 | SEVENTH INSTALLMENT. What I did with my fifty millions |  |
7. SEVENTH INSTALLMENT.
Railroad Depots in Richmond—Improvements on Broad Street—Shields
House—Virginia Historical Society Building—Colonel T. H. Wynne
and Dr. W. P. Palmer—Automaton of Com. Porter—Brice Church—
Free-Pew Question settled—Paganism of Adams—Pulpit Propriety and
Duck Guns—Rev. Dr. Broadus—Varlets, Cudgels, and Assassins—
Congregational Singing—Church of Spectroscope.
It is as natural for a rich man to build as for a beaver
or a bird. I was pressed almost beyond endurance to do
something for Richmond in the way of public edifices
which should in some faint measure approximate the only
really grand, substantial, and tasteful structures of which
the city could boast during the last quarter of the nineteenth
century. I mean the railroad depots. But this
number, each was much more unique, stately, and wonderful
than all the rest, including itself. The reproduction
on Broad Street, between Eighth and Ninth, of the Poecile
Stoa, simple, pure, chaste, and lovely, was not more
thoroughly Greek and agreeable to the highly cultivated
eye than the colossal Aztec, Assyrian, Etruscan, and
Congo constructions on Byrd, Pearl, and the bottom of
Broad Street, near the old market. Nor must the prehistoric
kjokkenmodding of the York River road be non-enumerated.
[On a little scrap of paper attached to the outside of
the bundle of the Adams MS. were found the remarks
below, from which it would appear that the old man
meditated great things for Broad Street, but whether
before or after he became satirical it is impossible to
decide, there being no date to the scrap.—Ed. Whig.]
[One of my first investments in Richmond was the
purchase of the Fredericksburg depot property on Broad
Street. Finding that the removal of the railroad track
had given a wonderful impetus to business, and that
various palatial stores had displaced the shanties and
shackly houses which formerly flanked that street, I determined
to build a splendid hotel on my property, formerly
the site of the depot. The hotel was finished in
1881, and was named the “Shields House.”[1]
It was the
the first lessee, and he seldom had a vacant room, so great
was the rush of visitors. As a grateful tribute to the
“Broad Street Association,” I appropriated one-half of the
first year's rent of the hotel to the purchase and erection
of a bronze statue of James Lyons, the president of the
association. I always regretted that I did not buy several
hundred acres of land beyond the western confines of
Richmond, for as soon as the Court of Appeals decided
that the ordinance prohibiting the use of locomotives on
Broad Street was valid, the owners of the street railway
extended their tracks to the fair-grounds, property in the
vicinity of Richmond College jumped up one hundred
per cent., and such was the activity in building operations
that the contractors of Richmond had to bring at
least five thousand mechanics here.]
As I had not the means to cope with these prodigies
of architecture, I contented myself with the purchase of
the three squares lying between Capitol and Broad and
extending from Ninth to what was called in old times
Governor Street. After sweeping away all the buildings
which had not particularly adorned this space, I erected
on the square, between Ninth and Tenth, a proper building
for the Virginia Historical Society. I say “I erected,”
meaning by that only the money part of the matter. The
selection of the design, details, etc., etc., was left to the
executive committee, who intrusted the execution to Colonel
Thomas H. Wynne.[2]
[So great was the revival of trade and the increase of
wealth in New Orleans after '75 that the Southern Historical
Society was carried back by acclamation and endowed
held in that city.]
Who the architect was that Wynne engaged I do not
now recollect, nor do I know how much of the interior
arrangement is due to him and how much to the architect,
but the building as a whole excites general approbation
for its beauty, simplicity, and durability. The interior
could not be improved. I should myself have liked a
more elevated structure, but the limits of the lot forbade
anything loftier. It is a pleasant resort for the student
and the lover of Virginia in the past. It is not a museum
for noisy boys and men, for giggling girls, or for open-mouthed
curiosity-mongers. For a great number of years
it has been in charge of Dr. William P. Palmer, who
devotes his whole time to it, and each succeeding year
becomes more and more absorbed in devotion to the interests
which the society was designed to subserve. The
fund, ample for all purposes, provides for what many
consider very expensive annual meetings, which have
become, in fact, historical festivals, lasting several days.
