literary boston as i knew it-第4章

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she　personified。　　I　did　not　sympathize　with　this　then　so　much　as　I　do
now；　but　I　could　appreciate　it　on　the　intellectual　side。　　Once；　many
years　later；　I　heard　Mrs。　Howe　speak　in　public；　and　it　seemed　to　me　that
she　made　one　of　the　best　speeches　I　had　ever　heard。　　It　gave　me　for　the
first　time　a　notion　of　what　women　might　do　in　that　sort　if　they　entered
public　life；　but　when　we　met　in　those　earlier　days　I　was　interested　in
her　as　perhaps　our　chief　poetess。　　I　believe　she　did　not　care　much　to
speak　of　literature；　she　was　alert　for　other　meanings　in　life；　and　I
remember　how　she　once　brought　to　book　a　youthful　matron　who　had　perhaps
unduly　lamented　the　hardships　of　housekeeping；　with　the　sharp　demand；
〃Child；　where　is　your　religion？〃　　After　the　many　years　of　an　acquaintance
which　had　not　nearly　so　many　meetings　as　years；　it　was　pleasant　to　find
her；　at　the　latest；　as　strenuous　as　ever　for　the　faith　of　works；　and　as
eager　to　aid　Stepniak　as　John　Brown。　　In　her　beautiful　old　age　she
survives　a　certain　literary　impulse　of　Boston；　but　a　still　higher　impulse
of　Boston　she　will　not　survive；　for　that　will　last　while　the　city
endures。




VIII。

The　Cambridge　men　were　curiously　apart　from　others　that　formed　the　great
New　England　group；　and　with　whom　in　my　earlier　ignorance　I　had　always
fancied　them　mingling。　　Now　and　then　I　met　Doctor　Holmes　at　Longfellow's
table；　but　not　oftener　than　now　and　then；　and　I　never　saw　Emerson　in
Cambridge　at　all　except　at　Longfellow's　funeral。　　In　my　first　years　on
the　Atlantic　I　sometimes　saw　him；　when　he　would　address　me　some　grave；
rather　retrorsive　civilities；　after　I　had　been　newly　introduced　to　him；
as　I　had　always　to　be　on　these　occasions。　　I　formed　the　belief　that　he
did　not　care　for　me；　either　in　my　being　or　doing；　and　I　am　far　from
blaming　him　for　that：　on　such　points　there　might　easily　be　two　opinions；
and　I　was　myself　often　of　the　mind　I　imagined　in　him。

If　Emerson　forgot　me；　it　was　perhaps　because　I　was　not　of　those　qualities
of　things　which　even　then；　it　was　said；　he　could　remember　so　much　better
than　things　themselves。　　In　his　later　years　I　sometimes　saw　him　in　the
Boston　streets　with　his　beautiful　face　dreamily　set；　as　he　moved　like　one
to　whose　vision

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃Heaven　opens　inward；　chasms　yawn；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Vast　images　in　glimmering　dawn；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Half　shown；　are　broken　and　withdrawn。〃

It　is　known　how　before　the　end　the　eclipse　became　total　and　from　moment
to　moment　the　record　inscribed　upon　his　mind　was　erased。　　Some　years
before　he　died　I　sat　between　him　and　Mrs。　Rose　Terry　Cooke；　at　an
'Atlantic　Breakfast'　where　it　was　part　of　my　editorial　function　to
preside。　　When　he　was　not　asking　me　who　she　was；　I　could　hear　him　asking
her　who　I　was。　　His　great　soul　worked　so　independently　of　memory　as　we
conceive　it；　and　so　powerfully　and　essentially；　that　one　could　not　help
wondering　if；　after　all；　our　personal　continuity；　our　identity　hereafter；
was　necessarily　trammeled　up　with　our　enduring　knowledge　of　what　happens
here。　　His　remembrance　absolutely　ceased　with　an　event；　and　yet　his
character；　his　personality；　his　identity　fully　persisted。

