first visit to new england-第3章

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sanest；　the　sweetest；　the　truest；　which　had　begun　to　find　expression　in
the　Atlantic　Monthly；　and　there　a　wonderful　young　girl　had　written　a
series　of　vivid　sketches　and　taken　the　heart　of　youth　everywhere　with
amaze　and　joy；　so　that　I　thought　it　would　be　no　less　an　event　to　meet
Harriet　Prescott　than　to　meet　any　of　those　I　have　named。

I　expected　somehow　to　meet　them　all；　and　I　imagined　them　all　easily
accessible　in　the　office　of　the　Atlantic　Monthly；　which　had　lately
adventured　in　the　fine　air　of　high　literature　where　so　many　other
periodicals　had　gasped　and　died　before　it。　　The　best　of　these；　hitherto；
and　better　even　than　the　Atlantic　for　some　reasons；　the　lamented　Putnam's
Magazine；　had　perished　of　inanition　at　New　York；　and　the　claim　of　the
commercial　capital　to　the　literary　primacy　had　passed　with　that　brilliant
venture。　　New　York　had　nothing　distinctive　to　show　for　American
literature　but　the　decrepit　and　doting　Knickerbocker　Magazine。　　Harper's
New　Monthly；　though　Curtis　had　already　come　to　it　from　the　wreck　of
Putnam's；　and　it　had　long　ceased　to　be　eclectic　in　material；　and　had
begun　to　stand　for　native　work　in　the　allied　arts　which　it　has　since　so
magnificently　advanced；　was　not　distinctively　literary；　and　the　Weekly
had　just　begun　to　make　itself　known。　　The　Century；　Scribner's；　the
Cosmopolitan；　McClure's；　and　I　know　not　what　others；　were　still
unimagined　by　five；　and　ten；　and　twenty　years；　and　the　Galaxy　was　to
flash　and　fade　before　any　of　them　should　kindle　its　more　effectual　fires。
The　Nation；　which　was　destined　to　chastise　rather　than　nurture　our　young
literature；　had　still　six　years　of　dreamless　potentiality　before　it；　and
the　Nation　was　always　more　Bostonian　than　New…Yorkish　by　nature；　whatever
it　was　by　nativity。

Philadelphia　had　long　counted　for　nothing　in　the　literary　field。
Graham's　Magazine　at　one　time　showed　a　certain　critical　force；　but　it
seemed　to　perish　of　this　expression　of　vitality；　and　there　remained
Godey's　Lady's　Book　and　Peterson's　Magazine；　publications　really
incredible　in　their　insipidity。　　In　the　South　there　was　nothing　but　a
mistaken　social　ideal；　with　the　moral　principles　all　standing　on　their
heads　in　defence　of　slavery；　and　in　the　West　there　was　a　feeble　and
foolish　notion　that　Western　talent　was　repressed　by　Eastern　jealousy。
At　Boston　chiefly；　if　not　at　Boston　alone；　was　there　a　vigorous
intellectual　life　among　such　authors　as　I　have　named。　　Every　young　writer
was　ambitious　to　join　his　name　with　theirs　in　the　Atlantic　Monthly；　and
in　the　lists　of　Ticknor　&　Fields；　who　were　literary　publishers　in　a　sense
such　as　the　business　world　has　known　nowhere　else　before　or　since。　　Their
imprint　was　a　warrant　of　quality　to　the　reader　and　of　immortality　to　the
author；　so　that　if　I　could　have　had　a　book　issued　by　them　at　that　day　I
should　now　be　in　the　full　enjoyment　of　an　undying　fame。




V。

Such　was　the　literary　situation　as　the　passionate　pilgrim　from　the　West
approached　his　holy　land　at　Boston；　by　way　of　the　Grand　Trunk　Railway
from　Quebec　to　Portland。　　I　have　no　recollection　of　a　sleeping…car；　and　I
suppose　I　waked　and　watched　during　the　whole　of　that　long；　rough　journey；
but　I　should　hardly　have　slept　if　there　had　been　a　car　for　the　purpose。
I　was　too　eager　to　see　what　New　England　was　like；　and　too　anxious　not　to
lose　the　least　glimpse　of　it；　to　close　my　eyes　after　I　crossed　the　border
at　Island　Pond。　　I　found　that　in　the　elm…dotted　levels　of　Maine　it　was
very　like　the　Western　Reserve　in　northern　Ohio；　which　is；　indeed；　a
portion　of　New　England　transferred　with　all　its　characteristic　features；
and　flattened　out　along　the　lake　shore。　　It　was　not　till　I　began　to　run
southward　into　the　older　regions　of　the　country　that　it　lost　this　look；
and　became　gratefully　strange　to　me。　　It　never　had　the　effect　of　hoary
antiquity　which　I　had　expected　of　a　country　settled　more　than　two
centuries；　with　its　wood…built　farms　and　villages　it　looked　newer　than
the　coal…smoked　brick　of　southern　Ohio。　　I　had　prefigured　the　New　England
landscape　bare　of　forests；　relieved　here　and　there　with　the　tees　of
orchards　or　plantations；　but　I　found　apparently　as　much　woodland　as　at
home。

