the white mr. longfellow-第4部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


existed　only　by　the　challenger's　invention。　　Before　I　leave　my　faint　and
unworthy　record　of　these　great　times　I　am　tempted　to　mention　an　incident
poignant　with　tragical　associations。　　The　first　night　after　Christmas　the
holly　and　the　pine　wreathed　about　the　chandelier　above　the　supper…table
took　fire　from　the　gas；　just　as　we　came　out　from　the　reading；　and
Longfellow　ran　forward　and　caught　the　burning　garlands　down　and　bore　them
out。　　No　one　could　speak　for　thinking　what　he　must　be　thinking　of　when
the　ineffable　calamity　of　his　home　befell　it。　　Curtis　once　told　me　that　a
little　while　before　Mrs。　Longfellow's　death　he　was　driving　by　Craigie
House　with　Holmes；　who　said　be　trembled　to　look　at　it；　for　those　who
lived　there　had　their　happiness　so　perfect　that　no　change；　of　all　the
changes　which　must　come　to　them；　could　fail　to　be　for　the　worse。
I　did　not　know　Longfellow　before　that　fatal　time；　and　I　shall　not　say
that　his　presence　bore　record　of　it　except　in　my　fancy。　　He　may　always
have　had　that　look　of　one　who　had　experienced　the　utmost　harm　that　fate
can　do；　and　henceforth　could　possess　himself　of　what　was　left　of　life　in
peace。　　He　could　never　have　been　a　man　of　the　flowing　ease　that　makes　all
comers　at　home；　some　people　complained　of　a　certain　'gene'　in　him；　and　he
had　a　reserve　with　strangers；　which　never　quite　lost　itself　in　the
abandon　of　friendship；　as　Lowell's　did。　　He　was　the　most　perfectly　modest
man　I　ever　saw；　ever　imagined；　but　he　had　a　gentle　dignity　which　I　do　not
believe　any　one；　the　coarsest；　the　obtusest；　could　trespass　upon。　　In　the
years　when　I　began　to　know　him；　his　long　hair　and　the　beautiful　beard
which　mixed　with　it　were　of　one　iron…gray；　which　I　saw　blanch　to　a
perfect　silver；　while　that　pearly　tone　of　his　complexion；　which　Appleton
so　admired；　lost　itself　in　the　wanness　of　age　and　pain。　　When　he　walked；
he　had　a　kind　of　spring　in　his　gait；　as　if　now　and　again　a　buoyant
thought　lifted　him　from　the　ground。　　It　was　fine　to　meet　him　coming　down
a　Cambridge　street；　you　felt　that　the　encounter　made　you　a　part　of
literary　history；　and　set　you　apart　with　him　for　the　moment　from　the　poor
and　mean。　　When　he　appeared　in　Harvard　Square；　he　beatified　if　not
beautified　the　ugliest　and　vulgarest　looking　spot　on　the　planet　outside
of　New　York。　　You　could　meet　him　sometimes　at　the　market；　if　you　were　of
the　same　provision…man　as　he；　and　Longfellow　remained　as　constant　to　his
tradespeople　as　to　any　other　friends。　　He　rather　liked　to　bring　his
proofs　back　to　the　printer's　himself；　and　we　often　found　ourselves
together　at　the　University　Press；　where　the　Atlantic　Monthly　used　to　be
printed。　　But　outside　of　his　own　house　Longfellow　seemed　to　want　a　fit
atmosphere；　and　I　love　best　to　think　of　him　in　his　study；　where　he
wrought　at　his　lovely　art　with　a　serenity　expressed　in　his　smooth；
regular；　and　scrupulously　perfect　handwriting。　　It　was　quite　vertical；
and　rounded；　with　a　slope　neither　to　the　right　nor　left；　and　at　the　time
I　knew　him　first；　he　was　fond　of　using　a　soft　pencil　on　printing　paper；
though　commonly　he　wrote　with　a　quill。　　Each　letter　was　distinct　in
shape；　and　between　the　verses　was　always　the　exact　space　of　half　an　inch。
I　have　a　good　many　of　his　poems　written　in　this　fashion；　but　whether　they
were　the　first　drafts　or　not　I　cannot　say；　very　likely　not。　　Towards　the
last　he　no　longer　sent　his　poems　to　the　magazines　in　his　own　hand；　but
they　were　always　signed　in　autograph。