I　do　not　know；　whether　the　things　that　we　printed　for　Emerson　after　his
memory　began　to　fail　so　utterly　were　the　work　of　earlier　years　or　not；
but　I　know　that　they　were　of　his　best。　　There　were　certain　poems　which
could　not　have　been　more　electly；　more　exquisitely　his；　or　fashioned　with
a　keener　and　juster　self…criticism。　　His　vision　transcended　his　time　so
far　that　some　who　have　tired　themselves　out　in　trying　to　catch　up　with
him　have　now　begun　to　say　that　he　was　no　seer　at　all；　but　I　doubt　if
these　form　the　last　court　of　appeal　in　his　case。　　In　manner；　he　was　very
gentle；　like　all　those　great　New　England　men；　but　he　was　cold；　like　many
of　them；　to　the　new…comer；　or　to　the　old…comer　who　came　newly。　　As　I　have
elsewhere　recorded；　I　once　heard　him　speak　critically　of　Hawthorne；　and
once　he　expressed　his　surprise　at　the　late　flowering　brilliancy　of
Holmes's　gift　in　the　Autocrat　papers　after　all　his　friends　supposed　it
had　borne　its　best　fruit。　　But　I　recall　no　mention　of　Longfellow；　or
Lowell；　or　Whittier　from　him。　　At　a　dinner　where　the　talk　glanced　upon
Walt　Whitman　he　turned　to　me　as　perhaps　representing　the　interest
posterity　might　take　in　the　matter；　and　referred　to　Whitman's　public　use
of　his　privately　written　praise　as　something　altogether　unexpected。　　He
did　not　disown　it　or　withdraw　it；　but　seemed　to　feel　（not　indignantly）
that　there　had　been　an　abuse　of　it。




IX。

The　first　time　I　saw　Whittier　was　in　Fields's　room　at　the　publishing
office；　where　I　had　come　upon　some　editorial　errand　to　my　chief。　　He
introduced　me　to　the　poet：　a　tall；　spare　figure　in　black　of　Quaker　cut；
with　a　keen；　clean…shaven　face；　black　hair；　and　vivid　black　eyes。　　It　was
just　after　his　poem；　'Snow　Bound'；　had　made　its　great　success；　in　the
modest　fashion　of　those　days；　and　had　sold　not　two　hundred　thousand　but
twenty　thousand；　and　I　tried　to　make　him　my　compliment。　　I　contrived　to
say　that　I　could　not　tell　him　how　much　I　liked　it；　and　he　received　the
inadequate　expression　of　my　feeling　with　doubtless　as　much　effusion　as　he
would　have　met　something　more　explicit　and　abundant。　　If　he　had　judged
fit　to　take　my　contract　off　my　hands　in　any　way；　I　think　he　would　have
been　less　able　to　do　so　than　any　of　his　New　England　contemporaries。
In　him；　as　I　have　suggested；　the　Quaker　calm　was　bound　by　the　frosty
Puritanic　air；　and　he　was　doubly　cold　to　the　touch　of　the　stranger；
though　he　would　thaw　out　to　old　friends；　and　sparkle　in　laugh　and　joke。
I　myself　never　got　so　far　with　him　as　to　experience　this　geniality；
though　afterwards　we　became　such　friends　as　an　old　man　and　a　young　man
could　be　who　rarely　met。　Our　better　acquaintance　began　with　some　talk；
at　a　second　meeting；　about　Bayard　Taylor's　'Story　of　Kennett'；　which　had
then　lately　appeared；　and　which　he　praised　for　its　fidelity　to　Quaker
character　in　its　less　amiable　aspects。　　No　doubt　I　had　made　much　of　my
own　Quaker　descent　（which　I　felt　was　one　of　the　few　things　I　had　to　be
proud　of）；　and　he　therefore　spoke　the　more　frankly　of　those　traits　of
brutality　into　which　the　primitive　sincerity　of　the　sect　sometimes
degenerated。　　He　thought　the　habit　of　plain…speaking　had　to　be　jealously
guarded　to　keep　it　from　becoming　rude…speaking；　and　he　matched　with
stories　of　his　own　some　things　I　had　heard　my　father　tell　of　Friends　in
the　backwoods　who　were　Foes　to　good　manners。

Whittier　was　one　of　the　most　generous　of　men　towards　the　work　of　others；
especially　the　work　of　a　new　man；　and　if　I　did　anything　that　he　liked；
I　could　count　upon　him　for　cordial　recognition。　　In　the　quiet　of　his
country　home　at　Danvers　he　apparently　read　all　the　magazines；　and　kept
himself　fully　abreast　of　the　literary　movement；　but　I　doubt　if　he　so
fully　appreciated　the　importance　of　the　social　movement。　　Like　some
others　of　the　great　anti…slavery　men；　he　seemed　to　imagine　that　mankind
had　won　itself　a　clear　field　by　destroying　chattel　slavery；　and　he　had。
no　sympathy　with　those　who　think　that　the　man　who　may　any　moment　be　out
of　work　is　industrially　a　slave。　　This　is　not　strange；　so　few　men　last
over　from　one　reform　to　another　that　the　wonder　is　that　any　should；　not
that　one　should　not。　　Whittier　was　prophet　for　one　great　need　of　the
divine　to　man；　and　he　spoke　his　message　with　a　fervor　that　at　times　was
like　the　trembling　of　a　flame；　or　the　quivering　of　midsummer　sunshine。
It　was　hard　to　associate　with　the　man　as　one　saw　him；　still；　shy；　stiff；
the　passion　of　his　verse。　　This　imbued　not　only　his　antislavery
utterances；　but　equally　his　ballads　of　the　old　witch　and　Quaker
persecution；　and　flashed　a　far　light　into　the　dimness　where　his
interrogations　of　Mystery　pierced。　　Whatever　doubt　there　can　be　of　the
fate　of　other　New　England　poets　in　the　great　and　final　account；　it　seems
to　me　that　certain　of　these　pieces　make　his　place　secure。