At　Portland　I　first　saw　the　ocean；　and　this　was　a　sort　of　disappointment。
Tides　and　salt　water　I　had　already　had　at　Quebec；　so　that　I　was　no　longer
on　the　alert　for　them；　but　the　color　and　the　vastness　of　the　sea　I　was
still　to　try　upon　my　vision。　　When　I　stood　on　the　Promenade　at　Portland
with　the　kind　young　Unitarian　minister　whom　I　had　brought　a　letter　to；
and　who　led　me　there　for　a　most　impressive　first　view　of　the　ocean；　I
could　not　make　more　of　it　than　there　was　of　Lake　Erie；　and　I　have　never
thought　the　color　of　the　sea　comparable　to　the　tender　blue　of　the　lake。
I　did　not　hint　my　disappointment　to　my　friend；　I　had　too　much　regard　for
the　feelings　of　an　Eastern　man　to　decry　his　ocean　to　his　face；　and　I　felt
besides　that　it　would　be　vulgar　and　provincial　to　make　comparisons。　　I　am
glad　now　that　I　held　my　tongue；　for　that　kind　soul　is　no　longer　in　this
world；　and　I　should　not　like　to　think　he　knew　how　far　short　of　my
expectations　the　sea　he　was　so　proud　of　had　fallen。　　I　went　up　with　him
into　a　tower　or　belvedere　there　was　at　hand；　and　when　he　pointed　to　the
eastern　horizon　and　said；　Now　there　was　nothing　but　sea　between　us　and
Africa；　I　pretended　to　expand　with　the　thought；　and　began　to　sound　myself
for　the　emotions　which　I　ought　to　have　felt　at　such　a　sight。　　But　in　my
heart　I　was　empty；　and　Heaven　knows　whether　I　saw　the　steamer　which　the
ancient　mariner　in　charge　of　that　tower　invited　me　to　look　at　through　his
telescope。　　I　never　could　see　anything　but　a　vitreous　glare　through　a
telescope；　which　has　a　vicious　habit　of　dodging　about　through　space；　and
failing　to　bring　down　anything　of　less　than　planetary　magnitude。

But　there　was　something　at　Portland　vastly　more　to　me　than　seas　or
continents；　and　that　was　the　house　where　Longfellow　was　born。　　I　believe；
now；　I　did　not　get　the　right　house；　but　only　the　house　he　went　to　live　in
later；　but　it　served；　and　I　rejoiced　in　it　with　a　rapture　that　could　not
have　been　more　genuine　if　it　had　been　the　real　birthplace　of　the　poet。　　I
got　my　friend　to　show　me

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃the　breezy　dome　of　groves；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The　shadows　of　Deering's　woods；〃

because　they　were　in　one　of　Longfellow's　loveliest　and　tenderest　poems；
and　I　made　an　errand　to　the　docks；　for　the　sake　of　the

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃…black　wharves　and　the　slips；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　the　sea…tides　tossing　free；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　Spanish　sailors　with　bearded　lips；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　the　beauty　and　mystery　of　the　ships；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　the　magic　of　the　sea；〃

mainly　for　the　reason　that　these　were　colors　and　shapes　of　the　fond
vision　of　the　poet's　past。　　I　am　in　doubt　whether　it　was　at　this　time　or
a　later　time　that　I　went　to　revere

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃the　dead　captains　as　they　lay
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　In　their　graves　o'erlooking　the　tranquil　bay；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　where　they　in　battle　died；〃

but　I　am　quite　sure　it　was　now　that　I　wandered　under

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃the　trees　which　shadow　each　well…known　street；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　As　they　balance　up　and　down；〃

for　when　I　was　next　in　Portland　the　great　fire　had　swept　the　city　avenues
bare　of　most　of　those　beautiful　elms；　whose　Gothic　arches　and　traceries　I
well　remember。

