 | A biography of John Randolph, of Roanoke |  |
APPENDIX.
EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF JOHN RANDOLPH IN THE SENATE, ON
THE 20TH MARCH, 1826, ON THE PANAMA QUESTION.
Mr. Branch's resolution, in the following words, being before the Senate:
Resolved, That the President of the United States does not constitutionally
possess the right or the power to appoint Ambassadors, or other public ministers,
but with the advice and consent of the Senate, except when vacancies
occur in the recess.
Mr. Randolph said—"I thank the gentleman from North Carolina for calling
up his resolution, which had in his absence been nailed to the table. The gentleman
deserves great credit for having steered his ship into action with manliness
and decision, a frankness, a promptitude, and a fearless intrepidity, that
scorns all compromise with the foe. He has spoken with the plainness
that belongs to him, not only as a Southern man, but as a planter. It belongs
to him as a slaveholder—as one not bound to electioneer or curry favor with the
driver of his carriage or the brusher of his shoes, lest when he shall be driven
to the polls, the one may dismount from the coach-box, and the other lay down
his shoe-brush and annihilate the master's vote at the election. Lest his servant
may give him warning, that he may no longer consider him as his help, and go
as a spy into the family of his enemy, and if he have one, to tell not only what
he may have seen and heard, but what he never saw and never heard in the
family of the master. Master, did I say? No sir, his gentleman. This
debater and champion of universal suffrage owns no master, he claims the mastery
over you. I thank the gentleman from North Carolina. I trust it will
turn out in the end, whether our adversaries are born to consume the fruits of
the earth, `fruges consumere nati,' or whether or not they belong to the caterpillars
of the law, that of us it may be said truly, "nos numerus sumus."
That our name, too, is legion. For, sir, we belong to the cause of the party of
the people, we claim to belong to the majority of the nation. No, sir, I acknowledge
no nation of this confederate republic. For I, too, disclaim any master,
save that ancient common master, whose feeble and unprofitable servant I
am. The President himself has confessed that he does not possess the suffrages
of the majority, or the confidence enjoyed by his predecessors. He is even
desirous of a new trial. He shall have one, and no thanks to him for it. God
send him a good deliverance from the majority, and God send the majority a
good deliverance from him. `Having thus, sir, disburdened myself of some of
Allow me to go on and question some of his positions. One of them is,
the durability of the Constitution. With him and with Father Paul (of the Constitution of Venice) I say `esto perpetua.' But I do not believe it will be perpetual.
I am speaking now of what Burke would call high matter. I am not
speaking to the groundlings, to the tyros and junior apprentices, but to the grey-headed
men of this nation, one of whom, I bless God for it, I see is now stepping
forward as he stepped forward in 1799, to save the republic. I speak of William
B. Giles. I speak to grey heads, heads grown grey, not in the receipt of custom
at the treasury of the people's money, not to heads grown grey in pacing
Pennsylvania avenue, not grown grey in wearing out their shoes at levees, nor
to heads grown grey (to use the words of the immortal Miss Edgeworth, the
glory and champion of her sex and her wretched country), in ploughing the four
acres. There is a little court, sir, of the castle of Dublin, called the four acres,
and there, backwards and forwards, do the miserable attendants and satellites of
power walk, each waiting his turn to receive the light of the great man's countenance,
hoping the sunshine, dreading the clouded brow.
What hell it is in suing long to bide,
To lose good days that might be better spent,
To waste long nights in pensive discontent,' &c., &c.
"Spencer has well described the secrets of this life, and technically it is called
ploughing the four acres. Now when a certain character in one of her incomparable
novels, Sir Ulric, I have forgotten his name, but he was a Macsyco,
phant courtier, placeman, pensioner, and parasite, upbraided that good-hearted,
wrong-headed old man, King Croney, with his wretched system of ploughing,
the king of the Black Islands (every inch a king), replied, `there was one system
of ploughing worse than his, and that was, ploughing the four acres.' This
was a settler to the Macsycophant.
