letters to dead authors-第13部分

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omb。

For　us　it　is　enough　to　know　that　you　were　compelled　to　live　by　your　pen；　and　that　in　an　age　when　the　author　of　〃To　Helen〃　and　〃The　Cask　of　Amontillado〃　was　paid　at　the　rate　of　a　dollar　a　column。　　When　such　poverty　was　the　mate　of　such　pride　as　yours；　a　misery　more　deep　than　that　of　Burns；　an　agony　longer　than　Chatterton's；　were　inevitable　and　assured。　　No　man　was　less　fortunate　than　you　in　the　moment　of　his　birthinfelix　opportunitate　vitae。　　Had　you　lived　a　generation　later；　honour；　wealth；　applause；　success　in　Europe　and　at　home；　would　all　have　been　yours。　　Within　thirty　years　so　great　a　change　has　passed　over　the　profession　of　letters　in　America；　and　it　is　impossible　to　estimate　the　rewards　which　would　have　fallen　to　Edgar　Poe；　had　chance　made　him　the　contemporary　of　Mark　Twain　and　of　〃Called　Back。〃　　It　may　be　that　your　criticisms　helped　to　bring　in　the　new　era；　and　to　lift　letters　out　of　the　reach　of　quite　unlettered　scribblers。　　Though　not　a　scholar；　at　least　you　had　a　respect　for　scholarship。　　You　might　still　marvel　over　such　words　as　〃objectional〃　in　the　new　biography　of　yourself；　and　might　ask　what　is　meant　by　such　a　sentence　as　〃his　connection　with　it　had　inured　to　his　own　benefit　by　the　frequent　puffs　of　himself；〃　and　so　forth。

Best　known　in　your　own　day　as　a　critic；　it　is　as　a　poet　and　a　writer　of　short　tales　that　you　must　live。　　But　to　discuss　your　few　and　elaborate　poems　is　a　waste　of　time；　so　completely　does　your　own　brief　definition　of　poetry；　〃the　rhythmic　creation　of　the　beautiful；〃　exhaust　your　theory；　and　so　perfectly　is　the　theory　illustrated　by　the　poems。　　Natural　bent；　and　reaction　against　the　example　of　Mr。　Longfellow；　combined　to　make　you　too　intolerant　of　what　you　call　the　〃didactic〃　element　in　verse。　　Even　if　morality　be　not　seven…eighths　of　our　life　（the　exact　proportion　as　at　present　estimated）；　there　was　a　place　even　on　the　Hellenic　Parnassus　for　gnomic　bards；　and　theirs　in　the　nature　of　the　case　must　always　be　the　largest　public。

〃Music　is　the　perfection　of　the　soul　or　the　idea　of　poetry；〃　so　you　wrote；　〃the　vagueness　of　exaltation　aroused　by　a　sweet　air　（which　should　be　indefinite　and　never　too　strongly　suggestive）　is　precisely　what　we　should　aim　at　in　poetry。〃　　You　aimed　at　that　mark；　and　struck　it　again　and　again；　notably　in　〃Helen；　thy　beauty　is　to　me；〃　in　〃The　Haunted　Palace；〃　〃The　Valley　of　Unrest；〃　and　〃The　City　in　the　Sea。〃　　But　by　some　Nemesis　which　might；　perhaps；　have　been　foreseen；　you　are；　to　the　world；　the　poet　of　one　poem〃The　Raven：〃　a　piece　in　which　the　music　is　highly　artificial；　and　the　〃exaltation〃　（what　there　is　of　it）　by　no　means　particularly　〃vague。〃　So　a　portion　of　the　public　know　little　of　Shelley　but　the　〃Skylark；〃　and　those　two　incongruous　birds；　the　lark　and　the　raven；　bear　each　of　them　a　poet's　name；　vivu'　per　ora　virum。　　Your　theory　of　poetry；　if　accepted；　would　make　you　（after　the　author　of　〃Kubla　Khan〃）　the　foremost　of　the　poets　of　the　world；　at　no　long　distance　would　come　Mr。　William　Morris　as　he　was　when　he　wrote　〃Golden　Wings；〃　〃The　Blue　Closet；〃　and　〃The　Sailing　of　the　Sword；〃　and；　close　up；　Mr。　Lear；　the　author　of　〃The　Yongi　Bongi　Bo；〃　an　the　lay　of　the　〃Jumblies。〃

