the white mr. longfellow-第2章

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III。

In　that　elect　company　I　was　silent；　partly　because　I　was　conscious　of　my
youthful　inadequacy；　and　partly　because　I　preferred　to　listen。　　But
Longfellow　always　behaved　as　if　I　were　saying　a　succession　of　edifying
and　delightful　things；　and　from　time　to　time　he　addressed　himself　to　me；
so　that　I　should　not　feel　left　out。　　He　did　not　talk　much　himself；　and　I
recall　nothing　that　he　said。　　But　he　always　spoke　both　wisely　and　simply；
without　the　least　touch　of　pose；　and　with　no　intention　of　effect；　but
with　something　that　I　must　call　quality　for　want　of　a　better　word；　so
that　at　a　table　where　Holmes　sparkled；　and　Lowell　glowed；　and　Agassiz
beamed；　he　cast　the　light　of　a　gentle　gaiety；　which　seemed　to　dim　all
these　vivider　luminaries。　　While　he　spoke　you　did　not　miss　Fields's　story
or　Tom　Appleton's　wit；　or　even　the　gracious　amity　of　Mr。　Norton；　with　his
unequalled　intuitions。

The　supper　was　very　plain：　a　cold　turkey；　which　the　host　carved；　or　a
haunch　of　venison；　or　some　braces　of　grouse；　or　a　platter　of　quails；　with
a　deep　bowl　of　salad；　and　the　sympathetic　companionship　of　those　elect
vintages　which　Longfellow　loved；　and　which　he　chose　with　the　inspiration
of　affection。　　We　usually　began　with　oysters；　and　when　some　one　who　was
expected　did　not　come　promptly；　Longfellow　invited　us　to　raid　his　plate；
as　a　just　punishment　of　his　delay。　　One　evening　Lowell　remarked；　with　the
cayenne　poised　above　his　bluepoints；　〃It's　astonishing　how　fond　these
fellows　are　of　pepper。〃

The　old　friend　of　the　cavernous　arm…chair　was　perhaps　not　wide　enough
awake　to　repress　an　〃Ah？〃　of　deep　interest　in　this　fact　of　natural
history；　and　Lowell　was　provoked　to　go　on。　　〃Yes；　I've　dropped　a　red
pepper　pod　into　a　barrel　of　them；　before　now；　and　then　taken　them　out　in
a　solid　mass；　clinging　to　it　like　a　swarm　of　bees　to　their　queen。〃

〃Is　it　possible？〃　cried　the　old　friend；　and　then　Longfellow　intervened　to
save　him　from　worse；　and　turned　the　talk。

I　reproach　myself　that　I　made　no　record　of　the　talk；　for　I　find　that　only
a　few　fragments　of　it　have　caught　in　my　memory；　and　that　the　sieve　which
should　have　kept　the　gold　has　let　it　wash　away　with　the　gravel。
I　remember　once　Doctor　Holmes's　talking　of　the　physician　as　the　true
seer；　whose　awful　gift　it　was　to　behold　with　the　fatal　second　sight　of
science　the　shroud　gathering　to　the　throat　of　many　a　doomed　man
apparently　in　perfect　health；　and　happy　in　the　promise　of　unnumbered
days。　　The　thought　may　have　been　suggested　by　some　of　the　toys　of
superstition　which　intellectual　people　like　to　play　with。

I　never　could　be　quite　sure　at　first　that　Longfellow's　brother…in…law；
Appleton；　was　seriously　a　spiritualist；　even　when　he　disputed　the　most
strenuously　with　the　unbelieving　Autocrat。　　But　he　really　was　in　earnest
about　it；　though　he　relished　a　joke　at　the　expense　of　his　doctrine；　like
some　clerics　when　they　are　in　the　safe　company　of　other　clerics。　　He　told
me　once　of　having　recounted　to　Agassiz　the　facts　of　a　very　remarkable
seance；　where　the　souls　of　the　departed　outdid　themselves　in　the
athletics　and　acrobatics　they　seem　so　fond　of　over　there；　throwing　large
stones　across　the　room；　moving　pianos；　and　lifting　dinner…tables　and
setting　them　a…twirl　under　the　chandelier。　　〃And　now；〃　he　demanded；　〃what
do　you　say　to　that？〃　　〃Well；　Mr。　Appleton；〃　Agassiz　answered；　to
Appleton's　infinite　delight；　〃I　say　that　it　did　not　happen。〃

