1876 Read Free Page B

detail precisely how he had destroyed Tweed and his ring, which included governors, judges, mayors, aldermen. As he spoke, Tilden’s pale, old child’s face grew flushed and the grey dull eyes suddenly reflected the lake’s blue; for an instant, he was nearly handsome in his animation.
    Gallatin and I (and a half dozen others) listened to the weak but compelling voice with fascination. But then Tilden struck; for us Europeans (yes, I am one after so many years) a peculiarly hypocritical American note. “To think,” he said to Gallatin, “what has happened to our country since your father’s day! Since the time of Jefferson!”
    Gallatin was astonished. “But surely everything is so much better now, Mr. Tilden. The country is so big, so very rich ...” This was some weeks before the panic. “Railroads everywhere. Great manufactories. Floods of cheap labour from poor old Europe. America is El Dorado now, whilst in my father’s time it was just a nation of farmers—and not very good farmers at that.”
    “You misunderstood me, Mr. Gallatin.” Tilden’s sallow cheeks now each contained a smudge of brick-coloured red. “I speak of corruption. Of judges for sale. Of public men dividing amongst themselves the people’s money. Of newspapers bought, bought by political bosses. Even the Post .”Tilden nodded gravely to me, knowing that I often wrote for that paper. “The Post took a retainer from Tweed. That’s what I mean by the change in our country, this worship of the Golden Calf, of the almighty dollar, this terrible corruption.”
    I knew Tilden for only a week, but in that time this was the nearest to passion I had heard him come. In general he was—is—a very cold fish, as they say.
    Gallatin’s black eyebrows lifted, simulating amazement. “You know, Mr. Tilden, I used to talk a great deal to my father about the early days of the republic and ... well, I do not mean to confound you, sir, but what you describe has always been the rule with us. Certainly in New York we have always given one another bribes and, whenever possible, taken the public money.”
    Was Tilden shocked? He has the lawyer’s gift of suddenly ceasing advocacy when unexpected evidence is submitted. The spots of colour left his cheeks. He added water to the splendid Rh ô ne wine in his glass. I noticed that he has a tremor of the hand like mine.
    Then, “But surely, Mr. Gallatin, all this changed when the founder of our party, when Mr. Jefferson, was elected president?”
    “Nothing ever changes, Mr. Tilden. People are people.”
    Is it a trick of my memory that at that moment the letters were brought to the table that assured Tilden of the Democratic nomination for the governorship of New York? I daresay I have moved things about in my memory. In any case, it was on that holiday in Switzerland—Tilden’s first trip to Europe—that the summons came.
    “I have no intention of being the candidate for governor.” Tilden was firm as he stood in front of his hotel—trunks, companions, porters, chasseurs all about him.
    “You must!” I said. “If not for the people, for the sake of our friend John Bigelow.”
    I got something very much like a smile on that. John Bigelow is perhaps Tilden’s only friend. In the thirties the three of us were aspiring lawyers in the city. Both Tilden and Bigelow are a few years younger than I. In those days I did not know Tilden, but I often used to see John Bigelow at the Café Français, usually in the company of my friend Fitz-Greene Halleck. I seem to recall when Halleck and I played at billiards in the back room, Bigelow—a handsome, tall youth from upstate—was moderately disapproving. Once Bigelow shyly asked me to help him write for the newspaper press, and I did.
    The ultra-Republican Times wanted to know more about my links with Tilden. “Slight. Slight,” I answered truthfully. But I pray that soon our presently slight connection will be as links of steel.
    “I have, at his request,