first visit to new england-第6部分

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from　that　erring　edition。　　He　did　not　afflict　me　for　it；　though；　probably
it　amused　him　too　much；　he　asked　me　about　the　West；　and　when　he　found
that　I　was　as　proud　of　the　West　as　I　was　of　Wales；　he　seemed　even　better
pleased；　and　said　he　had　always　fancied　that　human　nature　was　laid　out　on
rather　a　larger　scale　there　than　in　the　East；　but　he　had　seen　very　little
of　the　West。　　In　my　heart　I　did　not　think　this　then；　and　I　do　not　think
it　now；　human　nature　has　had　more　ground　to　spread　over　in　the　West；　that
is　all；　but　〃it　was　not　for　me　to　bandy　words　with　my　sovereign。〃　　He
said　he　liked　to　hear　of　the　differences　between　the　different　sections；
for　what　we　had　most　to　fear　in　our　country　was　a　wearisome　sameness　of
type。

He　did　not　say　now；　or　at　any　other　time　during　the　many　years　I　knew
him；　any　of　those　slighting　things　of　the　West　which　I　had　so　often　to
suffer　from　Eastern　people；　but　suffered　me　to　praise　it　all　I　would。　　He
asked　me　what　way　I　had　taken　in　coming　to　New　England；　and　when　I　told
him；　and　began　to　rave　of　the　beauty　and　quaintness　of　French　Canada；
and　to　pour　out　my　joy　in　Quebec；　he　said；　with　a　smile　that　had　now　lost
all　its　frost；　Yes；　Quebec　was　a　bit　of　the　seventeenth　century；　it　was
in　many　ways　more　French　than　France；　and　its　people　spoke　the　language
of　Voltaire；　with　the　accent　of　Voltaire's　time。

I　do　not　remember　what　else　he　talked　of；　though　once　I　remembered　it
with　what　I　believed　an　ineffaceable　distinctness。　　I　set　nothing　of　it
down　at　the　time；　I　was　too　busy　with　the　letters　I　was　writing　for　a
Cincinnati　paper；　and　I　was　severely　bent　upon　keeping　all　personalities
out　of　them。　　This　was　very　well；　but　I　could　wish　now　that　I　had
transgressed　at　least　so　far　as　to　report　some　of　the　things　that　Lowell
said；　for　the　paper　did　not　print　my　letters；　and　it　would　have　been
perfectly　safe；　and　very　useful　for　the　present　purpose。　　But　perhaps　he
did　not　say　anything　very　memorable；　to　do　that　you　must　have　something
positive　in　your　listener；　and　I　was　the　mere　response；　the　hollow　echo；
that　youth　must　be　in　like　circumstances。　　I　was　all　the　time　afraid　of
wearing　my　welcome　out；　and　I　hurried　to　go　when　I　would　so　gladly　have
staid。　　I　do　not　remember　where　I　meant　to　go；　or　why　he　should　have
undertaken　to　show　me　the　way　across…lots；　but　this　was　what　he　did；　and
when　we　came　to　a　fence；　which　I　clambered　gracelessly　over；　he　put　his
hands　on　the　top；　and　tried　to　take　it　at　a　bound。　　He　tried　twice；　and
then　laughed　at　his　failure；　but　not　with　any　great　pleasure；　and　he　was
not　content　till　a　third　trial　carried　him　across。　　Then　he　said；
〃I　commonly　do　that　the　first　time；〃　as　if　it　were　a　frequent　habit　with
him；　while　I　remained　discreetly　silent；　and　for　that　moment　at　least
felt　myself　the　elder　of　the　man　who　had　so　much　of　the　boy　in　him。　　He
had；　indeed；　much　of　the　boy　in　him　to　the　last；　and　he　parted　with　each
hour　of　his　youth　reluctantly；　pathetically。




VIII。

We　walked　across　what　must　have　been　Jarvis　Field　to　what　must　have　been
North　Avenue；　and　there　he　left　me。　　But　before　he　let　me　go　he　held　my
hand　while　he　could　say　that　he　wished　me　to　dine　with　him；　only；　he　was
not　in　his　own　house；　and　he　would　ask　me　to　dine　with　him　at　the　Parker
House　in　Boston；　and　would　send　me　word　of　the　time　later。