I　once　asked　him　if　he　were　not　a　great　deal　interrupted；　and　he　said；
with　a　faint　sigh；　Not　more　than　was　good　for　him；　he　fancied；　if　it　were
not　for　the　interruptions；　he　might　overwork。　　He　was　not　a　friend　to
stated　exercise；　I　believe；　nor　fond　of　walking；　as　Lowell　was；　he　had
not；　indeed；　the　childish　associations　of　the　younger　poet　with　the
Cambridge　neighborhoods；　and　I　never　saw　him　walking　for　pleasure　except
on　the　east　veranda　of　his　house；　though　I　was　told　he　loved　walking　in
his　youth。　　In　this　and　in　some　other　things　Longfellow　was　more　European
than　American；　more　Latin　than　Saxon。　　He　once　said　quaintly　that　one　got
a　great　deal　of　exercise　in　putting　on　and　off　one's　overcoat　and
overshoes。

I　suppose　no　one　who　asked　decently　at　his　door　was　denied　access　to　him；
and　there　must　have　been　times　when　he　was　overrun　with　volunteer
visitors；　but　I　never　heard　him　complain　of　them。　　He　was　very　charitable
in　the　immediate　sort　which　Christ　seems　to　have　meant；　but　he　had　his
preferences；　humorously　owned；　among　beggars。　　He　liked　the　German
beggars　least；　and　the　Italian　beggars　most；　as　having　most　savair…faire；
in　fact；　we　all　loved　the　Italians　in　Cambridge。　　He　was　pleased　with　the
accounts　I　could　give　him　of　the　love　and　honor　I　had　known　for　him　in
Italy；　and　one　day　there　came　a　letter　from　an　Italian　admirer；　addressed
to　〃Mr。　Greatest　Poet　Longfellow；〃　which　he　said　was　the　very　most
amusing　superscription　he　had　ever　seen。

It　is　known　that　the　King　of　Italy　offered　Longfellow　the　cross　of　San
Lazzaro；　which　is　the　Italian　literary　decoration。　　It　came　through　the
good　offices　of　my　old　acquaintance　Professor　Messadaglia；　then　a　deputy
in　the　Italian　Parliament；　whom；　for　some　reason　I　cannot　remember；　I　had
put　in　correspondence　with　Longfellow。　　The　honor　was　wholly　unexpected；
and　it　brought　Longfellow　a　distress　which　was　chiefly　for　the　gentleman
who　had　procured　him　the　impossible　distinction。　　He　showed　me　the　pretty
collar　and　cross；　not；　I　think；　without　a　natural　pleasure　in　it。　　No　man
was　ever　less　a　bigot　in　things　civil　or　religious　than　he；　but　he　said；
firmly；　〃Of　course；　as　a　republican　and　a　Protestant；　I　can't　accept　a
decoration　from　a　Catholic　prince。〃　　His　decision　was　from　his
conscience；　and　I　think　that　all　Americans　who　think　duly　about　it　will
approve　his　decision。




VI。

Such　honors　as　he　could　fitly　permit　himself　he　did　not　refuse；　and　I
recall　what　zest　he　had　in　his　election　to　the　Arcadian　Academy；　which
had　made　him　a　shepherd　of　its　Roman　Fold；　with　the　title；　as　he　said；　of
〃Olimipico　something。〃　　But　I　fancy　his　sweetest　pleasure　in　his　vast
renown　came　from　his　popular　recognition　everywhere。　　Few　were　the　lands；
few　the　languages　he　was　unknown　to：　he　showed　me　a　version　of　the　〃Psalm
of　Life〃　in　Chinese。　　Apparently　even　the　poor　lost　autograph…seeker　was
not　denied　by　his　universal　kindness；　I　know　that　he　kept　a　store　of
autographs　ready　written　on　small　squares　of　paper　for　all　who　applied　by
letter　or　in　person；　he　said　it　was　no　trouble；　but　perhaps　he　was　to　be
excused　for　refusing　the　request　of　a　lady　for　fifty　autographs；　which
she　wished　to　offer　as　a　novel　attraction　to　her　guests　at　a　lunch　party。

