'Singularly Modest and Deferential'

The first Union officer to die in the Civil War was twenty-four-year old Col. Elmer E. Ellsworth. He was killed while removing a Confederate flag from the roof of an Alexandria, Va. inn on May 24, 1861, a month after the start of the war and one day after Virginia ratified its secession from the Union by referendum.

The owner of the inn was James W. Jackson, who had raised a large Confederate flag observed by President Lincoln and his Cabinet with field glasses from Washington, D.C. Ellsworth and his men climbed to the roof and cut down the flag. While carrying it down the stairs of the inn, Ellsworth was ambushed by Jackson, who killed him with a shotgun blast. Another Union soldier, Private Francis E. Brownell, shot Jackson in the face with his rifle and bayonetted him. For this he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Ellsworth was a friend of Abraham Lincoln. In 1860 he had moved to Springfield, Ill., to study law with the future president and work on his campaign. On May 25, 1861, Lincoln wrote a letter of condolence to his parents, Ephraim D. and Phoebe Ellsworth. It begins:

“In the untimely loss of your noble son, our affliction here, is scarcely less than your own. So much of promised usefulness to one’s country, and of bright hopes for one’s self and friends, have rarely been so suddenly dashed, as in his fall. In size, in years, and in youthful appearance, a boy only, his power to command men, was surpassingly great. This power, combined with a fine intellect, an indomitable energy, and a taste altogether military, constituted in him, as seemed to me, the best natural talent, in that department, I ever knew.”

This recalls Jacques Barzun’s gloss on Lincoln as a literary artist:

“[H]is style, the plain, undecorated language in which he addresses posterity, is no mere knack with words. It is the manifestation of a mode of thought, of an outlook which colors every act of the writer’s and tells us how he rated life. Only let his choice of words, the rhythm and shape of his utterances, linger in the ear, and you begin to feel as he did – hence to discern unplumbed depths in the quiet intent of a conscious artist.”

We need periodic reminders that Lincoln is among the great American prose stylists.  Barzun might almost be speaking of a poet, which Lincoln was, under the sway of Lord Byron, as a young man. He could be swooningly romantic and as funny as Byron in Don Juan. It shouldn’t surprise us, though it does, that some of our finest presidents were excellent writers – Jefferson, Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt -- and so was one of the worst: Ulysses S. Grant. Barzun draws an implicit comparison between artists and statesmen:

“The artist contrives means and marshals forces that the beholder takes for granted and that the bungler never discovers for himself. The artist is always scheming to conquer his material and his audience. When we speak of his craft, we mean quite literally that he is crafty.”

If you have ever tried to write a letter of condolence to someone who has suffered the death of a relative or friend, you know it can be agony. You wish to sound sincere but at the same time avoid hackneyed language. You want to express legitimate emotion but not turn sentimental or focus the letter on yourself. I can remember several such letters I have written that still shame me. It’s an art few of us will ever master. Savor the rest of Lincoln’s letter to the Ellsworths: 

 “And yet he was singularly modest and deferential in social intercourse. My acquaintance with him began less than two years ago; yet through the latter half of the intervening period, it was as intimate as the disparity of our ages, and my engrossing engagements, would permit. To me, he appeared to have no indulgences or pastimes; and I never heard him utter a profane, or an intemperate word. What was conclusive of his good heart, he never forgot his parents. The honors he labored for so laudably, and, in the sad end, so gallantly gave his life, he meant for them, no less than for himself.

“In the hope that it may be no intrusion upon the sacredness of your sorrow, I have ventured to address you this tribute to the memory of my young friend, and your brave and early fallen child. May God give you that consolation which is beyond all earthly power. Sincerely your friend in a common affliction -

“A. LINCOLN”

[Try to find a copy of Barzun’s “Lincoln the Literary Genius” (1960), collected in A Jacques Barzun Reader (2001).]