These are looked forward to by our best people in every
part of the State not with interest merely, but with
eagerness.
Openly, and by indirection, I was made aware of the
fact that Church This and Church That would receive me
as a member, and without too rigid an examination. The
hope was held out to me that my means were sufficient to
justify me in the indulgence of the expectation that I might
one day anticipate becoming an elder or vestryman, and
might possibly at some time be allowed to hand around
the basket if I dressed becomingly and paid enough attention
to my hair. But whilst in one sense I was a Christian
(an imperfect one, it is true), I was also a pagan and
worshiper of Pan, loving the woods and waters, and
preferring to go to them (when my heart was stirred
thereto by that mysterious power which, as I conceive,
cares little for worship made statedly and to order on
certain recurring calendar days) rather than to most of
the brick and mortar pens that are supposed to hold in
some way that which the visible universe no more contains
than the works of his hands contain the sculptor who
by the mightiest telescope, or by the hope mightier even
than the imagination of the highest mind, is but as a parcel
of motes shining in a single, thin beam of the great
sun unseen and hidden behind shutters never to be wide
opened. Howbeit, I do dearly love good preaching by
an umble, not hum-ble, man, who has thought and felt;
and this tempted me to buy the Rev. John A. Broadus
for my own use and behoof. But that good man declined
the proposition, and an enthusiastic Baptist threatened to
cane me for daring to make it. (I was not afraid of the
man, but business called me out of town that very day!)
I was forced, herefore, to build my own church and hire
my own preachers. It was placed on the lot next to
Governor Street, was circular in form, seated comfortably
a very large congregation, and the pews rising one above
the other in amphitheatre form, gave great satisfaction to
people who distressed themselves very much on the free-pew
question. The poor people chose the lower seats
nearest the preacher, whilst the rich, though but little farther
off from the pulpit, enjoyed looking down upon their
neighbors. In this way all were gratified. For myself,
having plenty of money, pews gave me no trouble, and as
for sects, my Panness (not theism) enabled me to discern
much that was admirable in all sects and creeds from the
Jew down (or up, as you will) to the Catholic and Presbyterian.
Dogma is to me a mere gustatory matter of the
triflingest moment, but freedom, the very essence and atmosphere
of intellect—(this does not consist with the
previously expressed views of Adams about the will, but
that is the old man's lookout and not ours.—Ed. Whig)
—is the all-important matter. To an all-embracing mind
like my own, dogma of any kind is the baldest absurdity.
For every thread,[3] however minute, in the Web of Things
back and forth to infinity, and until you have grasped the
two endless ends you cannot possibly tell, or so much as
guess, the connections and meaning of any one fibre of
thought or fact. And revelation, be it what you claim for
it, like all things else, must have all the lights of the
eternal past and the eternal future thrown full upon it before
it is interpretable in terms of the whole truth, less
than which can never satisfy human craving or explain
human action. Nevertheless, if your tooth incline you to
mustard of the best with Methodism, go and be merry
therewith, only do not grow hot against me because my
palate leads me inevitably to Episcopacy and the mild oil
of the olive.
(My pastor, the Rev. Dr. Asterisk, has not induced me
materially to modify my views, though I find with advancing
years that fixedness of opinion is less objectionable
to me than it was aforetime. 1897.)
By no means did I engage to attend regularly my own
church. There was too much disposition to make room
for me, and to give me a seat, although my ear-trumpet
was a fine instrument, and the acoustics of the building
were perfect. The sum set apart for the minister—five
hundred dollars a Sunday (and we had a new preacher
every week)—generally secured an excellent sermon and a
very large attendance. Collections were never taken up,
nor were boxes placed at the door so that persons might
deposit their offerings without interrupting the services.