The　fact　is　that　in　those　days　I　was　bursting　with　the　most　romantic
expectations　of　life　in　every　way；　and　I　looked　at　the　whole　world　as
material　that　might　be　turned　into　literature；　or　that　might　be
associated　with　it　somehow。　　I　do　not　know　how　I　managed　to　keep　these
preposterous　hopes　within　me；　but　perhaps　the　trick　of　satirizing　them；
which　I　had　early　learnt；　helped　me　to　do　it。　　I　was　at　that　particular
moment　resolved　above　all　things　to　see　things　as　Heinrich　Heine　saw
them；　or　at　least　to　report　them　as　he　did；　no　matter　how　I　saw　them；
and　I　went　about　framing　phrases　to　this　end；　and　trying　to　match　the
objects　of　interest　to　them　whenever　there　was　the　least　chance　of
getting　them　together。




VI。

I　do　not　know　how　I　first　arrived　in　Boston；　or　whether　it　was　before　or
after　I　had　passed　a　day　or　two　in　Salem。　　As　Salem　is　on　the　way　from
Portland；　I　will　suppose　that　I　stopped　there　first；　and　explored　the
quaint　old　town　（quainter　then　than　now；　but　still　quaint　enough）　for　the
memorials　of　Hawthorne　and　of　the　witches　which　united　to　form　the　Salem
I　cared　for。　　I　went　and　looked　up　the　House　of　Seven　Gables；　and
suffered　an　unreasonable　disappointment　that　it　had　not　a　great　many　more
of　them；　but　there　was　no　loss　in　the　death…warrant　of　Bridget　Bishop；
with　the　sheriff's　return　of　execution　upon　it；　which　I　found　at　the
Court…house；　if　anything；　the　pathos　of　that　witness　of　one　of　the
cruelest　delusions　in　the　world　was　rather　in　excess　of　my　needs；　I　could
have　got　on　with　less。　　I　saw　the　pins　which　the　witches　were　sworn　to
have　thrust　into　the　afflicted　children；　and　I　saw　Gallows　Hill；　where
the　hapless　victims　of　the　perjury　were　hanged。　　But　that　death…warrant
remained　the　most　vivid　color　of　my　experience　of　the　tragedy；　I　had　no
need　to　invite　myself　to　a　sense　of　it；　and　it　is　still　like　a　stain　of
red　in　my　memory。

The　kind　old　ship's　captain　whose　guest　I　was；　and　who　was　transfigured
to　poetry　in　my　sense　by　the　fact　that　he　used　to　voyage　to　the　African
coast　for　palm…oil　in　former　days；　led　me　all　about　the　town；　and　showed
me　the　Custom…house；　which　I　desired　to　see　because　it　was　in　the　preface
to　the　Scarlet　Letter。　　But　I　perceived　that　he　did　not　share　my
enthusiasm　for　the　author；　and　I　became　more　and　more　sensible　that　in
Salem　air　there　was　a　cool　undercurrent　of　feeling　about　him。　　No　doubt
the　place　was　not　altogether　grateful　for　the　celebrity　his　romance　had
given　it；　and　would　have　valued　more　the　uninterrupted　quiet　of　its　own
flattering　thoughts　of　itself；　but　when　it　came　to　hearing　a　young　lady
say　she　knew　a　girl　who　said　she　would　like　to　poison　Hawthorne；　it
seemed　to　the　devout　young　pilgrim　from　the　West　that　something　more　of
love　for　the　great　romancer　would　not　have　been　too　much　for　him。
Hawthorne　had　already　had　his　say；　however；　and　he　had　not　used　his
native　town　with　any　great　tenderness。　　Indeed；　the　advantages　to　any
place　of　having　a　great　genius　born　and　reared　in　its　midst　are　so
doubtful　that　it　might　be　well　for　localities　designing　to　become　the
birthplaces　of　distinguished　authors　to　think　twice　about　it。　　Perhaps
only　the　largest　capitals；　like　London　and　Paris；　and　New　York　and
Chicago；　ought　to　risk　it。　　But　the　authors　have　an　unaccountable
perversity；　and　will　seldom　come　into　the　world　in　the　large　cities；
which　are　alone　without　the　sense　of　neighborhood；　and　the　personal
susceptibilities　so　unfavorable　to　the　practice　of　the　literary　art。
I　dare　say　that　it　was　owing　to　the　local　indifference　to　her　greatest
name；　or　her　reluctance　from　it；　that　I　got　a　clearer　impression　of　Salem
in　some　other　respects　than　I　should　have　had　if　I　had　been　invited　there
to　devote　myself　solely　to　the　associations　of　Hawthorne。　　For　the　first
time　I　saw　an　old　New　England　town；　I　do　not　know；　but　the　most