tribute-第1章
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DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS
A TRIBUTE
Even now I cannot realize that he is dead; and often in the city
streetson Fifth Avenue in particularI find myself glancing
ahead for a glimpse of the tall; boyish; familiar
figureexperience once again a flash of the old happy expectancy。
I have lived in many lands; and have known men。 I never knew a
finer man than Graham Phillips。
His were the clearest; bluest; most honest eyes I ever saweyes
that scorned untrutheyes that penetrated all sham。
In repose his handsome features were a trifle sternand the
magic of his smile was the more wonderfulsuch a sunny;
youthful; engaging smile。
His mere presence in a room was exhilarating。 It seemed to
freshen the very air with a keen sweetness almost pungent。
He was tall; spare; leisurely; iron…strong; yet figure; features
and bearing were delightfully boyish。
Men liked him; women liked him when he liked them。
He was the most honest man I ever knew; clean in mind; clean…cut
in body; a little over…serious perhaps; except when among
intimates; a little prone to hoist the burdens of the world on
his young shoulders。
His was a knightly mind; a paladin character。 But he could
unbend; and the memory of such hours with himhours that can
never be againhurts more keenly than the memory of calmer and
more sober moments。
We agreed in many matters; he and I; in many we differed。 To me
it was a greater honor to differ in opinion with such a man than
to find an entire synod of my own mind。
Becauseand of course this is the opinion of one man and worth
no more than thatI have always thought that Graham Phillips
was head and shoulders above us all in his profession。
He was to have been really great。 He isby his last book;
〃Susan Lenox。〃
Not that; when he sometimes discussed the writing of it with me;
I was in sympathy with it。 I was not。 We always were truthful to
each other。
But when a giant molds a lump of clay into tremendous masses;
lesser men become confused by the huge contours; the vast
distances; the terrific spaces; the majestic scope of the
ensemble。 So I。 But he went on about his business。
I do not know what the public may think of 〃Susan Lenox。〃 I
scarcely know what I think。
It is a terrible bookterrible and true and beautiful。
Under the depths there are unspeakable things that writhe。 His
plumb…line touches them and they squirm。 He bends his head from
the clouds to do it。 Is it worth doing? I don't know。
But this I do knowthat within the range of all fiction of all
lands and of all times no character has so overwhelmed me as the
character of Susan Lenox。
She is as real as life and as unreal。 She is Life。 Hers was the
concentrated nobility of Heaven and Hell。 And the divinity of
the one and the tragedy of the other。 For she had known
boththis girlthe most pathetic; the most human; the most
honest character ever drawn by an American writer。
In the presence of his last work; so overwhelming; so
stupendous; we lesser men are left at a loss。 Its magnitude
demands the perspective that time only can lend it。 Its dignity
and austerity and its pitiless truth impose upon us that honest
and intelligent silence which even the quickest minds concede is
necessary before an honest verdict。
Truth was his goddess; he wrought honestly and only for her。
He is dead; but he is to have his day in court。 And whatever the
verdict; if it be a true one; were he living he would rest content。
ROBERT W。 CHAMBERS。