the white mr. longfellow-第4章

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elevating　passages　of　conversation　at　Longfellow's；　perhaps　I　ought　to　do
it　for　the　sake　of　my　own　repute　as　a　serious　and　adequate　witness。　　But
I　am　rather　helpless　in　the　matter；　I　must　set　down　what　I　remember；　and
surely　if　I　can　remember　no　phrase　from　Holmes　that　a　reader　could　live
or　die　by；　it　is　something　to　recall　how；　when　a　certain　potent　cheese
was　passing；　he　leaned　over　to　gaze　at　it；　and　asked：　〃Does　it　kick？
Does　it　kick？〃　　No　strain　of　high　poetic　thinking　remains　to　me　from
Lowell；　but　he　made　me　laugh　unforgettably　with　his　passive　adventure　one
night　going　home　late；　when　a　man　suddenly　leaped　from　the　top　of　a　high
fence　upon　the　sidewalk　at　his　feet；　and　after　giving　him　the　worst
fright　of　his　life；　disappeared　peaceably　into　the　darkness。　　To　be　sure；
there　was　one　most　memorable　supper；　when　he　read　the　〃Bigelow　Paper〃
he　had　finished　that　day；　and　enriched　the　meaning　of　his　verse　with　the
beauty　of　his　voice。　　There　lingers　yet　in　my　sense　his　very　tone　in
giving　the　last　line　of　the　passage　lamenting　the　waste　of　the　heroic
lives　which　in　those　dark　hours　of　Johnson's　time　seemed　to　have　been

　　　　　　　　　　〃Butchered　to　make　a　blind　man's　holiday。〃

The　hush　that　followed　upon　his　ceasing　was　of　that　finest　quality　which
spoken　praise　always　lacks；　and　I　suppose　that　I　could　not　give　a　just
notion　of　these　Dante　Club　evenings　without　imparting　the　effect　of　such
silences。　　This　I　could　not　hopefully　undertake　to　do；　but　I　am　tempted
to　some　effort　of　the　kind　by　my　remembrance　of　Longfellow's　old　friend
George　Washington　Greene；　who　often　came　up　from　his　home　in　Rhode
Island；　to　be　at　those　sessions；　and　who　was　a　most　interesting　and
amiable　fact　of　those　delicate　silences。　　A　full　half　of　his　earlier　life
had　been　passed　in　Italy；　where　he　and　Longfellow　met　and　loved　each
other　in　their　youth　with　an　affection　which　the　poet　was　constant　to　in
his　age；　after　many　vicissitudes；　with　the　beautiful　fidelity　of　his
nature。　　Greene　was　like　an　old　Italian　house…priest　in　manner；　gentle；
suave；　very　suave；　smooth　as　creamy　curds；　cultivated　in　the　elegancies
of　literary　taste；　and　with　a　certain　meek　abeyance。　　I　think　I　never
heard　him　speak；　in　all　those　evenings；　except　when　Longfellow　addressed
him；　though　he　must　have　had　the　Dante　scholarship　for　an　occasional
criticism。　　It　was　at　more　recent　dinners；　where　I　met　him　with　the
Longfellow　family　alone；　that　he　broke　now　and　then　into　a　quotation　from
some　of　the　modern　Italian　poets　he　knew　by　heart　（preferably　Giusti）；
and　syllabled　their　verse　with　an　exquisite　Roman　accent　and　a　bewitching
Florentine　rhythm。　　Now　and　then　at　these　times　he　brought　out　a　faded
Italian　anecdote；　faintly　smelling　of　civet；　and　threadbare　in　its
ancient　texture。　　He　liked　to　speak　of　Goldoni　and　of　Nota；　of　Niccolini
and　Manzoni；　of　Monti　and　Leopardi；　and　if　you　came　to　America；　of　the
Revolution　and　his　grandfather；　the　Quaker　General　Nathaniel　Greene；
whose　life　he　wrote　（and　I　read）　in　three　volumes：　　He　worshipped
Longfellow；　and　their　friendship　continued　while　they　lived；　but　towards
the　last　of　his　visits　at　Craigie　House　it　had　a　pathos　for　the　witness
which　I　should　grieve　to　wrong。　　Greene　was　then　a　quivering　paralytic；
and　he　clung　tremulously　to　Longfellow's　arm　in　going　out　to　dinner；
where　even　the　modern　Italian　poets　were　silent　upon　his　lips。　　When　we
rose　from　table；　Longfellow　lifted　him　out　of　his　chair；　and　took　him
upon　his　arm　again　for　their　return　to　the　study。

