the well-grounded dictum
of New Yorkers, that audiences in Carnegie Hall are not noted for
this quality, then we must infer that New York audiences sometimes
forget their surroundings; for the author can testify, from
personal knowledge, that this audience was as enthusiastic as it
was large and intelligent.

     Referring to the orator's first sentence, a report states that
"the assembly was his from that instant." This is only half the
truth. The ovation with which he was greeted as he entered the
hall, the many impatient cries, and the "Three cheers for
Ingersoll!" unmistakably showed that "the assembly was his" long
before he began to speak, if not long before he arrived. Indeed,
there is little doubt that Ingersoll as a presidential candidate
would have received more votes from that audience than did William
McKinley. It was an Ingersoll assembly; he was not only the orator,
but the personality, of the occasion. And whenever those who were
present recall his appearance that evening, -- sitting in a huge
arm-chair on the stage, and leisurely, nonchalantly stroking the
corresponding arm of the chair with his right hand, as he cast
upward and to the front an occasional glance at the preceding
speakers and the audience, -- they will recall a description of
another picture, -- a picture of the great Humboldt, -- a
description by Ingersoll himself: --

     "I have seen a picture of the old man, sitting upon a mountain
side -- above him the eternal snow -- below, the smiling valley of
the tropics, filled with vine and palm; his chin upon his barest,
his eyes deep, thoughtful and calm -- his forehead majestic --
grander than the mountain upon which he sat -- crowned with the
snow of his whitened hair, he looked the intellectual autocrat of
this world."

     But that actual picture on the platform, which this
description of a picture on the mountain-side so vividly recalls, 
was soon disturbed. "There is no intelligent audience in the

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civilized world to which it would be necessary to introduce Robert
G. Ingersoll," said the chairman, Mr. John E. Milholland; and the
assembly burst into a pandemonium of vociferous approval and
welcome, as the orator arose and advanced slowly, impressively, to
the front of the stage. After a moment, the tremendous height and
volume of applause not receding, Ingersoll raised his hand, and the
applause diminished, -- so much so that a lesser orator might have
commenced to speak. But Ingersoll did not risk a word: he stood
calm and serene. When, after several minutes, all ears were stopped
with oppressive silence, and he felt that all eyes were centered
upon him, he said: --

     "Ladies and Gentlemen: This is OUR country. The legally
expressed will of the majority is the supreme law of the land. WE
are responsible for what our Government does. We cannot excuse
ourselves because of the act of some king, or the opinions of
nobles. WE are the kings. WE are the nobles. WE are the aristocracy
of America, and when our government does RIGHT we are honored, and
when our Government does WRONG the brand of shame is on the
American brow."

     The applause that followed this utterance, in which I have
endeavored to indicate, with capitals, the emphasis, rendered it
almost as difficult for the orator to speak his next sentence as it
had been for him to begin his first. He had struck with certain and
virile hand the fundamental chords of true republicanism -- of true
democracy -- and the heartstrings of every auditor were vibrating
in unison with them.

     Ingersoll had spoken only a few minutes when, in complete
abandon to the subject, he began to indulge his habit of walking
slowly, leisurely, from side to side. In almost the first of his
trips, he encountered the traditional speaker's stand. Seizing it
with his own hands, he carried it several paces toward the back of
the stage, or as far as the front row of chairs thereon would
permit. This afforded the free field which was so essentially a
part of his theory and practice of oratory. In the latter, all
emphasis, tone, gesture, came "from the inside" -- from thought,
sentiment, emotion.

     Once, during this address, he paused suddenly, and, with a
look of earnest appeal to the audience, exclaimed: --

     "Oh, I forgot to ask the question, 'If the Government can make
money why should it collect taxes?'

     "Let us be honest. Here is a poor man with a little yoke of
cattle, cultivating forty acres of stony ground, working like a
slave in the heat of summer, in the cold blasts of winter, and the
Government makes him pay ten dollars taxes, when, according to
those gentlemen, it could issue a one-hundred-thousand-dollar bill
in a second. Issue the bill and give the fellow with the cattle a
rest. Is it possible for the mind to conceive anything more absurd
then that the Government can make money?"

     At another point, Ingersoll gave another example, -- a
strikingly beautiful one, -- of his practice of suiting the outward


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manner to the inward thought and feeling in oratory. In
illustration of his statement that everything is not to be measured
by dollars and cents, -- that "a thing is worth, sometimes, the
thought that is in it, sometimes the genius," -- he said: --

     "Here is a man buys a little piece of linen for forty-five
cents, he buys a few paints for fifteen cents, and a few brushes,
and he paints a picture; just a little one; a picture, maybe, of a
cottage with a dear old woman, white hair, serene forehead and
satisfied eyes; at the corner a few hollyhocks in bloom -- maybe a
tree in blossom, and as you listen you seem to hear the songs of
birds -- the hum of bees, and your childhood all comes back to you
as you look. You feel the dewy grass beneath your bare feet once
again, and you go back until the dear old woman on the porch is
young and fair. There is a soul there. Genius has done its work.
And the little picture is worth five, ten, maybe fifty thousand
dollars. All the result of labor and genius."

     At the words "and he paints a picture," Ingersoll, having just
turned to face the left, fixed his gaze steadily on the wall, as an
imaginary canvas, gracefully executing with the right hand the
motions of an artist before an easel. As he uttered, in exquisitely
modulated tones, the clause "and you go back until the dear old
woman on the porch is young and fair," many of his hearers were
moved to tears; and when the last word gave the final touch to the
painting, there were numerous expressions, both voiced and mute, of
astonishment and delight. Not that this rather colloquial passage
is considered artistically worthy of comparison with any of
Ingersoll's loftiest inspirations. For it produced its effect
largely by appealing, through a masterly delivery, to familiar
associations, comparing with his really sublime productions in
about the same ratio as do the music of Old Folks At Home and of
Die Walkure. It is, however, just such a picture as one would have
expected Ingersoll to paint that night: for he was dealing with
familiar things; and he spoke "as man to man." And with what
consummate ease! For an hour and a half, -- as though it were
pastime, -- he handled the three problems of "money," " the
tariff," "government," as easily as the most skilful juggler keeps
only as many baubles in the air. The applause was almost
continuous.

     Whatever disappointments or delights may have been, or may be,
the lot of other visitors to Carnegie Music Hall, those who were
present there during the evening of October 29, 1896, will not
forget how imposingly and impressively Robert G. Ingersoll filled
the stage in his last political speech.


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