Clergymen were engaged of all denominations, care being
was placed upon them. Under no pretext or disguise
whatsoever was pulpit profanity for one instant allowed.
Familiarity and intimate personal acquaintance with Deity,
His thoughts, His ways, His dealings, and even His intentions
(more shocking to me than any bar-roomm profanity),
were sternly kept down by a man in the organ-loft
armed with a heavily-charged duck-gun, and instructed to
shoot down the offender without remorse the moment he
offended. [Since my removal from Richmond, the killing
of one or two pulpit criminals (I am tempted, and mean
nothing profane by it, to call them boon companions of
the Almighty, for that is what they would have the people
believe) has been reported to me, but the reporter being
an editor I place not over-much confidence in his report.]
Better, far better, it always seemed to me, was the awe and
trembling of the Hebrew who dared not pronounce the
name of the Holy One, or who did it prone with his
mouth in the dust. Reverence without humility, there
can be none; and, if the preacher be not reverent and
humble from the very inmost of his soul, never can he
hope to make his congregation so. When he assumes to
know, as if by recent personal colloquial interview or chat,
the views and purposes of the Almighty, he forthwith and
of necessity adopts a dictatorial, vicegerential tone that
is offensive and shocking in the last extreme. The duck-gun,
in connection with the congregational singing,[4]
which was encouraged in every conceivable way, and until
the people learned to join in it heart and soul, did good.
I do not regret the round sum laid out in this way, though
it was altogether inconsonant with my original intention,
which was to give my money to deserving individuals,
and not to edifices or institutions of any kind. But he
his time, is much like a tadpole who tries to play humming-bird.
He simply don't do it.
[Having reached a ripe old age, and seen much of the
world, I am inclined to doubt the value of free preaching.
It was when the Gospel was heard at the risk of life and
limb that it was rightly appreciated. I begin seriously to
think that if a stout varlet provided with an oaken cudgel
were stationed at the door of each of the churches, and
instructed not to admit any one who refused to pay half a
dollar on the spot and submit also to a sound drubbing,
there would be a much fuller attendance, and never any
occasion to send round the hat, or to make appeals for
home or foreign missions. But here it is not only fitting
but indispensable for me to disclaim the charge recently
made in the Bedford Sentinel that it was through my instrumentality
and my money that the band of two hundred
Italian and Spanish brigands who last year passed through
the country parts of Virginia, assassinating every member,
young and old, of every congregation whose minister had
not been paid up in full, was brought to this State. I
solemnly declare that I did not do it—had no lot or part
in it. At the same time I am delighted that it was done.
The places of the assassinated have been filled mostly by
devout, industrious, thrifty Scotchmen, and Virginia, in
its rural aspect, is a different and better thing. Presbyterianism,
however, is alarmingly on the increase. But I
suppose we must put up with that. 1900.]
[I have this day refused peremptorily to subscribe toward
the completion of the Church of the Spectroscope
(on Foushee Street), with the Vibratory worship of the
Great First Cause (a sort of scientific Shaking Quakerism),
and its sacred readings from Hindu Vedas, Norse Sagas,
Scandinavian Eddas, Emerson, and George Sand, by a son
of Moncure D. Conway. No; from the Vibratory standpoint
I don't see that there is any more occasion for a Great
First Cause than for a Last Great Effect. I much prefer
to worship the Father who pitieth his children and remembereth
their infirmities. But very much more do I prefer
to say that it is no human being's business what, whom,
when, where, how, or what for I worship, or whether I
it to Dr. Blank to determine; but I do most certainly
exercise the right (call it faculty, if you will) of being
just as skeptical as I please, and just as superstitious as I
please, at one and the same time. Impossible! For you,
yes; for me, nothing more natural, and indeed, unavoidable.
