Bryan, Idealist and Average Man

By Charles Willis Thompson

The subjoined estimate of William J. Bryan's character and public career, which appeared in The New York Times of June 9, 1915, is by the hand of one of its staff writers who has specialized in American national politics.

THE plain man of the prairie became Secretary of State when William J. Bryan did; the prairie then entered diplomacy, international controversy. The secret of all that has puzzled the land in his behavior lies in that fact. His hold on the West lies in the fact that he is in himself the average man of that country, with that man's ideals, aspirations, defects, and drawbacks. There seems nothing strange or funny in a Secretary of State who goes to New York and signs temperance pledges, or holds Billy Sunday's platform in Philadelphia, when you get a few miles away from the cities; and if it seems a little queer to New York to find the Secretary of State undertaking to demolish the Darwinian theory, there are plenty of regions where the Darwinian theory is regarded as a device of the devil to upset the Mosaic cosmogony. Chesterton says that Dickens never wrote down to the mob, because he was himself the mob; and Bryan never talked down to the men of the prairie for the same reason.

He is not a man of culture, nor of reading. He has been around the world, but when he came back the books and articles he wrote were such as might have been published as guide books or in encyclopedias; he could have written them without leaving home. Travel had no broadening or polishing effect upon his mind.

The vast influence he still has is due to the fact that the common man, with all his mistakes and gaucheries, speaks in him, and that when the common man hears his own thoughts spoken in Bryan's voice he knows that the accent is sincere. Bryan may have taken up this or that particular issue because it sounded like a vote-maker, but none of them represented the least divergence from his course as a whole, which has always been honestly bent in a certain plain direction. He never hesitated to be in a minority and never dodged a fight. He is an innocent theorist, who frequently goes wrong because of the simplicity of his mental processes; but he acts upon his theories, right or wrong, with an intrepidity and a whole-hearted courage in which the ordinary man sees the qualities he himself would like to have, and dreams he has. His mind is not broad, but it is strong; he is always sure he is right, and always ready to fight for his beliefs, and he keeps his hold upon his followers because he is not below them, and not much above them, and because they know he is honest and sincere.

In 1906, the Democratic Party, picking itself out of the wreckage of Parker's defeat, was yearning to reunite. "Big business," assaulted and bruised and banged about by President Roosevelt, was ready to come into line. Roosevelt or his candidate could be defeated in 1908 only by Democratic harmony. Bryan was abroad, traveling, and somehow his distant figure looked less appalling than the near-by figure in the White House. The East did not ask him to recant his radicalism, but only not to talk about it. He arrived in New York, and business went to hear him make a harmony speech. If he made it, business would support him for President. He made the speech; he declared for Government ownership of railroads. Business, roaring with pain, fell back into the Republican arms, and Bryan was defeated for President. No, Bryan is not an opportunist—not in things that really matter.

William Bayard Hale once accurately described him as "essentially a preacher, a high-class exhorter, a glorified circuit rider." There are vast spaces of our country still populated by men and women of the old-fashioned kind; Chesterton describes them as "full of stale culture and ancestral simplicity." They are the descendants of the Puritans—intellectually, at any rate—they look askance on cards, dancing, and the stage; they are the kind of folks who peopled the Mississippi Valley in Lincoln's day and Massachusetts in John Hancock's. Bryan does not talk down to that type for votes; he is that type. Colonel George Harvey, with sarcastic intent, alleged that Bryan became a white-ribboner after hearing a little girl recite "The Lips That Touch Liquor Shall Never Touch Mine." There are regions which would accept that parable as Gospel truth, and much to Bryan's credit.

Salem, Ill., is a little town which fairly shrieks at you its pre-eminence as a picture of that type. As you pass through its orderly little streets, with its little frame houses, all of the same kind and all neat and unassuming, with its dirt roads and its typical Town Hall, set correctly back behind a correct little patch of grass in a neat square, you feel instinctively that the Darwinian theory must be avoided in your Salem conversation. You know at once that the same families have lived there for generations. So they have; one of them was Bryan's, and he was born there on March 19, 1860.

Of course, he was the valedictorian of his class—Illinois College, 1881. Of course, he became a lawyer; and, of course, in the Middle West, that involved politics. He lived now in Lincoln, Neb., in a Republican district, but he was a Democrat. There was a landslide in 1890. The whole country went Democratic, and many a forlorn hope leader in some hide-bound Republican district was swept into Congress, Bryan among them. He made a great speech on the tariff, which won him instantly a national reputation; but Lincoln had recovered its Republican poise, and he did not go back to Congress. He added to his reputation in his own State, however, as editor of its chief Democratic organ, The Omaha World-Herald, and went to Chicago as the head of its delegation to the National Convention of 1896.

