Part 11 (1/2)

XI

BURBANK

It was through Carlotta that I came to know Burbank well.

He was in the House, representing the easternmost district of our state.

I had disliked him when we were boys in the state a.s.sembly together, and, when I met him again in Was.h.i.+ngton, he seemed to me to have all his faults of fifteen years before aggravated by persistence in them.

Finally, I needed his place in Congress for a useful lieutenant of Woodruff's and ordered him beaten for the renomination. He made a bitter fight against decapitation, and, as he was popular with the people of his district, we had some difficulty in defeating him. But when he was beaten, he was of course helpless and hopelessly discredited,--the people soon forget a fallen politician. He ”took off his coat” and worked hard and well for the election of the man who had euchred him out of the nomination. When he returned to Was.h.i.+ngton to finish his term, he began a double, desperate a.s.sault upon my friends.h.i.+p. The direct a.s.sault was unsuccessful,--I understood it, and I was in no need of lieutenants. More than I could easily take care of were already striving to serve me, scores of the brightest, most ambitious young men of the state eager to do my bidding, whatever it might be, in the hope that in return I would ”take care of” them, would admit them to the coveted inclosure round the plum tree. The plum tree! Is there any kind of fruit which gladdens the eyes of ambitious man, that does not glisten upon some one of its many boughs, heavy-laden with corporate and public honors and wealth?

Burbank's indirect attack, through his wife and Carlotta, fared better.

The first of it I distinctly recall was after a children's party at our house. Carlotta singled out Mrs. Burbank for enthusiastic commendation.

”The other women sent nurses with their children,” said she, ”but Mrs.

Burbank came herself. She was so sweet in apologizing for coming. She said she hadn't any nurse, and that she was so timid about her children that she never could bring herself to trust them to nurses. And really, Harvey, you don't know how nice she was all the afternoon. She's the kind of mother I approve of, the kind I try to be. Don't you admire her?”

”I don't know her,” said I. ”The only time I met her she struck me as being--well, rather silent.”

”That's it,” she exclaimed triumphantly. ”She doesn't care a rap for men. She's absorbed in her children and her husband.” Then, after a pause, she added: ”Well, she's welcome to him. I can't see what she finds to care for.”

”Why?” said I.

”Oh, he's distinguished-looking, and polite, offensively polite to women--he doesn't understand them at all--thinks they like deference and flattery, the low-grade mola.s.ses kind of flattery. He has a very nice smile. But he's so stilted and tiresome, always serious,--and such a pose! It's what I call the presidential pose. No doubt he'll be President some day.”

”Why?” said I. It is amusing to watch a woman fumble about for reasons for her intuitions.

Carlotta did uncommonly well. ”Oh, I don't know. He's the sort of high-average American that the people go crazy about. He--he--_looks_ like a President, that sort of--solemn--no-sense-of-humor, _Sunday_ look,--you know what I mean. Anyhow, he's going to be President.”

I thought not. A few days later, while what Carlotta had said was fresh in my mind, he overtook me walking to the capitol. As we went on together, I was smiling to myself. He certainly did look and talk like a President. He was of the average height, of the average build, and of a sort of average facial mold; he had hair that was a compromise among the average shades of brown, gray, and black, with a bald spot just where most men have it.

His pose--I saw that Carlotta was shrewdly right. He was acutely self-conscious, and was acting his pose every instant. He had selected it early in life; he would wear it, even in his nights.h.i.+rt, until death.

He said nothing brilliant, but neither did he say anything that would not have been generally regarded as sound and sensible. His impressive manner of delivering his words made one overvalue the freight they carried. But I soon found, for I studied him with increasing interest, thanks to my new point of view upon him,--I soon found that he had one quality the reverse of commonplace. He had magnetism.

Whenever a new candidate was proposed for Mazarin's service, he used to ask, first of all, ”Has he luck?” My first question has been, ”Has he magnetism?” and I think mine is the better measure. Such of one's luck as is not the blundering blindness of one's opponents is usually the result of one's magnetism. However, it is about the most dangerous of the free gifts of nature,--which are all dangerous. Burbank's merit lay in his discreet use of it. It compelled men to center upon him; he turned this to his advantage by making them feel, not how he shone, but how they shone. They went away liking him because they had new reasons for being in love with themselves.

I found only two serious weaknesses. The first was that he lacked the moral courage boldly to do either right or wrong. That explained why, in spite of his talents for impressing people both privately and from the platform, he was at the end of his political career. The second weakness was that he was ashamed of his very obscure and humble origin. He knew that his being ”wholly self-made” was a matchless political a.s.set, and he used it accordingly. But he looked on it somewhat as the beggar looks on the deformity he exhibits to get alms.

Neither weakness made him less valuable to my purpose,--the first one, if anything, increased his value. I wanted an instrument that was capable, but strong only when I used it.

I wanted a man suitable for development first into governor of my state, and then into a President. I could not have got the presidency for myself, but neither did I want it. My longings were all for power,--the reality, not the shadow. In a republic the man who has the real power must be out of view. If he is within view, a million hands stretch to drag him from the throne. He _must_ be out of view, putting forward his puppets and changing them when the people grow bored or angry with them.

And the President--in all important matters he must obey his party, which is, after all, simply the ”interests” that finance it; in unimportant matters, his so-called power is whittled down by the party's leaders and workers, whose requirements may not be disregarded. He shakes the plum tree, but he does it under orders; others gather the fruit, and he gets only the exercise and the ”honor.”

I had no yearning for puppets.h.i.+p, however exalted the t.i.tle or sonorous the fame; but to be the power that selects the king-puppet of the political puppet-hierarchy, to be the power that selects and rules him,--that was the logical development of my career.

In Burbank I thought I had found a man worthy to wear the puppet robes,--one who would glory in them. He, like most of the other ambitious men I have known, cared little who was behind the throne, provided he himself was seated upon it, the crown on his head and the crowds tossing the hats that shelter their dim-thinking brains. Also, in addition to magnetism and presence, he had dexterity and distinction and as much docility as can be expected in a man big enough to use for important work.

In September I gave him our party nomination for governor. In our one-sided state that meant his election.