{
  "schema": "tga.work.v1",
  "identifier": "dresden:vol-12:tribute-to-roscoe-conkling",
  "slug": "tribute-to-roscoe-conkling",
  "title": "A Tribute to Roscoe Conkling",
  "subtitle": "Memorial address to the New York legislature, May 9, 1888.",
  "excerpt": "The great memorial address to the New York State Legislature on the death of Roscoe Conkling — one of Ingersoll's longest and most celebrated eulogies.",
  "year": 1888,
  "volume": 12,
  "category": "Tribute",
  "author": {
    "name": "Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "wikidata": "Q360326",
    "viaf": "44331023"
  },
  "isPartOf": {
    "title": "The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "edition": "Dresden Edition",
    "publisher": "C. P. Farrell",
    "year": 1900
  },
  "license": "https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/",
  "url": "https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/tribute-to-roscoe-conkling/",
  "wordCount": 3184,
  "body": "A Tribute to Roscoe Conkling\n    Delivered before the New York State Legislature, at Albany,\n    N. Y, May 9,1888.\n\nROSCOE CONKLING—a great man, an orator, a statesman, a lawyer, a\ndistinguished citizen of the Republic, in the zenith of his fame and\npower has reached his journey's end; and we are met, here in the city of\nhis birth, to pay our tribute to his worth and work. He earned and held\na proud position in the public thought. He stood for independence, for\ncourage, and above all for absolute integrity, and his name was known\nand honored by many millions of his fellow-men.\n\nThe literature of many lands is rich with the tributes that gratitude,\nadmiration and love have paid to the great and honored dead. These\ntributes disclose the character of nations, the ideals of the human\nrace. In them we find the estimates of greatness—the deeds and lives\nthat challenged praise and thrilled the hearts of men.\n\nIn the presence of death, the good man judges as he would be judged. He\nknows that men are only fragments—that the greatest walk in shadow, and\nthat faults and failures mingle with the lives of all.\n\nIn the grave should be buried the prejudices and passions born of\nconflict. Charity should hold the scales in which are weighed the deeds\nof men. Peculiarities, traits born of locality and surroundings—these\nare but the dust of the race—these are accidents, drapery, clothes,\nfashions, that have nothing to do with the man except to hide his\ncharacter. They are the clouds that cling to mountains. Time gives us\nclearer vision. That which was merely local fades away. The words of\nenvy are forgotten, and all there is of sterling worth remains. He who\nwas called a partisan is a patriot. The revolutionist and the outlaw are\nthe founders of nations, and he who was regarded as a scheming, selfish\npolitician becomes a statesman, a philosopher, whose words and deeds\nshed light.\n\nFortunate is that nation great enough to know the great.\n\nWhen a great man dies—one who has nobly fought the battle of a life,\nwho has been faithful to every trust, and has uttered his highest,\nnoblest thought—one who has stood proudly by the right in spite of jeer\nand taunt, neither stopped by foe nor swerved by friend—in honoring\nhim, in speaking words of praise and love above his dust, we pay a\ntribute to ourselves.\n\nHow poor this world would be without its graves, without the memories of\nits mighty dead. Only the voiceless speak forever.\n\nIntelligence, integrity and courage are the great pillars that support\nthe State.\n\nAbove all, the citizens of a free nation should honor the brave\nand independent man—the man of stainless integrity, of will and\nintellectual force. Such men are the Atlases on whose mighty shoulders\nrest the great fabric of the Republic. Flatterers, cringers, crawlers,\ntime-servers are the dangerous citizens of a democracy. They who gain\napplause and power by pandering to the mistakes, the prejudices and\npassions of the multitude, are the enemies of liberty.\n\nWhen the intelligent submit to the clamor of the many, anarchy begins\nand the Republic reaches the edge of chaos. Mediocrity, touched with\nambition, flatters the base and calumniates the great, while the true\npatriot, who will do neither, is often sacrificed.\n\nIn a government of the people a leader should be a teacher—he should\ncarry the torch of truth.\n\nMost people are the slaves of habit—followers of custom—believers in\nthe wisdom of the past—and were it not for brave and splendid souls,\n\"the dust of antique time would lie unswept, and mountainous error be\ntoo highly heaped for truth to overpeer.\" Custom is a prison, locked\nand barred by those who long ago were dust, the keys of which are in the\nkeeping of the dead.\n\nNothing is grander than when a strong, intrepid man breaks chains,\nlevels walls and breasts the many-headed mob like some great cliff that\nmeets and mocks the innumerable billows of the sea.