At a moment when David B. Hill's masterly presentation of the gold-standard case and Tillman's failure in his effort at rejoinder had thrown a wet blanket over the silverites, Bryan came forward with his "Cross of Gold" speech. The cheering delegations carried him around the hall on their shoulders. None of the candidates before the convention was dominating or really of Presidential size; the convention was deadlocked for many ballots, and at last it turned to Bryan and nominated him.

His defeat by McKinley really marked the beginning of his career as a national leader. Despite the accident which had made him the Democracy's nominal leader, he demonstrated that he was the ablest of the radicals into whose hands it had fallen, and his nominal chieftainship became a real one. It was evident from the beginning that he would be renominated in 1900. When the Spanish war broke out he offered his services and became Colonel of the Third Nebraska Regiment. The Republican Administration was taking no chances on his getting any military glory, and it marooned him in Florida till after the war. He returned good for evil by going to Washington, uniform and all, and dragooning reluctant Democratic Senators into voting for the treaty with Spain whereby we acquired the Philippines. This was one of his incidental opportunisms; he believed it would give the Democrats a winning issue, that of imperialism. The cast of Bryan's mind is such that he always gets his winning issues on wrong end foremost; it gave the Republicans a winning issue, that of imperialism.

Bryan went down to defeat again in 1900, on this new issue, and as usual epitaphs were written over his political grave. It is a favorite parlor game; but Bryan never stays dead, because there is something enduring in him. What is it? That same spokesmanship for the average man of many regions, the man of the little parlor with the melodeon or parlor organ, the plush-bound photograph album and the "History of the San Francisco Earthquake" bought by subscription from a book agent, and the grandfather's clock in the corner of the hall.

But in 1904 the Democratic leaders, tired of defeat, turned desperately to the opposite wing of the party. The radical leaders, really opportunists, forswore or hid their convictions for the sake of victory, tried to teach their unskillful tongues the language of conservatism, and joined in with the conservatives in the nomination of Parker. But Bryan did not yield; he forswore nothing, hid nothing, and he fought a lonely fight, the bravest of his life.

His fight was of one man against a multitude. Alone, he had to be everywhere; he was in the Committee on Resolutions, in the Committee on Credentials, on the floor of the convention, speaking, fighting, working, twenty hours a day. He had no one to help him; all his fellows were on the other side, strangling their convictions and fighting against him. He was insulted on the platform, even by fellow-radicals; he was elbowed aside and snarled at by men who had been more radical than himself; attempts were made to deny him a hearing. Nothing could daunt him or perturb him; he fought on until Parker was nominated, went to his hotel at dawn as the convention adjourned, and fell into his bed in utter collapse. A doctor was summoned, who said that Bryan must instantly give up all work and undergo treatment.

That evening the news came that Parker had refused to run unless the word "gold" was written into the platform; the convention was thrown into panic; the sick man rose from his bed and entered the wild and turbulent hall, white-faced, breathing with difficulty, sweat pouring down his face, and there took up the work again, single-handed still. He fought on all night, was defeated again, and went under the doctor's hands. Those speeches in that convention were really the greatest of his life, though they may not read as well as others; each of them was a battle.

Parker's defeat by Roosevelt again erased that ever-recurring epitaph over Bryan's political grave. It was evident at once that nothing could prevent him from being again the candidate in 1908. Again he was defeated, and again the epitaph was jubilantly rewritten. He was extinguished, he would never again be an influence in the party; it was, to use the phrase of 1896, 1900, and 1904, "the end of Bryan."

Again the epitaph had to be erased. He was so far from being extinguished that he became the dominating force of the convention of 1912. There is no doubt in the mind of the writer, who was there, that Bryan had given up all hope of running for President, because, as he expressed it in a thrilling midnight speech at that convention, he recognized at last that he had too many enemies ever to expect to win. But he did determine to be a king-maker if he could not be a king, and king-maker he was.

Not even the convention of 1904 showed Bryan in better light as a fighter than that of 1912. He was determined that the reactionaries should not control the convention. At the beginning he was defeated, but defeat never affected Bryan in the least in all his life, and this time, as usual, he only went on fighting. When the convention rejected him for Temporary Chairman and elected Parker, the embodiment of all he opposed, he merely took a fresh hold and fought harder.