"We are now making an experiment which has never succeeded in any
quarter on earth, from the deluge to this day. With regard to the antediluvian
times, history is not very full, but there is no proof it has ever succeeded before
the flood. One thing we do know, it has never succeeded since the flood, and
as there is no proof of its having succeeded before the flood, as `de non apparentibus
et non existentibus eadem est ratio,' it is good logic to infer, that it never
has succeeded and never can succeed anywhere. In fact the `onus probandi'
lies with them that hold the other side of the question; for although `post hoc
ergo propter hoc' be not good logic, yet when we find the same consequences
generally following the same events, it requires nothing short of the scepticism
of Mr. Hume to deny that there is no connection between the one and the other,
whatever, metaphysically speaking, there may be of necessary connection between
cause and effect. I say, then, that we are making an experiment which has
never succeeded in any time or country, and which, as God shall judge me at the
great and final day, I do in my heart believe will here fail, because I see and feel
born with me, and has caused the misery (if you will) of my life; it is an infirmity
of my nature to have an obstinate preference of the true over the agreeable,
and I am satisfied if I had an only son, or an only daughter—which God
forbid—I say, God forbid, for she might bring her father's grey hairs with sorrow
to the grave, and she might break my heart,—worse than that—what! I
might break hers—I should be more sharp-sighted to her foibles than any one
else. Sir, as much as they talk about filial ingratitude, `how sharper than a
serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child.' How much more does it run
counter to all the great instincts of our nature, planted for good and wise purposes
in our bosoms—not in our heads, but in our hearts, by the Author of all
good—that the mother should be unkind to the babe that milks her, the father
cruel to his own child. They are well called unnatural parents, for it is a well
known law of nature, that the stream of succession and inheritance, whether of
property or affection, is in the descending line. I say in my conscience and in
my heart, I believe this experiment will fail, and if it should not fail, blessed be
the Author of all good for snatching this people as a brand from the burning,
which has consumed as a stubble all the nations, all the fruit trees of the earth,
which before us have been cut down and cast into the fire. Why cumbereth
it the ground? Cut it down, cut it down. I believe that it will fail; but, sir, if
it does not fail, its success will be owing to the resistance of the usurpation of
one man by a power which was not unsuccessful in resisting another man of the
same name and the same race. I do not believe that a free republican government
is compatible with the apery of European fashions and manners, with the
apery of European luxuries and habits. But if it were so, I do know that it is
incompatible with what I have in my hand, a base and baseless system of foreign
diplomacy, and a hardly better system of exchange. I speak of paper money,
under whatever form it may exist, whether in the shape of an old Continental
Spanish milled dollar, printed on paper, and in the promise to pay, which promise
is never intended to be redeemed, of the sound significant (a word for the
thing signified), dollar—of the emblem, multiplied at will, for the reality, which
has an actual, if not a fixed value; for there is, and can be no unchangeable
standard of value. It is worse than shadow for substance, for shadow implies
some substance, while a promise to pay dollars, implies neither ability nor inclination to pay cents. * * *
"Another objection is to the unreasonableness of the gentleman from North
Carolina, in attempting at this time of day to alter the form of our government,
as established by the practice under the Constitution. Now, sir, the practice
under the Constitution was settled in this way, in the two first instances: that
the Vice President succeed the President. At that time the President opened
Parliament, or Congress, by a speech from the throne, but since that time the
practice has been settled another way. Since the revolution of 1801, the practice
has been settled that the Secretary of State succeed the President. Hence it
is, that the Secretaryship of State is the apple of discord under all the administrations
succeeding that of Mr. Jefferson. It was the bone of contention between
(looking at Mr. Macon), that know it. It has been the apple of discord, aye,
and of concord too, since. It has been the favorite post and position of every
bad ambitious man, whether apostate, federalist, or apostate republican, who
wishes to get into the presidency, `per fas aut nefas'—`rem quocunque modo
rem, recte si possis'—honestly if they can, corruptly if they must. It has been
that which Archimedes wanted to move the world (Pou sto), a place to stand
upon, aye, and to live upon too, and with the lever of patronage to move our
little world. * * * *
"This is the first[1]
administration that has openly run the principle of patronage
against that of patriotism—that has unblushingly avowed, aye, and executed