\n\nThe politician hastens to agree with the majority—insists that their\nprejudice is patriotism, that their ignorance is wisdom;—not that\nhe loves them, but because he loves himself. The statesman, the\nreal reformer, points out the mistakes of the multitude, attacks the\nprejudices of his countrymen, laughs at their follies, denounces\ntheir cruelties, enlightens and enlarges their minds and educates the\nconscience—not because he loves himself, but because he loves and\nserves the right and wishes to make his country great and free.\n\nWith him defeat is but a spur to further effort. He who refuses to\nstoop, who cannot be bribed by the promise of success, or the fear of\nfailure—who walks the highway of the right, and in disaster stands\nerect, is the only victor. Nothing is more despicable than to reach fame\nby crawling,—position by cringing.\n\nWhen real history shall be written by the truthful and the wise, these\nmen, these kneelers at the shrines of chance and fraud, these brazen\nidols worshiped once as gods, will be the very food of scorn, while\nthose who bore the burden of defeat, who earned and kept their\nself-respect, who would not bow to man or men for place or power, will\nwear upon their brows the laurel mingled with the oak.\n\nRoscoe Conkling was a man of superb courage.\n\nHe not only acted without fear, but he had that fortitude of soul that\nbears the consequences of the course pursued without complaint. He was\ncharged with being proud. The charge was true—he was proud. His knees\nwere as inflexible as the \"unwedgeable and gnarled oak,\" but he was\nnot vain. Vanity rests on the opinion of others—pride, on our own. The\nsource of vanity is from without—of pride, from within. Vanity is a\nvane that turns, a willow that bends, with every breeze—pride is\nthe oak that defies the storm. One is cloud—the other rock. One is\nweakness—the other strength.\n\nThis imperious man entered public life in the dawn of the\nreformation—at a time when the country needed men of pride, of\nprinciple and courage. The institution of slavery had poisoned all\nthe springs of power. Before this crime ambition fell upon its\nknees,—politicians, judges, clergymen, and merchant-princes bowed low\nand humbly, with their hats in their hands. The real friend of man was\ndenounced as the enemy of his country—the real enemy of the human race\nwas called a statesman and a patriot. Slavery was the bond and pledge of\npeace, of union, and national greatness. The temple of American liberty\nwas finished—the auction-block was the corner-stone.\n\nIt is hard to conceive of the utter demoralization, of the political\nblindness and immorality, of the patriotic dishonesty, of the\ncruelty and degradation of a people who supplemented the incomparable\nDeclaration of Independence with the Fugitive Slave Law.\n\nThink of the honored statesmen of that ignoble time who wallowed in this\nmire and who, decorated with dripping filth, received the plaudits of\ntheir fellow-men. The noble, the really patriotic, were the victims of\nmobs, and the shameless were clad in the robes of office.\n\nBut let us speak no word of blame—let us feel that each one acted\naccording to his light—according to his darkness.\n\nAt last the conflict came. The hosts of light and darkness prepared\nto meet upon the fields of war. The question was presented: Shall the\nRepublic be slave or free? The Republican party had triumphed at the\npolls. The greatest man in our history was President elect. The victors\nwere appalled—they shrank from the great responsibility of success. In\nthe presence of rebellion they hesitated—they offered to return the\nfruits of victory. Hoping to avert war they were willing that slavery\nshould become immortal. An amendment to the Constitution was proposed,\nto the effect that no subsequent amendment should ever be made that in\nanyway should interfere with the right of man to steal his fellow-men.\n\nThis, the most marvelous proposition ever submitted to a Congress of\ncivilized men, received in the House an overwhelming majority, and the\nnecessary two-thirds in the Senate. The Republican party, in the moment\nof its triumph, deserted every principle for which it had so gallantly\ncontended, and with the trembling hands of fear laid its convictions on\nthe altar of compromise.\n\nThe Old Guard, numbering but sixty-five in the House, stood as firm\nas the three hundred at Thermopylae. Thad-deus Stevens—as maliciously\nright as any other man was ever wrong—refused to kneel. Owen Lovejoy,\nremembering his brother's noble blood, refused to surrender, and on the\nedge of disunion, in the shadow of civil war, with the air filled with\nsounds of dreadful preparation, while the Republican party was retracing\nits steps, Roscoe Conkling voted No. This puts a wreath of glory on his\ntomb. From that vote to the last moment of his life he was a champion of\nequal rights, staunch and stalwart.