Methodist Recollection of Lincoln

Friday is Abraham Lincoln’s birthday.  I just came across a remembrance of Lincoln by a Methodist minister of Washington, D.C. who, like many of the city’s clergy, knew him as if a friend and sometimes sought favors from him in the form of pardons for parishioners and others.  Rev. Bernard Nadal, the son of a French immigrant who taught at what became DePauw University and later at Drew Seminary, was from Virginia but an ardent anti-slavery unionist who pastored Wesley Chapel on F Street in downtown D.C.  His biography calls him an “evangelical preacher,” in the “strictest sense orthodox,” and “firmly attached also to the great fundamentals of Methodism,” which he maintained “unflinchingly.”

Nadal often witnessed Lincoln’s cordiality and mercy.  His final encounter was near the end, when he remarkably spotted Lincoln disembarking from a boat on the James River outside just surrendered Richmond, preparing his own momentous walk as conqueror into the Confederate capital.  The pastor was searching for his nearby son in the U.S. Army, and Lincoln, amid amiable banter, readily granted his clergy friend a pass into the now ruined city, penciling the words onto an envelope against a fence board.

Just days later, Rev. Nadal movingly delivered a poignant eulogy from his pulpit on the Sunday after Lincoln’s assassination, with Bishop Matthew Simpson, another Lincoln associate, at his side:

For myself, I loved Mr. Lincoln as a father. He came from the people, whence I came myself. I had the honor of a number of interviews with him; I saw him last, a week ago, at City Point, looking as though he had almost renewed his youth ; I saw him step from his steam-tug, and go forth in the fresh and balmy breath of a sweet spring morning. As he then appeared, he shall ever live in my memory. That shall be my best photograph of him. The murderer can not take that away. It is a part of me. I know not how you feel, but I feel that my own loss is irreparable. I had honored other Presidents, but I had never loved one before. As I go through my house I find myself continually, and even audibly, inquiring, What shall we do ? What shall I do? I can turn to the new President with respect and hope. I fully believe the nation will be safe in his honest and loyal hands. I will pray for him ; but still God has taken away our father — the second father of his country.

Rev. Nadal’s son became a diplomat and journalist.  In his final years at the time of World War I he wrote his own delightful memoir called A Virginian Village, referencing his native Lewisburg, Virginia (now West Virginia), and in which he devotes a chapter to Lincoln, including a few of his his own youthful memories.  He relates this charming vignette from when he was about age 21:

I saw him several times, but I met him only once face to face. It was during the Christmas holidays of the winter of 1864-65. I was in Washington for a vacation, and went to the White House one evening at the usual weekly public reception. I followed the crowd and the President gave me, as I passed him, a limp shake of the hand. Later in the evening, after the greater part of the people had gone, I was walking through the rooms, and I entered one in which I came upon Lincoln sitting in a chair. I think there was only one other person in the room sitting with him. Lincoln was evidently resting and was sitting in a posture which, though easy and comfortable, was dignified and, it seemed to me, refined. The expression of his countenance was pleasant, not tired and sad, as one often hears, cheerful rather. It was after his second election. Sheridan had been victorious in the Valley and Savannah had fallen, and the end was in sight. The plot was working toward the final chapter, when the good characters, great and small, should be made happy forever, and even the naughty and defeated were to be dismissed with that magnanimity usual in last chapters. In particular, what a pleasing future is to be assigned the chief hero. With the perfect confidence of his countrymen, and with vast personal authority, he is about to enter upon that work of pacification and restoration for which his qualities are so eminently fitted. All this seemed to be expressed in his face and figure. His eyes met mine for a moment, and his countenance wore a slightly quizzical expression, as if somewhat amused at the eagerness with which I no doubt regarded him. I had not come into the room meaning to look at him, or knowing that he was there; but coming upon him suddenly, I dare say I took a good look at him. But his expression was very friendly, and I thought he looked out of his eyes, not as a statesman or a man of business does, but rather like an artist or humorist. I might perfectly well have known him, if I had taken the trouble. I have always heard he liked young people.

Like all great historical figures, Lincoln was still only a mortal man who interacted with his contemporaries in personal ways they never forgot, contrasting his simple manners with the enormity of his national and global legacy. Let’s remember him this week, his 207th birthday.