literary boston as i knew it-第3章

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！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


they　appeared：　the　emanations　of　a　rarely　gifted　and　singularly　poetic
mind。　　I　feel　better　than　I　can　say　how　necessarily　they　were　the
emanations　of　a　New　England　mind；　and　how　to　the　subtler　sense　they　must
impart　the　pathos　of　revolt　from　the　colorless　rigidities　which　are　the
long　result　of　puritanism　in　the　physiognomy　of　New　England　life。

Their　author　afterwards　gave　herself　to　the　stricter　study　of　this　life
in　many　tales　and　sketches　which　showed　an　increasing　mastery；　but　they
could　not　have　the　flush；　the　surprise；　the　delight　of　a　young　talent
trying　itself　in　a　kind　native　and；　so　far　as　I　know；　peculiar　to　it。
From　time　to　time　I　still　come　upon　a　poem　of　hers　which　recalls　that
earlier　strain　of　music；　of　color；　and　I　am　content　to　trust　it　for　my
abiding　faith　in　the　charm　of　things　I　have　not　read　for　thirty　years。




V。

I　speak　of　this　one　and　that；　as　it　happens；　and　with　no　thought　of
giving　a　complete　prospect　of　literary　Boston　thirty　years　ago。　　I　am
aware　that　it　will　seem　sparsely　peopled　in　the　effect　I　impart；　and　I
would　have　the　reader　always　keep　in　mind　the　great　fames　at　Cambridge
and　at　Concord；　which　formed　so　large　a　part　of　the　celebrity　of　Boston。
I　would　also　like　him　to　think　of　it　as　still　a　great　town；　merely；　where
every　one　knew　every　one　else；　and　whose　metropolitan　liberation　from
neighborhood　was　just　begun。

Most　distinctly　of　that　yet　uncitified　Boston　was　the　critic　Edwin　P。
Whipple；　whose　sympathies　were　indefinitely　wider　than　his　traditions。
He　was　a　most　generous　lover　of　all　that　was　excellent　in　literature；　and
though　I　suppose　we　should　call　him　an　old…fashioned　critic　now；　I
suspect　it　would　be　with　no　distinct　sense　of　what　is　newer　fashioned。
He　was　certainly　as　friendly　to　what　promised　well　in　the　younger　men　as
he　was　to　what　was　done　well　in　their　elders；　and　there　was　no　one
writing　in　his　day　whose　virtues　failed　of　his　recognition；　though　it
might　happen　that　his　foibles　would　escape　Whipple's　censure。　　He　wrote
strenuously　and　of　course　conscientiously；　his　point　of　view　was　solely
and　always　that　which　enabled　him　best　to　discern　qualities。　　I　doubt　if
he　had　any　theory　of　criticism　except　to　find　out　what　was　good　in　an
author　and　praise　it；　and　he　rather　blamed　what　was　ethically　bad　than
what　was　aesthetically　bad。　　In　this　he　was　strictly　of　New　England；　and
he　was　of　New　England　in　a　certain　general　intelligence；　which　constantly
grew　with　an　interrogative　habit　of　mind。

He　liked　to　talk　to　you　of　what　he　had　found　characteristic　in　your　work；
to　analyze　you　to　yourself；　and　the　very　modesty　of　the　man；　which　made
such　a　study　impersonal　as　far　as　he　was　concerned；　sometimes　rendered
him　insensible　to　the　sufferings　of　his　subject。　　He　had　a　keen
perception　of　humor　in　others；　but　he　had　very　little　humor；　he　had　a
love　of　the　beautiful　in　literature　which　was　perhaps　sometimes　greater
than　his　sense　of　it。

I　write　from　a　cursory　acquaintance　with　his　work；　not　recently　renewed。
Of　the　presence　of　the　man　I　have　a　vivider　remembrance：　a　slight；　short；
ecclesiasticized　figure　in　black；　with　a　white　neckcloth　and　a　silk　hat
of　strict　decorum；　and　between　the　two　a　square　face　with　square
features；　intensified　in　their　regard　by　a　pair　of　very　large　glasses；
and　the　prominent；　myopic　eyes　staring　through　them。　　He　was　a　type　of
out…dated　New　England　scholarship　in　these　aspects；　but　in　the　hospitable
qualities　of　his　mind　and　heart；　the　sort　of　man　to　be　kept　fondly　in　the
memory　of　all　who　ever　knew　him。