I　suppose　I　may　have　spent　part　of　the　intervening　time　in　viewing　the
wonders　of　Boston；　and　visiting　the　historic　scenes　and　places　in　it　and
about　it。　　I　certainly　went　over　to　Charleston；　and　ascended　Bunker　Hill
monument；　and　explored　the　navy…yard；　where　the　immemorial　man…of…war
begun　in　Jackson's　time　was　then　silently　stretching　itself　under　its
long　shed　in　a　poetic　arrest；　as　if　the　failure　of　the　appropriation　for
its　completion　had　been　some　kind　of　enchantment。　　In　Boston；　I　early
presented　my　letter　of　credit　to　the　publisher　it　was　drawn　upon；　not
that　I　needed　money　at　the　moment；　but　from　a　young　eagerness　to　see　if
it　would　be　honored；　and　a　literary　attache　of　the　house　kindly　went
about　with　me；　and　showed　me　the　life　of　the　city。　　A　great　city　it
seemed　to　me　then；　and　a　seething　vortex　of　business　as　well　as　a　whirl
of　gaiety；　as　I　saw　it　in　Washington　Street；　and　in　a　promenade　concert
at　Copeland's　restaurant　in　Tremont　Row。　　Probably　I　brought　some
idealizing　force　to　bear　upon　it；　for　I　was　not　all　so　strange　to　the
world　as　I　must　seem；　perhaps　I　accounted　for　quality　as　well　as　quantity
in　my　impressions　of　the　New　England　metropolis；　and　aggrandized　it　in
the　ratio　of　its　literary　importance。　　It　seemed　to　me　old；　even　after
Quebec；　and　very　likely　I　credited　the　actual　town　with　all　the　dead　and
gone　Bostonians　in　my　sentimental　census。　　If　I　did　not；　it　was　no　fault
of　my　cicerone；　who　thought　even　more　of　the　city　he　showed　me　than　I
did。　　I　do　not　know　now　who　he　was；　and　I　never　saw　him　after　I　came　to
live　there；　with　any　certainty　that　it　was　he；　though　I　was　often
tormented　with　the　vision　of　a　spectacled　face　like　his；　but　not　like
enough　to　warrant　me　in　addressing　him。

He　became　part　of　that　ghostly　Boston　of　my　first　visit；　which　would
sometimes　return　and　possess　again　the　city　I　came　to　know　so　familiarly
in　later　years；　and　to　be　so　passionately　interested　in。　　Some　color　of
my　prime　impressions　has　tinged　the　fictitious　experiences　of　people　in
my　books；　but　I　find　very　little　of　it　in　my　memory。　　This　is　like　a　web
of　frayed　old　lace；　which　I　have　to　take　carefully　into　my　hold　for　fear
of　its　fragility；　and　make　out　as　best　I　can　the　figure　once　so　distinct
in　it。　　There　are　the　narrow　streets；　stretching　saltworks　to　the　docks；
which　I　haunted　for　their　quaintness；　and　there　is　Faunal　Hall；　which　I
cared　to　see　so　much　more　because　Wendell　Phillips　had　spoken　in　it　than
because　Otis　and　Adams　had。　　There　is　the　old　Colonial　House；　and　there
is　the　State　House；　which　I　dare　say　I　explored；　with　the　Common　sloping
before　it。　　There　is　Beacon　Street；　with　the　Hancock　House　where　it　is
incredibly　no　more；　and　there　are　the　beginnings　of　Commonwealth　Avenue；
and　the　other　streets　of　the　Back　Bay；　laid　out　with　their　basements　left
hollowed　in　the　made　land；　which　the　gravel　trains　were　yet　making　out　of
the　westward　hills。　　There　is　the　Public　Garden；　newly　planned　and
planted；　but　without　the　massive　bridge　destined　to　make　so　ungratefully
little　of　the　lake　that　occasioned　it。　　But　it　is　all　very　vague；　and　I
could　easily　believe　now　that　it　was　some　one　else　who　saw　it　then　in　my
place。