I don't know, can't know, everything; and, as to
rights, I think the greatest of wrongs in this world is to
dam up the thinking apparatus, or rather to close the
shutters, leaving open only a little chink, and to say,
“Now I've got all the light in the world, at least all that
is good for me, and if I let in any more it will damn my
soul to all eternity.”]
It may be that my lowly birth and my early association
with uncultured folk incline me to sing by my lone self
“How firm a foundation” rather than join young Mr.
Conway when he plays from the pulpit on a silver saxhorn
what he calls the “Holy Galop,” (composed expressly
for Mr. C. by Gungl, or Bungl, or Dungl, or some
other vibratory Dutchman); at all events, I do sing it
with my whole heart, whenever I feel like it, and intend
to keep on singing it whenever I feel like it, in spite of
all the Conways and Spectroscopes in existence.
Colonel John C. Shields, a warm-hearted, worthy man, after whom
the hotel was called. His real name, Lieutenant-Governor Gilman assures
me, was Porter, and he was the only son of Commodore Porter by his
twelfth wife. When his father got married a thirteenth and fourteenth
time, young Porter became indignant and assumed the name of his
mother's family.
Commodore Porter's death, at a great age, left such a void in the community
that I engaged an ingenious mechanic to make for me an exact
facsimile of him in wood. A more perfect automaton was never constructed;
it walked all about the city, collected accounts, talked, and
smoked, and could not be told from the original commodore except by
the closest inspection. It was touching to see it going along, with its
venerable beard and pipe. The bad boys would sometimes tie him to a
post, and the machinery being still at work, his legs kept moving in the
oddest manner, and he exhibited all the signs of violent rage. At last
they got to lighting their cigars by scratching matches on his nose, and
sending him around with profane and indelicate verses written on his
forehead. Out of all patience at this, I gave him to Henry Eustace, who
made a large fortune by exhibiting him through the country. It is said
that when General Richardson felt him and found that he really was
wooden, and not the genuine commodore in propria personœ, he just
laughed himself to death.
A most extraordinary man. The only thoroughly practical and at
the same time excessively antiquarian man I ever knew—good dinner-giver.
Of course there is no thread and no web. A thread which at every
point of its extension should meet and intertwine with threads coming
simultaneously from all points of an infinite sphere, would be a better
figure, but still a clumsy one. No image can at all portray the complexity
and coherence of things material with things spiritual. Yet theologians
and scientists squabble about intrusion into their several domains,
as if co-existencies and inter-existencies (to coin a word intended to express
life within life) could by possibility be dissociated. It is child's
play. “These toys are mine and you sha'n't touch 'em.” “These are
mine and you sha'n't touch 'em either.” What folly! It is the ever-recurring
and ever-beneficent struggle between conservation and development.
“Yet you say, what `folly' and `child's play.' ” I do. Folly has
its uses, and child's play is beneficial. The war between science and religion
must go on forever. Reconciliation is simply impossible. That
proposed by Herbert Spencer is in effect an absolute surrender on the
part of theology. Let the Titans continue their unending wrestle, satisfied
that whichever falls will not long remain down, but, Antæus-like, rise
strengthened by his fall. For this universe is a large concern, and the
finding out of even the edge of it will occupy some considerable time.
Meanwhile the fight of “hold fast” and “go ahead” must continue and
ought to continue.
There can never be thorough, hearty, and joyous congregational
singing where the attendance is large, as was the case in my church,
which did not bear my name, however (God forbid!), until competent
leaders, male and female, are distributed at proper and sufficiently numerous
points in the body of the church. This was done in Brice
Church (named for Miss Nancy Brice, of Lynchburg, one of the sweetest
and purest old ladies that ever drew the breath of life), and the effect was
everything that could possibly be desired. The plan has since been
almost universally adopted.
| SEVENTH INSTALLMENT. What I did with my fifty millions | |