\n\nFrom that moment he stood in the front rank. He never wavered and he\nnever swerved. By his devotion to principle—his courage, the splendor\nof his diction,—by his varied and profound knowledge, his conscientious\ndevotion to the great cause, and by his intellectual scope and grasp, he\nwon and held the admiration of his fellow-men.\n\nDisasters in the field, reverses at the polls, did not and could not\nshake his courage or his faith. He knew the ghastly meaning of defeat.\nHe knew that the great ship that slavery sought to strand and wreck was\nfreighted with the world's sublimest hope.\n\nHe battled for a nation's life—for the rights of slaves—the dignity\nof labor, and the liberty of all. He guarded with a father's care the\nrights of the hunted, the hated and despised. He attacked the savage\nstatutes of the reconstructed States with a torrent of invective, scorn\nand execration. He was not satisfied until the freedman was an American\nCitizen—clothed with every civil right—until the Constitution was his\nshield—until the ballot was his sword.\n\nAnd long after we are dead, the colored man in this and other lands will\nspeak his name in reverence and love. Others wavered, but he stood\nfirm; some were false, but he was proudly true—fearlessly faithful unto\ndeath.\n\nHe gladly, proudly grasped the hands of colored men who stood with him\nas makers of our laws, and treated them as equals and as friends. The\ncry of \"social equality\" coined and uttered by the cruel and the base,\nwas to him the expression of a great and splendid truth. He knew that no\nman can be the equal of the one he robs—that the intelligent and unjust\nare not the superiors of the ignorant and honest—and he also felt, and\nproudly felt, that if he were not too great to reach the hand of help\nand recognition to the slave, no other Senator could rightfully refuse.\n\nWe rise by raising others—and he who stoops above the fallen, stands\nerect.\n\nNothing can be grander than to sow the seeds of noble thoughts and\nvirtuous deeds—to liberate the bodies and the souls of men—to earn\nthe grateful homage of a race—and then, in life's last shadowy hour,\nto know that the historian of Liberty will be compelled to write your\nname.\n\nThere are no words intense enough,—with heart enough—to express my\nadmiration for the great and gallant souls who have in every age and\nevery land upheld the right, and who have lived and died for freedom's\nsake.\n\nIn our lives have been the grandest years that man has lived, that Time\nhas measured by the flight of worlds.\n\nThe history of that great Party that let the oppressed go free—that\nlifted our nation from the depths of savagery to freedom's cloudless\nheights, and tore with holy hands from every law the words that\nsanctified the cruelty of man, is the most glorious in the annals of our\nrace. Never before was there such a moral exaltation—never a party with\na purpose so pure and high. It was the embodied conscience of a nation,\nthe enthusiasm of a people guided by wisdom, the impersonation of\njustice; and the sublime victory achieved loaded even the conquered with\nall the rights that freedom can bestow.\n\nRoscoe Conkling was an absolutely honest man. Honesty is the oak around\nwhich all other virtues cling. Without that they fall, and groveling\ndie in weeds and dust. He believed that a nation should discharge its\nobligations. He knew that a promise could not be made often enough, or\nemphatic enough, to take the place of payment. He felt that the promise\nof the Government was the promise of every citizen—that a national\nobligation was a personal debt, and that no possible combination of\nwords and pictures could take the place of coin. He uttered the splendid\ntruth that \"the higher obligations among men are not set down in writing\nsigned and sealed, but reside in honor.\" He knew that repudiation was\nthe sacrifice of honor—the death of the national soul. He knew that\nwithout character, without integrity, there is no wealth, and that\nbelow poverty, below bankruptcy, is the rayless abyss of repudiation.\nHe upheld the sacredness of contracts, of plighted national faith, and\nhelped to save and keep the honor of his native land. This adds another\nlaurel to his brow.\n\nHe was the ideal representative, faithful and incorruptible. He believed\nthat his constituents and his country were entitled to the fruit of\nhis experience, to his best and highest thought. No man ever held the\nstandard of responsibility higher than he. He voted according to his\njudgment, his conscience. He made no bargains—he neither bought nor\nsold.\n\nTo correct evils, abolish abuses and inaugurate reforms, he believed was\nnot only the duty, but the privilege, of a legislator. He neither sold\nnor mortgaged himself. He was in Congress during the years of vast\nexpenditure, of war and waste—when the credit of the nation was loaned\nto individuals—when claims were thick as leaves in June, when the\namendment of a statute, the change of a single word, meant millions, and\nwhen empires were given to corporations. He stood at the summit of his\npower—peer of the greatest—a leader tried and trusted. He had the\ntastes of a prince, the fortune of a peasant, and yet he never swerved.