Out　of　the　vague　of　that　far…off　time　another　face　and　figure；　as
essentially　New　En&land　as　this；　and　yet　so　different；　relieve
themselves。　　Charles　F。　Browne；　whose　drollery　wafted　his　pseudonym　as
far　as　the　English　speech　could　carry　laughter；　was　a　Westernized　Yankee。
He　added　an　Ohio　way　of　talking　to　the　Maine　way　of　thinking；　and　he　so
became　a　literary　product　of　a　rarer　and　stranger　sort　than　our
literature　had　otherwise　known。　　He　had　gone　from　Cleveland　to　London；
with　intervals　of　New　York　and　the　lecture　platform；　four　or　five　years
before　I　saw　him　in　Boston；　shortly　after　I　went　there。　　We　had　met　in
Ohio；　and　he　had　personally　explained　to　me　the　ducatless　well…meaning　of
Vanity　Fair　in　New　York；　but　many　men　had　since　shaken　the　weary　hand　of
Artemus　Ward　when　I　grasped　it　one　day　in　front　of　the　Tremont　Temple。
He　did　not　recognize　me；　but　he　gave　me　at　once　a　greeting　of　great
impersonal　cordiality；　with　〃How　do　you　do？　　When　did　you　come？〃　and
other　questions　that　had　no　concern　in　them；　till　I　began　to　dawn　upon
him　through　a　cloud　of　other　half　remembered　faces。　　Then　he　seized　my
hand　and　wrung　it　all　over　again；　and　repeated　his　friendly　demands　with
an　intonation　that　was　now　〃Why；　how　are　you；　how　are　you？〃　for　me　alone。
It　was　a　bit　of　comedy；　which　had　the　fit　pathetic　relief　of　his
impending　doom：　this　was　already　stamped　upon　his　wasted　face；　and　his
gay　eyes　had　the　death…look。　　His　large；　loose　mouth　was　drawn；　for　all
its　laughter　at　the　fact　which　he　owned；　his　profile；　which　burlesqued。
an　eagle's；　was　the　profile　of　a　drooping　eagle；　his　lank　length　of　limb
trembled　away　with　him　when　we　parted。　　I　did　not　see　him　again；
I　scarcely　heard　of　him　till　I　heard　of　his　death；　and　this　sad　image
remains　with　me　of　the　humorist　who　first　gave　the　world　a　taste　of　the
humor　which　characterizes　the　whole　American　people。

I　was　meeting　all　kinds　of　distinguished　persons；　in　my　relation　to　the
magazine；　and　early　that　winter　I　met　one　who　remains　in　my　mind　above
all　others　a　person　of　distinction。　　He　was　scarcely　a　celebrity；　but　he
embodied　certain　social　traits　which　were　so　characteristic　of　literary
Boston　that　it　could　not　be　approached　without　their　recognition。
The　Muses　have　often　been　acknowledged　to　be　very　nice　young　persons；
but　in　Boston　they　were　really　ladies；　in　Boston　literature　was　of　good
family　and　good　society　in　a　measure　it　has　never　been　elsewhere。
It　might　be　said　even　that　reform　was　of　good　family　in　Boston；
and　literature　and　reform　equally　shared　the　regard　of　Edmund　Quincy；
whose　race　was　one　of　the　most　aristocratic　in　New　England。　　I　had　known
him　by　his　novel　of　'Wensley'　（it　came　so　near　being　a　first…rate　novel）；
and　by　his　Life　of　Josiah　Quincy；　then　a　new　book；　but　still　better　by
his　Boston　letters　to　the　New　York　Tribune。　　These　dealt　frankly；　in　the
old　anti…slavery　days　between　1850　and　1860；　with　other　persons　of
distinction　in　Boston；　who　did　not　see　the　right　so　clearly　as　Quincy
did；　or　who　at　least　let　their　interests　darken　them　to　the　ugliness　of
slavery。　　Their　fault　was　all　the　more　comical　because　it　was　the　error
of　men　otherwise　so　correct；　of　characters　so　stainless；　of　natures　so
upright；　and　the　Quincy　letters　got　out　of　it　all　the　fun　there　was　in
it。　　Quincy　himself　affected　me　as　the　finest　patrician　type　I　had　ever
met。　　He　was　charmingly　handsome；　with　a　nose　of　most　fit　aquilinity；
smooth…shaven　lips；　〃educated　whiskers；〃　and　perfect　glasses；　his　manner
was　beautiful；　his　voice　delightful；　when　at　our　first　meeting　he　made　me
his　reproaches　in　terms　of　lovely　kindness　for　having　used　in　my
'Venetian　Life'　the　Briticism　'directly'　for　'as　soon　as。'