Foreigners　of　all　kinds　thronged　upon　him　at　their　pleasure；　apparently；
and　with　perfect　impunity。　　Sometimes　he　got　a　little　fun；　very；　very
kindly；　out　of　their　excuses　and　reasons；　and　the　Englishman　who　came　to
see　him　because　there　were　no　ruins　to　visit　in　America　was　no　fable；　as
I　can　testify　from　the　poet　himself。　　But　he　had　no　prejudice　against
Englishmen；　and　even　at　a　certain　time　when　the　coarse…handed　British
criticism　began　to　blame　his　delicate　art　for　the　universal　acceptance　of
his　verse；　and　to　try　to　sneer　him　into　the　rank　of　inferior　poets；　he
was　without　rancor　for　the　clumsy　misliking　that　he　felt。　　He　could　not
understand　rudeness；　he　was　too　finely　framed　for　that；　he　could　know　it
only　as　Swedenborg's　most　celestial　angels　perceived　evil；　as　something
distressful；　angular。　　The　ill…will　that　seemed　nearly　always　to　go　with
adverse　criticism　made　him　distrust　criticism；　and　the　discomfort　which
mistaken　or　blundering　praise　gives　probably　made　him　shy　of　all
criticism。　　He　said　that　in　his　early　life　as　an　author　he　used　to　seek
out　and　save　all　the　notices　of　his　poems；　but　in　his　latter　days　he　read
only　those　that　happened　to　fall　in　his　way；　these　he　cut　out　and　amused
his　leisure　by　putting　together　in　scrapbooks。　　He　was　reluctant　to　make
any　criticism　of　other　poets；　I　do　not　remember　ever　to　have　heard　him
make　one；　and　his　writings　show　no　trace　of　the　literary　dislikes　or
contempts　which　we　so　often　mistake　in　ourselves　for　righteous　judgments。
No　doubt　he　had　his　resentments；　but　he　hushed　them　in　his　heart；　which
he　did　not　suffer　them　to　embitter。　　While　Poe　was　writing　of　〃Longfellow
and　other　Plagiarists；〃　Longfellow　was　helping　to　keep　Poe　alive　by　the
loans　which　always　made　themselves　gifts　in　Poe's　case。　　He　very；　very
rarely　spoke　of　himself　at　all；　and　almost　never　of　the　grievances　which
he　did　not　fail　to　share　with　all　who　live。

He　was　patient；　as　I　said；　of　all　things；　and　gentle　beyond　all　mere
gentlemanliness。　　But　it　would　have　been　a　great　mistake　to　mistake　his
mildness　for　softness。　　It　was　most　manly　and　firm；　and　of　course　it　was
braced　with　the　New　England　conscience　he　was　born　to。　　If　he　did　not
find　it　well　to　assert　himself；　he　was　prompt　in　behalf　of　his　friends；
and　one　of　tho　fine　things　told　of　him　was　his　resenting　some　censures　of
Sumner　at　a　dinner　in　Boston　during　the　old　pro…slavery　times：　he　said　to
the　gentlemen　present　that　Sumner　was　his　friend；　and　he　must　leave　their
company　if　they　continued　to　assail　him。

But　he　spoke　almost　as　rarely　of　his　friends　as　of　himself。　　He　liked　the
large；　impersonal　topics　which　could　be　dealt　with　on　their　human　side；
and　involved　characters　rather　than　individuals。　　This　was　rather　strange
in　Cambridge；　where　we　were　apt　to　take　our　instances　from　the
environment。　　It　was　not　the　only　thing　he　was　strange　in　there；　he　was
not　to　that　manner　born；　he　lacked　the　final　intimacies　which　can　come
only　of　birth　and　lifelong　association；　and　which　make　the　men　of　the
Boston　breed　seem　exclusive　when　they　least　feel　so；　he　was　Longfellow　to
the　friends　who　were　James；　and　Charles；　and　Wendell　to　one　another。　　He
and　Hawthorne　were　classmates　at　college；　but　I　never　heard　him　mention
Hawthorne；　I　never　heard　him　mention　Whittier　or　Emerson。　　I　think　his
reticence　about　his　contemporaries　was　largely　due　to　his　reluctance　from
criticism：　he　was　the　finest　artist　of　them　all；　and　if　he　praised　he
must　have　praised　with　the　r