The Olivia Letters / Being Some History of Washington City for Forty Years as Told by the Letters of a Newspaper Correspondent

SENATORS EDMUNDS AND CARPENTER.

Some Insight into Life Senatorial—Safeguards of that August Body.

Washington, April 7, 1876.

To-day the Hon. Abram S. Hewitt, accompanied by other New York citizens, will appear before the House Foreign Affairs Committee to urge the adoption of the bill to incorporate the United States International Commission, and provide for the same being held in the city of New York in 1883. The bill had already been introduced in the Senate by Senator Kernan, and championed by Senator Wallace, of Pennsylvania, who always looks after legislation which will benefit the Pennsylvania Central Railroad. Senator Carpenter argued that it was in violation of the Constitution for Congress to aid a corporation in any such way; that it was a precedent which would entail any amount of trouble in the future. Other great cities would come up with their projects, asking Congress to assume responsibility and bestow financial aid. Senator Wallace argued that it had already been done for the city of Philadelphia; which was answered by Senator Carpenter in his own inimitable way. Leaving his seat, a step brought him into the broad aisle, where he stood directly in front of the Vice-President, and raising his voice to a key which penetrated all surrounding space within the Senate walls, he replied, “Stealing has precedent after precedent; but shall we argue for this reason it is right to steal?” After a brief but ringing appeal in behalf of the assaulted Constitution, this superb and polished orator left the floor. In many ways Senator Carpenter is one of the most able men in Congress, with the mark of genius more pronounced, or rather, more noticeable in his case, than in any other man in the Senate. One of the surest evidences of genius (for genius is God-given, whilst talent can be acquired) is the carrying through the years to the last all the qualities of each period of existence—the blind enthusiasm, the winning folly of the child united to the grand powers of maturity. In genius the character never crystallizes. It is changeable, yet strangely invariable, and in many more ways resembles the indestructible elements. Senator Carpenter has a way of tying his collar, crushing down his hat, and bounding into the Senate with the same kind of abandon which resembles the action of a boy, while his laugh has all the music of youthful glee. His life has been a prolonged enjoyment of the admiration of women, because in him all ages, from romping girl to icy age, find something to adore. A handsome man when in perfect health is Senator Carpenter, but at present he is a good deal of a shadow as compared to his former self. Upon the principle that a high-pressure engine sooner wears itself out, so these men made on the Carpenter plan rarely live to old age. It is the fret and wear of the invisible organization that finally wrecks the physical, and there is no earthly picture so painful as these men who have reached the snow line, when the sun of life, according to the years, should be in full meridian of glory. Turning to the Congressional Directory, it is recorded that Senator Carpenter has reached the age of 56, not so young after all. Is it the boyish mask that has deceived; or have Blaine and Edmunds been afflicted with the weakness which is always pardonable in woman, and recorded the wrong figures? Can it be possible that he is a half a dozen years in advance of Blaine, and nearly the same in regard to Senator Edmunds?

But here are two Senators whose lives are passed on the same high-pressure plan, for such is the penalty which exalted ambition must pay. Not a solitary measure passes the Senate that is not licked into shape by the insinuating tongue and all-prevailing mind of vigilant Senator Edmunds. Others may toil like the marble-cutters on a statue, but when the breath of life is to be blown into the nostrils, the great artist must be on hand to pinch a soul into the inexorable stone. The casual observer would not pronounce Senator Edmunds handsome according to the Greek or modern standard, but he has the exact appearance which one, in imagination, would picture a Roman Senator before the empire was in its decline. We can realize in this Senator the highest ingredient of New England civilization. His solemn visage seems a reflection of that sombre landscape, the savage grandeur of the sea, the majestic mountains tipped with snow. His sleepless efforts to keep the Senate records clean embody the Puritan’s idea of justice, that rarest product of the seed planted by the Mayflower. It is that awful something which nerves the hand of the fisherman on that stormy coast united to the most intellectual culture condensed into a single blade, and it is keen enough to cut a ship’s cable or a single hair. When Belva Lockwood, the woman lawyer, was trying to reach the bar of the Supreme Court through the Senate, her fear centered on Senator Edmunds. She said, “I know I shall ‘pass’ if I can win his support.” So she sent a messenger to plead her cause. “My vote,” said Senator Edmunds, “will not be recorded against Mrs. Lockwood because she is a woman. I think her a very poor lawyer! If I had my own way, only those thoroughly trained in the law should be admitted to practice in the Supreme Court.”

