Adam I P Smith - Abraham Lincoln

For Rosie, Eleanor & Lucy

Thank you to Richard Carwardine, David Sim, Daniel Peart and Graham Peck, and my editor Tony Morris, all of whom read the text and made wise suggestions. I am grateful to The History Press for giving me the opportunity to write my Lincoln in a form that was highly congenial to me.

Contents

His structure was loose and leathery; his body was shrunk and shrivelled; he had dark skin, dark hair, and looked woe-struck His walk was undulatory catching and pocketing time, weariness and pain, all up and down his person, and thus preventing them from locating.

Herndon, William & Weik, Jesse W., Herndons Lincoln, Wilson, Douglas L. & Davis, Rodney O. (eds) (University of Illinois Press, 2006), p. 351

Leo Tolstoy was a great teller of tales. Once while travelling in the Caucuses, he told a reporter from the New York World in 1909, he happened to be the guest of a tribal chief, who, living far away from civilized life in the mountains, had but a fragmentary and childish comprehension of the world and its history. The fingers of civilization had never reached him nor his tribe, and all life beyond his native valleys was a dark mystery. Gathering his sons and neighbours around him a score of wild looking riders sons of the wilderness the chief asked Tolstoy to tell them about the great men of the world. I spoke at first, recalled Tolstoy, of our Czars and their victories; then I spoke of the greatest military leaders. My talk seemed to impress them greatly. The story of Napoleon was so interesting to them that I had to tell them every detail, as, for instance, how his hands looked, how tall he was, who made his guns and pistols and the colour of his horse. Yet this was not enough. But you have not told us a syllable about the greatest general and greatest ruler of the world, said the chief gravely. We want to know something about him. He was a hero. He spoke with a voice of thunder; he laughed like the sunrise and his deeds were as strong as the rock and as sweet as the fragrance of roses. The angels appeared to his mother and predicted that the son whom she would conceive would become the greatest the stars had ever seen. He was so great that he even forgave the crimes of his greatest enemies and shook brotherly hands with those who had plotted against his life. His name was Lincoln and the country in which he lived is called America, which is so far away that if a youth should journey to reach it he would be an old man when he arrived. Tell us of that man.

What are we to make of this story? Why did it sound plausible to people who read it? First, it reminds us that Lincolns image has transcended the historical reality of the flesh-and-blood man. He matters to us today almost as much for what his image has come to mean as for what he achieved in his lifetime. Second, Tolstoys story is evidence that Lincoln in so many ways the quintessential American figure is also a global figure. The America Lincoln represents is universal: a place and an idea that matters to non-Americans as well. He embodies a good America, defined in opposition to its imperialism or materialism. It was, after all, Lincoln who spoke about his struggle to defeat the Confederacy in the Civil War as the battle to ensure that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.

Tolstoys Lincoln story suggests that Lincoln has been a figure in world history not just because of what he did but also because of what, or who, he seems to be. This brings us to a paradox. For all that has been written about Lincoln, he remains somehow unknowable. The facts of his life are clear enough. We have an eight-volume set of his writings and thousands of items of incoming correspondence, freely searchable on the Library of Congress website. His face is chiselled into Mount Rushmore; it is on the 1 coin and the $5 bill. He is famous enough to have featured in The Simpsons , in a film about vampire slayers and even in the National Enquirer (in a story claiming he was a cross-dresser). We feel we should know Lincoln; yet, like colleagues and associates in his own lifetime, in many important ways we dont. William Herndon, who spent the best part of ten years sharing a law office with him, thought Lincoln one of the most shut-mouthed men he had ever met when it came to his inner thoughts. In fact, apart from his combustible relationship with his wife Mary, Lincoln really only ever had one truly close friend, Joshua Speed. And even that friendship became more distant after both had married. (Speed ended up running a slave plantation in Kentucky when his old friend rose to the leadership of the new antislavery party, the Republicans.)

Tolstoy told all he knew, but his listeners wanted more. The great novelist promised to ride to the nearest town to find them a photograph. Sometime later he returned and presented the portrait of Lincoln to one of the tribesmen, whose hands trembled as he gazed for several minutes silently like one in a reverent prayer. Dont you find, said the tribesman after a while, judging from his picture, that his eyes are full of tears and that his lips are sad with a secret sorrow? Lincolns mournful eyes are indeed compelling. There was a strong tinge of sadness in Mr Lincolns composition, recalled a fellow lawyer. He felt very strongly that there was more of discomfort than real happiness in human existence [even] under the most favorable circumstances.

Lincoln suffered from bouts of depression throughout his life. He once confessed that he sought company because when he was by himself he could be so overwhelmed with sadness that he never dare[d] carry a knife in his pocket. His melancholy was well known among those who knew him. People saw it not as an illness but as a natural way of being and one that was associated with exceptional talent. Romantic poets, after all, were the heroes of Lincolns age. Rather than a weakness, a thoughtful, reflective sadness could be a sign of depth and manliness. Civil War soldiers not only routinely slept cuddled up together (spooning, they called it), but also sang sentimental songs with titles like Weeping Sad and Lonely and no one questioned their manhood for doing so.

To his poet-biographer Carl Sandburg, one source of Lincolns fascination was his contrasting qualities. He was steel and velvet hard as rock and soft as drifting fog. The man who broke down in tears in front of a press reporter and a senator, after hearing that the dashing young Elmer Ellsworth, his former law clerk, had been shot by a rebel sympathiser in May 1861, was also the man who refused to visit his dying father despite the desperate pleas of his stepbrother. There are many Lincolns many people who claim him as their own. In Lincolns ordinariness is not just a familiar humanity, but the tantalising glimpse of his vulnerability.

Ultimately, however, Abraham Lincoln qualifies as a historical giant not because of the ways his image and the stories about him have drawn so many to him, but quite simply because he was at the centre of events that shaped the modern world. His election to the presidency of the United States in 1860 was such a provocation to the southern slave-holding states that eleven of them carried out a long-standing threat to break away from the Union, forming a separate, independent Confederacy. It was Lincoln as much as anyone who was willing to use violence in response to the break-up of the United States. Herndon remembered Lincoln, as President-Elect, vowing to make one vast grave yard of the valley of the Mississippi yes of the whole South, if I must to maintain, preserve, and defend the Union and Constitution in all their ancient integrity. Such words were cheap before the first shot had been fired; there followed a four-year civil war that, as is the case with most conflicts, cost far more in blood and treasure than anyone foresaw. At least 670,000 people had been killed by the time General Lee surrendered at Appomattox on Palm Sunday 1865. To Lincolns supporters these were sacrifices made on the altar of the nation.