He　was　of　lighter　metal　than　most　other　members　of　the　Dante　Club；　and　he
was　not　of　their　immediate　intimacy；　living　away　from　Cambridge；　as　he
did；　and　I　shared　his　silence　in　their　presence　with　full　sympathy。
I　was　by　far　the　youngest　of　their　number；　and　I　cannot　yet　quite　make
out　why　I　was　of　it　at　all。　　But　at　every　moment　I　was　as　sensible　of　my
good　fortune　as　of　my　ill　desert。　　They　were　the　men　whom　of　all　men
living　I　most　honored；　and　it　seemed　to　be　impossible　that　I　at　my　age
should　be　so　perfectly　fulfilling　the　dream　of　my　life　in　their　company。
Often；　the　nights　were　very　cold；　and　as　I　returned　home　from　Craigie
House　to　the　carpenter's　box　on　Sacramento　Street；　a　mile　or　two　away；
I　was　as　if　soul…borne　through　the　air　by　my　pride　and　joy；　while　the
frozen　blocks　of　snow　clinked　and　tinkled　before　my　feet　stumbling　along
the　middle　of　the　road。　　I　still　think　that　was　the　richest　moment　of　my
life；　and　I　look　back　at　it　as　the　moment；　in　a　life　not　unblessed　by
chance；　which　I　would　most　like　to　live　over　againif　I　must　live　any。
The　next　winter　the　sessions　of　the　Dante　Club　were　transferred　to　the
house　of　Mr。　Norton；　who　was　then　completing　his　version　of　the　'Vita
Nuova'。　　This　has　always　seemed　to　me　a　work　of　not　less　graceful　art
than　Longfellow's　translation　of　the　'Commedia'。　　In　fact；　it　joins　the
effect　of　a　sympathy　almost　mounting　to　divination　with　a　patient
scholarship　and　a　delicate　skill　unknown　to　me　elsewhere　in　such　work。
I　do　not　know　whether　Mr。　Norton　has　satisfied　himself　better　in　his
prose　version　of　the　'Commedia'　than　in　this　of　the　'Vita　Nuova'；　but　I
do　not　believe　he　could　have　satisfied　Dante　better；　unless　he　had　rhymed
his　sonnets　and　canzonets。　　I　am　sure　he　might　have　done　this　if　he　had
chosen。　　He　has　always　pretended　that　it　was　impossible；　but　miracles　are
never　impossible　in　the　right　hands。




V。

After　three　or　four　years　we　sold　the　carpenter's　box　on　Sacramento
Street；　and　removed　to　a　larger　house　near　Harvard　Square；　and　in　the
immediate　neighborhood　of　Longfellow。　　He　gave　me　an　easement　across　that
old　garden　behind　his　house；　through　an　opening　in　the　high　board　fence
which　enclosed　it；　and　I　saw　him　oftener　than　ever；　though　the　meetings
of　the　Dante　Club　had　come　to　an　end。　　At　the　last　of　them；　Lowell　had
asked　him；　with　fond　regret　in　his　jest；　〃Longfellow；　why　don't　you　do
that　Indian　poem　in　forty　thousand　verses？〃　　The　demand　but　feebly
expressed　the　reluctance　in　us　all；　though　I　suspect　the　Indian　poem
existed　only　by　the　challenger's　invention。　　Before　I　leave　my　faint　and
unworthy　record　of　these　great　times　I　am　tempted　to　mention　an　incident
poignant　with　tragical　associations。　　The　first　night　after　Christmas　the
holly　and　the　pine　wreathed　about　the　chandelier　above　the　supper…table
took　fire　from　the　gas；　just　as　we　came　out　from　the　reading；　and
Longfellow　ran　forward　and　caught　the　burning　garlands　down　and　bore　them
out。　　No　one　could　speak　for　thinking　what　he　must　be　thinking　of　when
the　ineffable　calamity　of　his　home　befell　it。　　Curtis　once　told　me　that　a
little　while　before　Mrs。　Longfellow's　death　he　was　driving　by　Craigie
House　with　Holmes；　who　said　be　trembled　to　look　at　it；　for　those　who
lived　there　had　their　happiness　so　perfect　that　no　change；　of　all　the
changes　which　must　come　to　them；　could　fail　to　be　for　the　worse。
I　did　not　know　Longfellow　before　that　fatal　time；　and　I　shall　not　say
that　his　presence　bore　record　of　it　except　in　my　fancy。　　He　may　always
have　had　that　look　of　one　who　had　experienced　the　utmost　harm　that　fate
can　do；　and　henceforth　could　possess　himself　of　what　was　left　of　life　in
peace。　　He　could　never　have　been　a　man　of　the　flowing　ease　that　makes　all
comers　at　home；　some　people　complained　of　a　certain　'gene'　in　him；　and　he
had　a　reserve　with　strangers；　which　never　quite　lost　itself　in　the
abandon　of　friendship；　as　Lowell's　did。　　He　was　the　most　perfectly　modest
man　I　ever　saw；　ever　imagined；　but　he　had　a　gentle　dignity　which　I　do　not
believe　any　one；　the　coarsest；　the　obtusest；　could　trespass　upon。　　In　the
years　when　I　began　to　know　him；　his　long　hair　and　the　beautiful　beard
which　mixed　with　it　were　of　one　iron…gray；　which　I　saw　blanch　to　a
perfect　silver；　while　that　pearly　tone　of　his　complexion；　which　Appleton
so　admired；　lost　itself　in　the　wanness　of　age　and　pain。　　When　he　walked；
he　had　a　kind　of　spring　in　his　gait；　as　if　now　and　again　a　buoyant
thought　lifted　him　from　the　ground。　　It　was　fine　to　meet　him　coming　down
a　Cambridge　street；　you　felt　that　the　encounter　made　you　a　part　of
literary　history；　and　set　you　apart　with　him　for　the　moment