Senator Edmunds has a social record at the capital without a flaw, which proves that men can live pure, clean lives like women; or else do the next best thing—conduct themselves in such a pious manner that they are never found out. But in taking the moral estimate of a man his avoirdupois weight should be carefully taken, and he should be judged in a great measure by the way it is divided. These bloodless New Englanders and fiery Southerners in Washington should be tried by judges capable of tempering justice with mercy upon the principle that tears are in the eyes of the court when he sentences a starving man for stealing a loaf of bread. Senator Edmunds treats women in the most refined and courteous way, just enough frigid to be dignified; but if he chooses to descend to a limited quantity of small talk, everything he says is valuable enough to be printed in the newspapers. This man has been made selfish and otherwise spoiled by the “buzzing of the Presidential bee.” If he should ever reach the White House, of which there is not the slightest danger, no one would be half so astonished as himself. He has reached the highest point of his ambition—to be the leader of his party in the Senate, to fill to the fullest measure the idea of an American Senator; and whilst like the late Charles Sumner, he can grasp the great legislative matters of state, unlike him he can take up the little things. Not a sparrow could fall on the Senate floor without his notice.

But the saddest sight is apparent when a brilliant member is torn up by the roots in the House, and is immediately transported to the Senate. It is like removing a plant from the heat and moisture of a conservatory to an atmosphere found almost anywhere in the temperate zone. Senators Dawes, Lamar and Blaine are striking examples of this kind of transubstantiation. Who can ever forget the brilliant career of Senator Dawes when he occupied the proud position of “leader of the House”? In this branch of Congress, argument, wit and repartee have a specific value, and enable the possessor to mount the ladder of fame; but in the Senate oratory is at a discount, whilst wit or argument may be compared to a clown at a funeral. Speeches are looked upon as talk to distant constituents, to which the Senators must listen in order to make them “official.” The Senate chamber during a “speech” is a subject worthy of study. An air of resignation is born into this cold, selfish world, destined to last until the torture is over. Usually most of the Senators make their escape temporarily. Burnside and Anthony generally retire to the committee room of “Revolutionary Claims,” a snug nest right under the eaves, where the sparrows build their homes. This dainty spot is presided over by Major Ben: Perley Poore, clerk of the committee, and one of the daintiest morsels to be found at the Capitol done up in manly form. There is a cupboard in the Revolutionary room, which is the exact opposite to “old Mother Hubbard’s.” Lest the reader forget, the poetry is quoted in full:

“Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,

To get her poor dog a bone;

And when she got there, the cupboard was bare,

And so the poor dog got none.”

In this far-away, almost forgotten nook, where the musty archives of the old Revolutionary war lie mouldering, this solemn sepulcher is made alive by the spicy odors of fast-evaporating fluids, or the delicate aroma of pineapple cheese. Sometimes, during the lunch hours, crabs and oysters go there without any volition of their own. About the same time the courtly old Thurman becomes so revolutionary that he wends his way to the radical snuggery under the roof. He will probably be joined on the way by Don Cameron, the young Scottish chief, but this combination may be a union like the late Electoral Commission, to produce a lasting peace. But it is astonishing to find how sweet and delicious these old Senators become when they are almost ripe enough to fall from the legislative tree. To go to the committee room of Revolutionary Claims is one way to kill the time during a “speech.” Sometimes the Senators adjourn to the cloak rooms, throw themselves on the luxurious sofas, and steep their crippled senses in well-colored meerschaums or a choice cigar. Others, more nervous, repair to the marble baths, the like of which have never been seen since Rome had her fall. So far as the writer can ascertain, a Senatorial bath has never been witnessed by the reportorial eye. It is the only sublime spectacle which has eluded the correspondents. The old Roman Senators employed the most skilful artists to portray them associated with the baths, and this will probably follow in due time in the great Western empire. If a Senator remains in the chamber during a speech, he is deeply absorbed in reading or writing.

How can a man make himself felt in the Senate? His voice only reaches his constituents or those who have a personal interest in the measure or man. His fine oratorical efforts fall as those of Demosthenes on the turbulent sea. He must stand, like Senator Edmunds, for years at the mouth of the pit, and watch that nothing goes in dangerous to the liberties of a free people. He must watch the aggressive encroachments of an infamous lobby. The great railroad and other gigantic corporations have their paid agents here to buy up all the small-fry Congressmen, as well as to notify the monopolists all over the country of any adverse legislation in advance. A paid Indian lobby is always here to keep the Indian affairs from being turned over to the War Department. The War Department never employs a lobby. An army officer has never been known to ask for the Indian business, except in the general protest that the soldiers should not be sent out to be scalped and mutilated for the crimes committed by the Indian agents. When a Senator is found to be faithful to the trust confided to his keeping, we should guard him as the apple of our eye. We should protect his good name from the assaults of the malicious, for when a Senator is found immovable the lobby attempts his destruction. It will be remembered that it was the lobby thugs that tried to strangle Senator Blaine on the eve of the last Presidential nomination. The storm is gathering again, but how can a man defend himself against his invisible foes? It is not because Blaine is hated so much; it is because other men are preferred so much the more.

Olivia.

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