I　think　that　I　did　not　try　to　see　Cambridge　the　same　day　that　I　saw
Lowell；　but　wisely　came　back　to　my　hotel　in　Boston；　and　tried　to　realize
the　fact。　　I　went　out　another　day；　with　an　acquaintance　from　Ohio；　whom　I
ran　upon　in　the　street。　　We　went　to　Mount　Auburn　together；　and　I　viewed
its　monuments　with　a　reverence　which　I　dare　say　their　artistic　quality
did　not　merit。　　But　I　am；　not　sorry　for　this；　for　perhaps　they　are　not
quite　so　bad　as　some　people　pretend。　　The　Gothic　chapel　of　the　cemetery；
unsorted　as　it　was；　gave　me；　with　its　half…dozen　statues　standing　or
sitting　about；　an　emotion　such　as　I　am　afraid　I　could　not　receive　now
from　the　Acropolis；　Westminster　Abbey；　and　Santa　Crocea　in　one。　　I　tried
hard　for　some　aesthetic　sense　of　it；　and　I　made　believe　that　I　thought
this　thing　and　that　thing　in　the　place　moved　me　with　its　fitness　or
beauty；　but　the　truth　is　that　I　had　no　taste　in　anything　but　literature；
and　did　not　feel　the　effect　I　would　so　willingly　have　experienced。

I　did　genuinely　love　the　elmy　quiet　of　the　dear　old　Cambridge　streets；
though；　and　I　had　a　real　and　instant　pleasure　in　the　yellow　colonial
houses；　with　their　white　corners　and　casements　and　their　green　blinds；
that　lurked　behind　the　shrubbery　of　the　avenue　I　passed　through　to　Mount
Auburn。　　The　most　beautiful　among　them　was　the　most　interesting　for　me；
for　it　was　the　house　of　Longfellow；　my　companion；　who　had　seen　it　before；
pointed　it　out　to　me　with　an　air　of　custom；　and　I　would　not　let　him　see
that　I　valued　the　first　sight　of　it　as　I　did。　　I　had　hoped　that　somehow　I
might　be　so　favored　as　to　see　Longfellow　himself；　but　when　I　asked　about
him　of　those　who　knew；　they　said；　〃Oh；　he　is　at　Nahant；〃　and　I　thought
that　Nahant　must　be　a　great　way　off；　and　at　any　rate　I　did　not　feel
authorized　to　go　to　him　there。　　Neither　did　I　go　to　see　the　author　of
'The　Amber　Gods'；who　lived　at　Newburyport；　I　was　told；　as　if　I　should
know　where　Newburyport　was；　I　did　not　know；　and　I　hated　to　ask。　　Besides；
it　did　not　seem　so　simple　as　it　had　seemed　in　Ohio；　to　go　and　see　a　young
lady　simply　because　I　was　infatuated　with　her　literature；　even　as　the
envoy　of　all　the　infatuated　young　people　of　Columbus；　I　could　not　quite
do　this；　and　when　I　got　home；　I　had　to　account　for　my　failure　as　best　I
could。　　Another　failure　of　mine　was　the　sight　of　Whittier；　which　I　then
very　much　longed　to　have。　　They　said；　〃Oh；　Whittier　lives　at　Amesbury；〃
but　that　put　him　at　an　indefinite　distance；　and　without　the　introduction
I　never　would　ask　for；　I　found　it　impossible　to　set　out　in　quest　of　him。
In　the　end；　I　saw　no　one　in　New　England　whom　I　was　not　presented　to　in
the　regular　way；　except　Lowell；　whom　I　thought　I　had　a　right　to　call　upon
in　my　quality　of　contributor；　and　from　the　acquaintance　I　had　with　him　by
letter。　　I　neither　praise　nor　blame　myself　for　this；　it　was　my　shyness
that　with　held　me　rather　than　my　merit。　　There　is　really　no　harm　in
seeking　the　presence　of　a　famous　man；　and　I　doubt　if　the　famous　man
resents　the　wish　of　people　to　look　upon　him　without　some　measure；　great
or　little；　of　affectation。　　There　are　bores　everywhere；　but　he　is
likelier　to　find　them　in　the　wonted　figures　of　society　than　in　those
young　people；　or　old　people；　who　come　to　him　in　the　love　of　what　he　has
done。　　I　am　well　aware　how　furiously　Tennyson　sometimes　met　his
worshippers；　and　how　insolently　Carlyle；　but　I　think　these　facts　are
little　specks　in　their　sincerity。　　Our　own　gentler　and　honester
celebrities　did　not　forbid　approach；　and　I　have　known　some　of　them　caress
adorers　who　seemed　hardly　worthy　of　their　kindness；　but　that　was　better
than　to　have　hurt　any　sensitive　spi