its purpose of buying us up with our own money. Sir, there is honor
among thieves! Shall it be wanting then among the chief captains of our
administration? I hope not, sir. Let Judas have his thirty pieces of silver,
whatever disposition he may choose to make of them: whether they shall go to
buy a Potter's field, in which to inter this miserable constitution of ours, crucified
between two gentlemen, suffering for conscience' sake under the burden of
the two first offices of the government; forced upon one of them by the forms
of the Constitution, against its spirit and his own, which is grieved that the question
cannot be submitted to the people. Or, whether he shall do that justice to
himself which the finisher of the law is not, as yet, permitted to do for him,
is quite immaterial. Judas having done the work, `It is finished!' * * * The
gentlemen from North Carolina must not complain that they are working in the
vocation, ` 'Tis my vocation, Hal—'tis your vocation!' Be it our vocation to
call them to a more suitable vocation. * * *
"After twenty-six hours' exertion, it was time to give in. I was defeated,
horse, foot, and dragoons; cut up and clean broke down by the coalition of
Blifil and Black George—by the combination, unheard of till then, of Puritan
and Blackleg. There is a story related in Gil Blas, of one Scipio, the son of
Coscolina, that entered into the service of Don Abel, that carried him to Seville,
and on a certain occasion, coming home from a card-table with bad luck (that
will sour the temper of even the mildest; I have seen even ladies not bear losses
at the card-table very well), he gave Scipio a box on the ear because he had not
done something which he had not ordered him to do, but which is the part of a
good servant to have done without being ordered. Scipio goes to tell his story to
a bravo, and tells him his master is going to leave Seville, and that as the vessel
runs down the Guadalquiver he shall leave him. `If this is your plan of
revenge,' says the bravo, `your honor is gone for ever. Not only do this,
but rob him; take his strong box with you.' Scipio at that time had not
conceived the atrocious idea of adding robbery to a breach of trust, but agreed
to the proposition. As they were descending the staircase, the bravo, strong
as Hercules in carrying off other people's goods, met Don Abel, with the
box on his shoulders. The bravo puts down the coffer and takes to his
doing with my coffer?' `I am going to take it to the ship.' `Who told
you to do so?' `Nobody.' `What is the name of the ship?' `I don't
know; but I have a tongue in my head: I can learn.' `Why did you
carry off my coffer?' `Did you not chastise me the other day for not having
done something you never ordered?' Abel's reply was: `My friend, go about
your business; I never play with men who sometimes have a card too many,
and sometimes a card too few.' It shall be my business to prove, at some
period, that this is the predicament of your present ministry—whereas, on a
certain occasion, they had a card too few—on another, a card too many, or e
converso."
This speech occupied three hours in the delivery, and five or six columns of
the Intelligencer; too long to give entire, but the sample which we have presented
is sufficient to show the peculiarity of Mr. Randolph's style. It is extremely
desultory, and may be called a digression upon digressions, in which
almost every subject is touched upon but the one before the Senate. At the beginning,
the middle, or the ending, an auditor might well ask, "What is the
question before the House?" He was tolerated, however, and gained general
attention, on account of the entertainment he afforded by his wit, his humor, and
his inimitable sarcasm. In that, as well as his speech afterwards on the Judiciary
Bill, nothing could divert him from fastening upon the administration,
with the most tenacious and deadly malevolence. In reading this speech, one
is reminded of the celebrated letter of Tiberius to the Roman Senate, in accusation
of his prime minister, Sejanus. Juvenal justly satirizes the emperor's exordium,
"of what to say, or what not to say, may the supernal and infernal
gods fall on me if I know." He goes on, then, to introduce the subject by instancing
the many favors he had showered upon the favorite, whom he had
made his confidential adviser, and elevated above the highest ranks, and who,
being led to believe he was about to receive a crowning act of royal munificence,
in being jointly invested with him in the tribunitial dignity, was present to
hear the reading of the letter. The emperor branches off on some other political
topic, but returns again with symptoms of rising discontent. He then takes
another long detour, but turns again upon the late favorite, still more pointed
in his charges. He makes a third, and finally a fourth digression, rising in
wrath at each return, when he bursts upon poor Sejanus like a clap of thunder,
and commands the Senate to take order for his instant punishment. The sentence
remained only to be registered by that enslaved and obsequious body, and
the pretorian prefect, having previously been cajoled out of the command of the
guards, was perfectly paralyzed, and was led, without resistance, to his execution.