Lowell　once　told　me　that　Quincy　had　never　had　any　calling　or　profession；
because　when　he　found　himself　in　the　enjoyment　of　a　moderate　income　on
leaving　college；　he　decided　to　be　simply　a　gentleman。　　He　was　too　much　of
a　man　to　be　merely　that；　and　he　was　an　abolitionist；　a　journalist；　and
for　conscience'　sake　a　satirist。　　Of　that　political　mood　of　society　which
he　satirized　was　an　eminent　man　whom　it　was　also　my　good　fortune　to　meet
in　my　early　days　in　Boston；　and　if　his　great　sweetness　and　kindness　had
not　instantly　won　my　liking；　I　should　still　have　been　glad　of　the　glimpse
of　the　older　and　statelier　Boston　which　my　slight　acquaintance　with
George　Ticknor　gave　me。　　The　historian　of　Spanish　literature；　the　friend
and　biographer　of　Prescott；　and　a　leading　figure　of　the　intellectual
society　of　an　epoch　already　closed；　dwelt　in　the　fine　old　square　brick
mansion　which　yet　stands　at　the　corner　of　Park　Street　and　Beacon；　though
sunk　now　to　a　variety　of　business　uses；　and　lamentably　changed　in　aspect。
The　interior　was　noble；　and　there　was　an　air　of　scholarly　quiet　and　of
lettered　elegance　in　the　library；　where　the　host　received　his　guests；
which　seemed　to　pervade　the　whole　house；　and　which　made　its　appeal　to　the
imagination　of　one　of　them　most　potently。　　It　seemed　to　me　that　to　be
master　of　such　circumstance　and　keeping　would　be　enough　of　life　in　a
certain　way；　and　it　all　lingers　in　my　memory　yet；　as　if　it　were　one　with
the　gentle　courtesy　which　welcomed　me。

Among　my　fellow…guests　one　night　was　George　S。　Hillard；　now　a　faded
reputation；　and　even　then　a　life　defeated　of　the　high　expectation　of　its
youth。　　I　do　not　know　whether　his　'Six　Months　in　Italy'　still　keeps
itself　in　print；　but　it　was　a　book　once　very　well　known；　and　he　was
perhaps　the　more　gracious　to　me；　as　our　host　was；　because　of　our　common
Italian　background。　　He　was　of　the　old　Silver…gray　Whig　society　too；　and
I　suppose　that　order　of　things　imparted　its　tone　to　what　I　felt　and　saw
in　that　place。　　The　civil　war　had　come　and　gone；　and　that　order　accepted
the　result　if　not　with　faith；　then　with　patience。　　There　were　two　young
English　noblemen　there　that　night；　who　had　been　travelling　in　the　South；
and　whose　stories　of　the　wretched　conditions　they　had　seen　moved　our　host
to　some　open　misgiving。　　But　the　Englishmen　had　no　question；　in　spite　of
all；　they　defended　the　accomplished　fact；　and　when　I　ventured　to　say　that
now　at　least　there　could　be　a　hope　of　better　things；　while　the　old　order
was　only　the　perpetuation　of　despair；　he　mildly　assented；　with　a　gesture
of　the　hand　that　waived　the　point；　and　a　deeply　sighed；　〃Perhaps；
perhaps。〃

He　was　a　presence　of　great　dignity；　which　seemed　to　recall　the　past　with
a　steadfast　allegiance；　and　yet　to　relax　itself　towards　the　present　in
the　wisdom　of　the　accumulated　years。　　His　whole　life　had　been　passed　in
devotion　to　polite　literature　and　in　the　society　of　the　polite　world；　and
he　was　a　type　of　scholar　such　as　only　the　circumstances　of　Boston　could
form。　　Those　circumstances　could　alone　form　such　another　type　as　Quincy；
and　I　wish　I　could　have　felt　then　as　I　do　now　the　advantage　of　meeting
them　so　contemporaneously。




VII。

The　historian　of　Spanish　literature　was　an　old　man　nearer　eighty　than
seventy　when　I　saw　him；　and　I　recall　of　him　personally　his　dark　tint；
and　the　scholarly　refinement　of　his　clean…shaven　face；　which　seemed　to　me
rather　English　than　American　in　character。　　He　was　quite　exterior　to　the
Atlantic　group　of　writers；　and　had　no　interest　in　me　as　one　of　it。
Literary　Boston　of　that　day　was　not　a　solidarity；　as　I　soon　perceived；
and　I　understood　that　it　was　only　in　my　quality　of　stranger　that　I　saw
the　different　phases　of　it。　　I　should　not　be　just　to　a　vivid　phase　if　I
failed　to　speak　of　Mrs。　Julia　Ward　Howe　and　the　impulse　of　reform　which
she　personified。　　I　did　not　sympathize　with　this　then　so　much　as　I　do
now；　but　I　could　appreciate　it　on　the　intelle