One　night　they　began　to　speak　at　the　Dante　supper　of　the　unhappy　man
whose　crime　is　a　red　stain　in　the　Cambridge　annals；　and　one　and　another
recalled　their　impressions　of　Professor　Webster。　　It　was　possibly　with　a
retroactive　sense　that　they　had　all　felt　something　uncanny　in　him；　but；
apropos　of　the　deep　salad…bowl　in　the　centre　of　the　table；　Longfellow
remembered　a　supper　Webster　was　at；　where　he　lighted　some　chemical　in
such　a　dish　and　held　his　head　over　it；　with　a　handkerchief　noosed　about
his　throat　and　lifted　above　it　with　one　hand；　while　his　face；　in　the　pale
light；　took　on　the　livid　ghastliness　of　that　of　a　man　hanged　by　the　neck。

Another　night　the　talk　wandered　to　the　visit　which　an　English　author　（now
with　God）　paid　America　at　the　height　of　a　popularity　long　since　toppled
to　the　ground；　with　many　another。　　He　was　in　very　good　humor　with　our
whole　continent；　and　at　Longfellow's　table　he　found　the　champagne　even
surprisingly　fine。　　〃But；〃　he　said　to　his　host；　who　now　told　the　story；
〃it　cawn't　be　genuine；　you　know！〃

Many　years　afterwards　this　author　revisited　our　shores；　and　I　dined　with
him　at　Longfellow's；　where　he　was　anxious　to　constitute　himself　a　guest
during　his　sojourn　in　our　neighborhood。　　Longfellow　was　equally　anxious
that　he　should　not　do　so；　and　he　took　a　harmless　pleasure　in　out…
manoeuvring　him。　　He　seized　a　chance　to　speak　with　me　alone；　and　plotted
to　deliver　him　over　to　me　without　apparent　unkindness；　when　the　latest
horse…car　should　be　going　in　to　Boston；　and　begged　me　to　walk　him　to
Harvard　Square　and　put　him　aboard。　　〃Put　him　aboard；　and　don't　leave　him
till　the　car　starts；　and　then　watch　that　he　doesn't　get　off。〃

These　instructions　he　accompanied　with　a　lifting　of　the　eyebrows；　and　a
pursing　of　the　mouth；　in　an　anxiety　not　altogether　burlesque。　　He　knew
himself　the　prey　of　any　one　who　chose　to　batten　on　him；　and　his
hospitality　was　subject　to　frightful　abuse。　　Perhaps　Mr。　Norton　has
somewhere　told　how；　when　he　asked　if　a　certain　person　who　had　been
outstaying　his　time　was　not　a　dreadful　bore；　Longfellow　answered；　with
angelic　patience；　〃Yes；　but　then　you　know　I　have　been　bored　so　often！〃

There　was　one　fatal　Englishman　whom　I　shared　with　him　during　the　great
part　of　a　season：　a　poor　soul；　not　without　gifts；　but　always　ready　for
more；　especially　if　they　took　the　form　of　meat　and　drink。　　He　had　brought
letters　from　one　of　the　best　English　men　alive；　who　withdrew　them　too
late　to　save　his　American　friends　from　the　sad　consequences　of　welcoming
him。　　So　he　established　himself　impregnably　in　a　Boston　club；　and　came
out　every　day　to　dine　with　Longfellow　in　Cambridge；　beginning　with　his
return　from　Nahant　in　October　and　continuing　far　into　December。　　That　was
the　year　of　the　great　horse…distemper；　when　the　plague　disabled　the
transportation　in　Boston；　and　cut　off　all　intercourse　between　the　suburb
and　the　city　on　the　street　railways。　　〃I　did　think；〃　Longfellow
pathetically　lamented；　〃that　when　the　horse…cars　stopped　running；　I
should　have　a　little　respite　from　L。；　but　he　walks　out。〃

In　the　midst　of　his　own　suffering　he　was　willing　to　advise　with　me
concerning　some　poems　L。　had　offered　to　the　Atlantic　Monthly；　and　after
we　had　desperately　read　them　together　he　said；　with　inspiration；　〃I　think
these　things　are　more　adapted　to　music　than　the　magazine；〃　and　this
seemed　so　good　a　notion　that　when　L。　came　to　know　their　fate　from　me；
I　answered；　confidently；　〃I　think　they　are　rather　more　adapted　to　music。〃
He　calmly　asked；　〃Why？〃　and　as　this　was　an　exigency　which　Longfellow　had
not　forecast　for　me；　I　was　caught　in　it　without　hope　of　escape。　　I　really
do　not　know　what　I　said；　but　I　know　that　I　did　not　take　the　poems；　such
was　my　literary　conscience　in　those　days；　I　am　afraid　I　should　be　weaker
now。