\nNo corporation was great enough or rich enough to purchase him. His vote\ncould not be bought \"for all the sun sees, or the close earth wombs, or\nthe profound seas hide.\" His hand was never touched by any bribe, and\non his soul there never was a sordid stain. Poverty was his priceless\ncrown.\n\nAbove his marvelous intellectual gifts—above all place he ever\nreached,—above the ermine he refused,—rises his integrity like some\ngreat mountain peak—and there it stands, firm as the earth beneath,\npure as the stars above.\n\nHe was a great lawyer. He understood the frame-work, the anatomy, the\nfoundations of law; was familiar with the great streams and currents and\ntides of authority.\n\nHe knew the history of legislation—the principles that have\nbeen settled upon the fields of war. He knew the maxims,—those\ncrystallizations of common sense, those hand-grenades of argument. He\nwas not a case-lawyer—a decision index, or an echo; he was original,\nthoughtful and profound. He had breadth and scope, resource, learning,\nlogic, and above all, a sense of justice. He was painstaking and\nconscientious—anxious to know the facts—preparing for every attack,\nready for every defence. He rested only when the end was reached. During\nthe contest, he neither sent nor received a flag of truce. He was\ntrue to his clients—making their case his. Feeling responsibility, he\nlistened patiently to details, and to his industry there were only the\nlimits of time and strength. He was a student of the Constitution. He\nknew the boundaries of State and Federal jurisdiction, and no man\nwas more familiar with those great decisions that are the peaks and\npromontories, the headlands and the beacons, of the law.\n\nHe was an orator,—logical, earnest, intense and picturesque. He laid\nthe foundation with care, with accuracy and skill, and rose by \"cold\ngradation and well balanced form\" from the corner-stone of statement\nto the domed conclusion. He filled the stage. He satisfied the eye—the\naudience was his. He had that indefinable thing called presence. Tall,\ncommanding, erect—ample in speech, graceful in compliment, Titanic\nin denunciation, rich in illustration, prodigal of comparison and\nmetaphor—and his sentences, measured and rhythmical, fell like music on\nthe enraptured throng.\n\nHe abhorred the Pharisee, and loathed all conscientious fraud. He had a\nprofound aversion for those who insist on putting base motives back\nof the good deeds of others. He wore no mask. He knew his friends—his\nenemies knew him.\n\nHe had no patience with pretence—with patriotic reasons for unmanly\nacts. He did his work and bravely spoke his thought.\n\nSensitive to the last degree, he keenly felt the blows and stabs of the\nenvious and obscure—of the smallest, of the weakest—but the greatest\ncould not drive him from conviction's field. He would not stoop to\nask or give an explanation. He left his words and deeds to justify\nthemselves.\n\nHe held in light esteem a friend who heard with half-believing ears the\nslander of a foe. He walked a highway of his own, and kept the company\nof his self-respect. He would not turn aside to avoid a foe—to greet or\ngain a friend.\n\nIn his nature there was no compromise. To him there were but two\npaths—the right and wrong. He was maligned, misrepresented and\nmisunderstood—but he would not answer. He knew that character speaks\nlouder far than any words. He was as silent then as he is now—and his\nsilence, better than any form of speech, refuted every charge.\n\nHe was an American—proud of his country, that was and ever will be\nproud of him. He did not find perfection only in other lands. He did\nnot grow small and shrunken, withered and apologetic, in the presence\nof those upon whom greatness had been thrust by chance. He could not\nbe overawed by dukes or lords, nor flattered into vertebrate-less\nsubserviency by the patronizing smiles of kings. In the midst of\nconventionalities he had the feeling of suffocation. He believed in the\nroyalty of man, in the sovereignty of the citizen, and in the matchless\ngreatness of this Republic.\n\nHe was of the classic mould—a figure from the antique world. He had\nthe pose of the great statues—the pride and bearing of the intellectual\nGreek, of the conquering Roman, and he stood in the wide free air as\nthough within his veins there flowed the blood of a hundred kings.\n\nAnd as he lived he died. Proudly he entered the darkness—or the\ndawn—that we call death. Unshrinkingly he passed beyond our horizon,\nbeyond the twilight's purple hills, beyond the utmost reach of human\nharm or help—to that vast realm of silence or of joy where the\ninnumerable dwell, and he has left with us his wealth of thought and\ndeed—the memory of a brave, imperious, honest man, who bowed alone to\ndeath.\n"
}