The consequence of Mr. Randolph's most unmerited nickname of blackleg,
as applied to Mr. Clay, ended in the well-known meeting between them,
and resulted in the amende honorable, after an exchange of shots, from Mr. Randolph.
We may be allowed here to notice two incidents accompanying these
speeches of Mr. Randolph. The friends of the administration blamed Mr. Calhoun
allowing Mr. Randolph such free license in the use of such bitter personalities
against the President and Secretary of State,—in fact, permitting him to violate
the rules of the Senate, without calling him to order. Mr. Calhoun took occasion,
in his place, to vindicate his course, and justified his conduct by objecting
his want of power—his functions being more limited than those of the Speaker
of the House of Representatives.
The next circumstance to be alluded to, was a charge made in the United
States Telegraph, being copied from the Boston Commercial Gazette, purporting
to be an extract from a letter of a gentleman at Washington, and giving Mr.
Tims, the door-keeper of the Senate, as authority, that, during the delivery of
one of his infamous speeches, Mr. Randolph drank six bottles of porter, two
glasses of gin, and one of brandy. In a card published in the Intelligencer of
the 19th of June, 1836, Mr. Tims most solemnly declared, before the God of
heaven and all the world, that he never did make use of any such expressions,
or authorized any person to say so, and pronounced the whole to be a base and
infamous falsehood. I presume the mistake may have arisen from Mr. Randolph's
drinking toast and water, and calling out, "More water, Tims," which
might have been mistaken for "More porter, Tims." Mr. Randolph was extremely
irritable from ill health—his life being only a long disease. His complaint
was principally gastro-enteritis and nervous excitability; and I recollect
well the opinion which a young physician and myself formed of his constitution,
in 1809, that, as soon as he got well, he would die. We considered his
genius, his originality, his fervid imagination, his readiness as an extemporaneous
speaker, as caused by a morbid excitement of the nerves of the brain, and that,
when that excitement was withdrawn, a translation of the disease would ensue
upon a vital part, and death or fatuity would follow. This state of irritability
brought him in successive collisions with all his friends but Mr. Garnet, and,
among the rest, with General Smythe, his colleague, whom he attacked about
the session of 1819-20, for some criticisms he bestowed on a proclamation of the
President. Randolph, in return, animadverted upon Smythe's famous proclamation
during the fall of 1814, on the Niagara frontier, where he called upon
volunteers to come in by scores, by pairs or units, on horseback or foot, and
bore so hard upon him, that Smythe called him to order. A gentleman being
present at our mess, at the commencement of that session, in November, 1813,
told Mr. Randolph that Smythe was preparing to cross the river and attack the
enemy at Queenstown, and asked him if he had any commands to the General,
as he was bound immediately to head-quarters. "Tell Smythe that I, John
Randolph, say, that if he attempts to cross the river, he will get licked."
Whether this message, like Richard the Third's dream, hung like a dead weight
about the General, he certainly came to a most lame and impotent conclusion in
that attempt; and, after embarking over about half his men, retreated to the
American side, leaving the first division to be well "licked."
| A biography of John Randolph, of Roanoke | |