IV。

The　suppers　of　the　Dante　Club　were　a　relaxation　from　the　severity　of
their　toils　on　criticism；　and　I　will　not　pretend　that　their　table…talk
was　of　that　seriousness　which　duller　wits　might　have　given　themselves　up
to。　　The　passing　stranger；　especially　if　a　light　or　jovial　person；　was
always　welcome；　and　I　never　knew　of　the　enforcement　of　the　rule　I　heard
of；　that　if　you　came　in　without　question　on　the　Club　nights；　you　were　a
guest；　but　if　you　rang　or　knocked；　you　could　not　get　in。

Any　sort　of　diversion　was　hailed；　and　once　Appleton　proposed　that
Longfellow　should　show　us　his　wine…cellar。　　He　took　up　the　candle　burning
on　the　table　for　the　cigars；　and　led　the　way　into　the　basement　of　the
beautiful　old　Colonial　mansion；　doubly　memorable　as　Washington's
headquarters　while　he　was　in　Cambridge；　and　as　the　home　of　Longfellow　for
so　many　years。　　The　taper　cast　just　the　right　gleams　on　the　darkness；
bringing　into　relief　the　massive　piers　of　brick；　and　the　solid　walls　of
stone；　which　gave　the　cellar　the　effect　of　a　casemate　in　some　fortress；
and　leaving　the　corners　and　distances　to　a　romantic　gloom。　　This　basement
was　a　work　of　the　days　when　men　built　more　heavily　if　not　more
substantially　than　now；　but　I　forget；　if　I　ever　knew；　what　date　the　wine…
cellar　was　of。　　It　was　well　stored　with　precious　vintages；　aptly
cobwebbed　and　dusty；　but　I　could　not　find　that　it　had　any　more　charm　than
the　shelves　of　a　library：　it　is　the　inside　of　bottles　and　of　books　that
makes　its　appeal。　　The　whole　place　witnessed　a　bygone　state　and　luxury；
which　otherwise　lingered　in　a　dim　legend　or　two。　　Longfellow　once　spoke
of　certain　old　love…letters　which　dropped　down　on　the　basement　stairs
from　some　place　overhead；　and　there　was　the　fable　or　the　fact　of　a
subterranean　passage　under　the　street　from　Craigie　House　to　the　old
Batchelder　House；　which　I　relate　to　these　letters　with　no　authority　I　can
allege。　　But　in　Craigie　House　dwelt　the　proud　fair　lady　who　was　buried　in
the　Cambridge　church…yard　with　a　slave　at　her　head　and　a　slave　at　her
feet。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃Dust　is　in　her　beautiful　eyes；〃

and　whether　it　was　they　that　smiled　or　wept　in　their　time　over　those
love…letters；　I　will　leave　the　reader　to　say。　　The　fortunes　of　her　Tory
family　fell　with　those　of　their　party；　and　the　last　Vassal　ended　his　days
a　prisoner　from　his　creditors　in　his　own　house；　with　a　weekly　enlargement
on　Sundays；　when　the　law　could　not　reach　him。　　It　is　known　how　the　place
took　Longfellow's　fancy　when　he　first　came　to　be　professor　in　Harvard；
and　how　he　was　a　lodger　of　the　last　Mistress　Craigie　there；　long　before
he　became　its　owner。　　The　house　is　square；　with　Longfellow's　study　where
he　read　and　wrote　on　the　right　of　the　door；　and　a　statelier　library
behind　it；　on　the　left　is　the　drawing…room；　with　the　dining…room　in　its
rear；　from　its　square　hall　climbs　a　beautiful　stairway　with　twisted
banisters；　and　a　tall　clock　in　their　angle。

The　study　where　the　Dante　Club　met；　and　where　I　mostly　saw　Longfellow；
was　a　plain；　pleasant　room；　with　broad　panelling　in　white　painted　pine；
in　the　centre　before　the　fireplace　stood　his　round　table；　laden　with
books；　papers；　and　proofs；　in　the　farthest　corner　by　the　window　was　a
high　desk　which　he　sometimes　stood　at　to　write。　　In　this　room　Washington
held　his　councils　and　transacted　his　business　with　all　comers；　in　the
chamber　overhead　he　slept。　　I　do　not　think　Longfellow　associated　the
place　much　with　him；　and　I　never　heard　him　speak　of　Washington　in
relation　to　it　except　once；　when　he　told　me　with　peculiar　relish　what　he
called　the　true　version　of　a　pious　story　concerning　the　aide…de…camp　who
blundered　in　upon　him　while　he　knelt　in　prayer。　　The　father　of　his
country　rose　and　rebuked　the　young　man　severely；　and　then　resumed　his
devotions。　　〃He　rebuked　him；〃　said　Longfellow；　lifting　his　brows　and
making　rings　round　the　pupils　of　his　eyes；　〃by　throwing　his　scabbard　at
his　head。〃

All　the　front　windows　of　Craigie　House　look；　out