There　is　great　inequality　in　his　work；　and　I　felt　this　so　strongly　that
when　I　came　to　have　full　charge　of　the　Magazine；　I　ventured　once　to
distinguish。　　He　sent　me　a　poem；　and　I　had　the　temerity　to　return　it；　and
beg　him　for　something　else。　　He　magnanimously　refrained　from　all　show　of
offence；　and　after　a　while；　when　he　had　printed　the　poem　elsewhere；
he　gave　me　another。　　By　this　time；　I　perceived　that　I　had　been　wrong；
not　as　to　the　poem　returned；　but　as　to　my　function　regarding　him　and　such
as　he。　　I　had　made　my　reflections；　and　never　again　did　I　venture　to　pass
upon　what　contributors　of　his　quality　sent　me。　　I　took　it　and　printed　it；
and　praised　the　gods；　；and　even　now　I　think　that　with　such　men　it　was　not
my　duty　to　play　the　censor　in　the　periodical　which　they　had　made　what　it
was。　　They　had　set　it　in　authority　over　American　literature；　and　it　was
not　for　me　to　put　myself　in　authority　over　them。　　Their　fame　was　in　their
own　keeping；　and　it　was　not　my　part　to　guard　it　against　them。

After　that　experience　I　not　only　practised　an　eager　acquiescence　in　their
wish　to　reach　the　public　through　the　Atlantic；　but　I　used　all　the
delicacy　I　was　master　of　in　bowing　the　way　to　them。　　Sometimes　my　utmost
did　not　avail；　or　more　strictly　speaking　it　did　not　avail　in　one　instance
with　Emerson。　　He　had　given　me　upon　much　entreaty　a　poem　which　was　one　of
his　greatest　and　best；　but　the　proof…reader　found　a　nominative　at　odds
with　its　verb。　　We　had　some　trouble　in　reconciling　them；　and　some　other
delays；　and　meanwhile　Doctor　Holmes　offered　me　a　poem　for　the　same
number。　　I　now　doubted　whether　I　should　get　Emerson's　poem　back　in　time
for　it；　but　unluckily　the　proof　did　come　back　in　time；　and　then　I　had　to
choose　between　my　poets；　or　acquaint　them　with　the　state　of　the　case；　and
let　them　choose　what　I　should　do。　　I　really　felt　that　Doctor　Holmes　had
the　right　to　precedence；　since　Emerson　had　withheld　his　proof　so　long
that　I　could　not　count　upon　it；　but　I　wrote　to　Emerson；　and　asked　（as
nearly　as　I　can　remember）　whether　he　would　consent　to　let　me　put　his　poem
over　to　the　next　number；　or　would　prefer　to　have　it　appear　in　the　same
number　with　Doctor　Holmes's；　the　subjects　were　cognate；　and　I　had　my
misgivings。　　He　wrote　me　back　to　〃return　the　proofs　and　break　up　the
forms。〃　　I　could　not　go　to　this　iconoclastic　extreme　with　the
electrotypes　of　the　magazine；　but　I　could　return　the　proofs。　　I　did　so；
feeling　that　I　had　done　my　possible；　and　silently　grieving　that　there
could　be　such　ire　in　heavenly　minds。




X。

Emerson；　as　I　say；　I　had　once　met　in　Cambridge；　but　Whittier　never；
and　I　have　a　feeling　that　poet　as　Cambridge　felt　him　to　be；　she　had　her
reservations　concerning　him。　　I　cannot　put　these　into　words　which　would
not　oversay　them；　but　they　were　akin　to　those　she　might　have　refined　upon
in　regard　to　Mrs。　Stowe。　　Neither　of　these　great　writers　would　have
appeared　to　Cambridge　of　the　last　literary　quality；　their　fame　was　with　a
world　too　vast　to　be　the　；test　that　her　own

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃One　entire　and　perfect　crysolite〃

would　have　formed。　　Whittier　in　fact　had　not　arrived　at　the　clear
splendor　of　his　later　work　without　some　earlier　turbidity；　he　was　still
from　time　to　time　capabl