A Biography of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, by Wm. C. Beecher and Rev. Samuel Scoville

“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 Engagements had been cancelled, invitations withdrawn, and he spoke of the prejudice and repugnance with which he was everywhere met as indescribable.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.

“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.

“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.

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.