When he swung Nebraska from Champ Clark to Wilson he had won, and thereafter Wilson's nomination was only a question of time. He was the centre of violent scenes, as when maddened men swept down upon him and shook their standards in his face and seemed on the verge of assaulting him. When he tried to get a hearing and the opposition shouted him down, he simply climbed up on the platform beside the Chairman and forced them to hear. Once, while the whole convention seemed to be yelling at him, and he stood in the midst of a whirlwind of angry noise, ex-Governor McCorkle of West Virginia, jumping up and facing him, shrieked in a voice heard above the cyclone: "Are you a Democrat?"

"My Democracy has been certified to by six and a half million voters. But," pointing his palm-leaf fan at McCorkle, with magnificent contempt, "I will ask the secretary to record one vote in the negative if the gentleman will give me his name."

He won; Wilson was nominated. He brought his great following into line for an Eastern man, and Wilson was elected. The new President, following a precedent set by Taylor, Garfield, and Harrison, made him Secretary of State.

Then Bryan showed a new side of his character to the country. He effaced himself in Wilson's interest; he became a loyal subordinate, accepting a minor place cheerfully and laboring with might and main to make the Administration a success. It is chiefly due to his efforts that it was one for its first two years. The new President was unknown to most of his party, and the legislation he recommended would have met with internal opposition but for Bryan. The Secretary whipped his followers into line even for legislation so repugnant to them as the Currency bill, and the Presidential program went through. In two years Mr. Wilson had become a definite personality to the country, and had a following of his own; but his initial success was due to Bryan, and but for Bryan Mr. Wilson might have had to face a party as divided as did Cleveland, and might have seen his Administration wrecked as Cleveland's was.

Mr. Bryan hoped to make an enduring name for himself as Secretary of State. In the years that had elapsed since he was Colonel of the Third Nebraska he had become an ardent pacifist, and he dreamed of going into history with a title greater than that of any other statesman who ever lived—for such, surely, would have been the meed of the man who abolished war. That mind of his, honest as the day, but far from great; strong but not broad, sees everything as simple, not as complex. Is there a wrong? Why, then, abolish it; it is as simple as A B C. War is wrong; therefore let us stop it. How? Why, get everybody to agree not to fight without taking a year to look into the thing. And he busied himself drafting and negotiating treaties with all the world to get it to agree to this simple but certain remedy. The "glorified circuit rider" was at the head of the Department of State of the United States. If anybody had suggested to him that there were nations which no treaty could bind, he would have answered, in the style of the prayer-meeting exhorter, "Ah! I have a higher faith in human nature." So he worked busily, building himself his niche in the temple of fame, and meanwhile the greatest war in history broke out.

With such a mind as has been described, it is evident that this event could not shake Mr. Bryan's confidence in himself or his remedies. To him it was obvious that the war came because the nations involved had not signed his treaty; if they had, Germany would have abided by it; would not have dreamed of treating it as a scrap of paper; would have waited the prescribed year, and Austria would have given Serbia the same time to reply to her ultimatum. The mischief was done, but he set about heroically to repair it; he sought to have the United States intervene as a peacemaker; he sought to prevent the United States from protecting its citizens on the high seas, since that seemed likely to lead to war; and at last, finding his efforts of no avail, he resigned.

No one who had seen him in his unequal fights for his principles on less momentous occasions could doubt that he would fight for them to the end on this greatest one. There is no parallel to his action in American history. So far as its political aspects are concerned, the nearest thing to it is Blaine's resignation from Harrison's Cabinet in 1892; but that only faintly resembles it. Blaine did not resign because of any difference in principles, but because he wanted to fight the Administration; and the superficial resemblance lies only in the similarity of the relations of the two Presidents to their Secretaries of State.

Bryan leaves the Cabinet saddened, but not disillusioned. When he had been Secretary of State two months he said that he would not have taken office "if I thought there was to be a war during my tenure." "I believe," he added, "there will be no war while I am Secretary of State, and I believe there will be no war so long as I live." It has not come out that way; it might have so easily come out that way if only Germany had signed that treaty of his! But he is not disillusioned; nothing can disillusion him; his ideal is still only a day or two ahead of him, and he resigns to fight for it, since fight for it in the Cabinet he cannot any longer.