the white mr. longfellow-第6章

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criticism：　he　was　the　finest　artist　of　them　all；　and　if　he　praised　he
must　have　praised　with　the　reservations　of　an　honest　man。　　Of　younger
writers　he　was　willing　enough　to　speak。　　No　new　contributor　made　his　mark
in　the　magazine　unnoted　by　him；　and　sometimes　I　showed　him　verse　in
manuscript　which　gave　me　peculiar　pleasure。　　I　remember　his　liking　for
the　first　piece　that　Mr。　Maurice　Thompson　sent　me；　and　how　he　tasted　the
fresh　flavor　of　it；　and　inhaled　its　wild　new　fragrance。　　He　admired　the
skill　of　some　of　the　young　story…tellers；　he　praised　the　subtlety　of　one
in　working　out　an　intricate　character；　and　said　modestly　that　he　could
never　have　done　that　sort　of　thing　himself。　　It　was　entirely　safe　to
invite　his　judgment　when　in　doubt；　for　he　never　suffered　it　to　become
aggressive；　or　used　it　to　urge　upon　me　the　manuscripts　that　must　often
have　been　urged　upon　him。

Longfellow　had　a　house　at　Nahant　where　he　went　every　summer　for　more　than
a　quarter　of　a　century。　　He　found　the　slight　transition　change　enough
from　Cambridge；　and　liked　it　perhaps　because　it　did　not　take　him　beyond
the　range　of　the　friends　and　strangers　whose　company　he　liked。　　Agassiz
was　there；　and　Appleton；　Sumner　came　to　sojourn　with　him；　and　the
tourists　of　all　nations　found　him　there　in　half　an　hour　after　they
reached　Boston。　　His　cottage　was　very　plain　and　simple；　but　was　rich　in
the　sight　of　the　illimitable；　sea；　and　it　had　a　luxury　of　rocks　at　the
foot　of　its　garden；　draped　with　sea…weed；　and　washed　with　the
indefatigable　tides。　　As　he　grew　older　and　feebler　he　ceased　to　go　to
Nahant；　he　remained　the　whole　year　round　at　Cambridge；　he　professed　to
like　the　summer　which　he　said　warmed　him　through　there；　better　than　the
cold　spectacle　of　summer　which　had　no　such　effect　at　Nahant。

The　hospitality　which　was　constant　at　either　house　was　not　merely　of　the
worldly　sort。　　Longfellow　loved　good　cheer；　he　tasted　history　and　poetry
in　a　precious　wine；　and　he　liked　people　who　were　acquainted　with　manners
and　men；　and　brought　the　air　of　capitals　with　them。　　But　often　the　man
who　dined　with　Longfellow　was　the　man　who　needed　a　dinner；　and　from　what
I　have　seen　of　the　sweet　courtesy　that　governed　at　that　board；　I　am　sure
that　such　a　man　could　never　have　felt　himself　the　least　honored　guest。
The　poet's　heart　was　open　to　all　the　homelessness　of　the　world；　and　I
remember　how　once　when　we　sat　at　his　table　and　I　spoke　of　his　poem　of
〃The　Challenge；〃　then　a　new　poem；　and　said　how　I　had　been　touched　by　the
fancy　of

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃The　poverty…stricken　millions
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Who　challenge　our　wine　and　bread；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　impeach　us　all　as　traitors；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Both　the　living　and　the　dead；〃

his　voice　sank　in　grave　humility　as　he　answered；　〃Yes；　I　often　think　of
those　things。〃　　He　had　thought　of　them　in　the　days　of　the　slave；　when　he
had　taken　his　place　with　the　friends　of　the　hopeless　and　hapless；　and　as
long　as　he　lived　he　continued　of　the　party　which　had　freed　the　slave。
He　did　not　often　speak　of　politics；　but　when　the　movement　of　some　of　the
best　Republicans　away　from　their　party　began；　he　said　that　he　could　not
see　the　wisdom　of　their　course。　　But　this　was　said　without　censure　or
criticism　of　them；　and　so　far　as　I　know　he　never　permitted　himself
anything　like　denunciation　of　those　who　in　any　wise　differed　from　him。
On　a　matter　of　yet　deeper　interest；　I　do　not　feel　authorized　to　speak　for
him；　but　I　think　that　as　he　grew　older；　his　hold　upon　anything　like　a
creed　weakened；　though　he　remained　of　the　Unitarian　philosophy　concerning
Christ。　　He　did　not　latterly　go　to　church；　I　believe；　but　then；　very　few
of　his　circle　were　church…goers。　　Once　he　said　something　very　vague　and
uncertain　concerning　the　doctrine　of　another　life　when　I　affirmed　my　hope
of　it；　to　the　effect　that　he　wished　he　could　be　sure；　with　the　sigh　that
so　often　clothed　the　expression　of　a　misgiving　with　him。




VII。

When　my　acquaintance　with　Longfellow　began　he　had　written　the　things　that
made　his　fame；　and　that　it　will　probably　rest　upon：　〃Evangeline；〃
〃Hiawatha；〃　and　the　〃Courtship　of　Miles　Standish〃　were　by　that　time　old
stories。　　But　during　the　eighteen　years　that　I　knew　him　he　produced　the
best　of　his　minor　poems；　the　greatest　of　his　sonnets；　the　sweetest　of　his
lyrics。　　His　art　ripened　to　the　last；　it　grew　richer　and　finer；　and　it
never　knew　decay。　　He　rarely　read　anything　of　his　own　aloud；　but　in　three
or　four　cases　he　read　to　me　poems　he　had　just　finished；　as　if　to　give
himself　the　pleasure　of　hearing　them　with　the　sympathetic　sense　of
another。　　The　hexameter　piece；　〃Elizabeth；〃　in　the　third　part　of　〃Tales
of　a　Wayside　Inn；〃　was　one　of　these；　and　he　liked　my　liking　its
rhythmical　form；　which　I　believed　one　of　the　measures　best　adapted　to　the
English　speech；　and　which　he　had　used　himself　with　so　much　pleasure　and
success。

About　this　time　he　was　greatly　interested　in　the　slight　experiments　I　was
beginning　to　make　in　dramatic　form；　and　he　said　that　if　he　were　himself　a
young　man　he　should　write　altogether　for　the　stage；　he　thought　the　drama
had　a　greater　future　with　us。　　He　was　pleased　when　a　popular　singer
wished　to　produce　his　〃Masque　of　Pandora；〃　with　music；　and　he　was　patient
when　it　failed　of　the　effect　hoped　for　it　as　an　opera。　　When　the　late
Lawrence　Barrett；　in　the　enthusiasm　which　was　one　of　the　fine　traits　of
his　generous　character；　had　taken　my　play　of　〃A　Counterfeit　Presentment；〃
and　came　to　the　Boston　Museum　with　it；　Longfellow　could　not　apparently
have　been　more　zealous　for　its　popular　acceptance　if　it　had　been　his　own
work。　　He　invited　himself　to　one　of　the　rehearsals　with　me；　and　he　sat
with　me　on　the　stage　through　the　four　acts　with　a　fortitude　which　I　still
wonder　at；　and　with　the　keenest　zest　for　all　the　details　of　the
performance。　　No　finer　testimony　to　the　love　and　honor　which　all　kinds　of
people　had　for　him　could　have　been　given　than　that　shown　by　the　actors
and　employees　of　the　theatre；　high　and　low。　　They　thronged　the　scenery；
those　who　were　not　upon　the　stage；　and　at　the　edge　of　every　wing　were
faces　peering　round　at　the　poet；　who　sat　unconscious　of　their　adoration；
intent　upon　the　play。　　He　was　intercepted　at　every　step　in　going　out；　and
made　to　put　his　name　to　the　photographs　of　himself　which　his　worshippers
produced　from　their　persons。

He　came　to　the　first　night　of　the　piece；　and　when　it　seemed　to　be　finding
favor　with　the　public；　he　leaned　forward　out　of　his　line　to　nod　and　smile
at　the　author；　when　they；　had　the　author　up；　it　was　the　sweetest　flattery
of　the　applause　which　abused　his　fondness　that　Longfellow　clapped　first
and　loudest。

Where　once　he　had　given　his　kindness　he　could　not　again　withhold　it；　and
he　was　anxious　no　fact　should　be　interpreted　as　withdrawal。　　When　the
Emperor　Dom　Pedro　of　Brazil；　who　was　so　great　a　lover　of　Longfellow；
came　to　Boston；　he　asked　himself　out　to　dine　with　the　poet；　who　had
expected　to　offer　him　some　such　hospitality。　　Soon　after；　Longfellow　met
me；　and　as　if　eager　to　forestall　a　possible　feeling　in　me；　said；
〃I　wanted　to　ask　you　to　dinner　with　the　Emperor；　but　he　not　only　sent
word　he　was　coming；　he　named　his　fellow…guests！〃　　I　answered　that　though
I　should　probably　never　come　so　near　dining　with　an　emperor　again；　I
prized　his　wish　to　ask　me　much　more　than　the　chance　I　had　missed；　and
with　this　my　great　and　good　friend　seemed　a　little　consoled。　　I　believe
that　I　do　not　speak　too　confidently　of　our　relation。　　He　was　truly　the
friend　of　all　men；　but　I　had　certainly　the　advantage　of　my　propinquity。
We　were　near　neighbors；　as　the　pleonasm　has　it；　both　when　I　lived　on
Berkeley　Street　and　after　I　had　built　my　own　house　on　Concord　Avenue；
and　I　suppose　he　found　my　youthful　informality　convenient。　　He　always
asked　me　to　dinner　when　his　old　friend　Greene　came　to　visit　him；　and　then
we　had　an　Italian　time　together；　with　more　or　less　repetition　in　our
talk；　of　what　we　had　said　before　of　Italian　poetry　and　Italian　character。
One　day　there　came　a　note　from　him　saying；　in　effect；　〃Salvini　is　coming
out　to　dine　with　me　tomorrow　night；　and　I　want　you　to　come　too。　　There
will　be　no　one　else　but　Greene　and　myself；　and　we