On　the　other　hand　Homer　would　sink　into　the　limbo　to　which　you　consigned　Moliere。　　If　we　may　judge　a　theory　by　its　results；　when　compared　with　the　deliberate　verdict　of　the　world；　your　aesthetic　does　not　seem　to　hold　water。　　The　〃Odyssey〃　is　not　really　inferior　to　〃Ulalume；〃　as　it　ought　to　be　if　your　doctrine　of　poetry　were　correct；　nor　〃Le　Festin　de　Pierre〃　to　〃Undine。〃　　Yet　you　deserve　the　praise　of　having　been　constant；　in　your　poetic　practice；　to　your　poetic　principlesprinciples　commonly　deserted　by　poets　who；　like　Wordsworth；　have　published　their　aesthetic　system。　　Your　pieces　are　few；　and　Dr。　Johnson　would　have　called　you；　like　Fielding；　〃a　barren　rascal。〃　　But　how　can　a　writer's　verses　be　numerous　if　with　him；　as　with　you；　〃poetry　is　not　a　pursuit　but　a　passion　。　。　。　which　cannot　at　will　be　excited　with　an　eye　to　the　paltry　compensations　or　the　more　paltry　commendations　of　mankind！〃　　Of　you　it　may　be　said；　more　truly　than　Shelley　said　it　of　himself；　that　〃to　ask　you　for　anything　human；　is　like　asking　at　a　gin…shop　for　a　leg　of　mutton。〃

Humanity　must　always　be；　to　the　majority　of　men；　the　true　stuff　of　poetry；　and　only　a　minority　will　thank　you　for　that　rare　music　which　（like　the　strains　of　the　fiddler　in　the　story）　is　touched　on　a　single　string；　and　on　an　instrument　fashioned　from　the　spoils　of　the　grave。　　You　chose；　or　you　were　destined


To　vary　from　the　kindly　race　of　men；


and　the　consequences；　which　wasted　your　life；　pursue　your　reputation。

For　your　stories　has　been　reserved　a　boundless　popularity；　and　that　highest　successthe　success　of　a　perfectly　sympathetic　translation。　By　this　time；　of　course；　you　have　made　the　acquaintance　of　your　translator；　M。　Charles　Baudelaire；　who　so　strenuously　shared　your　views　about　Mr。　Emerson　and　the　Transcendentalists；　and　who　so　energetically　resisted　all　those　ideas　of　〃progress〃　which　〃came　from　Hell　or　Boston。〃　　On　this　point；　however；　the　world　continues　to　differ　from　you　and　M。　Baudelaire；　and　perhaps　there　is　only　the　choice　between　our　optimism　and　universal　suicide　or　universal　opium…eating。　　But　to　discuss　your　ultimate　ideas　is　perhaps　a　profitless　digression　from　the　topic　of　your　prose　romances。

An　English　critic　（probably　a　Northerner　at　heart）　has　described　them　as　〃Hawthorne　and　delirium　tremens。〃　　I　am　not　aware　that　extreme　orderliness；　masterly　elaboration；　and　unchecked　progress　towards　a　predetermined　effect　are　characteristics　of　the　visions　of　delirium。　　If　they　be；　then　there　is　a　deal　of　truth　in　the　criticism；　and　a　good　deal　of　delirium　tremens　in　your　style。　　But　your　ingenuity；　your　completeness；　your　occasional　luxuriance　of　fancy　and　wealth　of　jewel…like　words；　are　not；　perhaps；　gifts　which　Mr。　Hawthorne　had　at　his　command。　　He　was　a　great　writerthe　greatest　writer　in　prose　fiction　whom　America　has　produced。　　But　you　and　he　have　not　much　in　common；　except　a　certain　mortuary　turn　of　mind　and　a　taste　for　gloomy　allegories　about　the　workings　of　conscience。

I　forbear　to　anticipate　your　verdict　about　the　latest　essays　of　American　fiction。　　These　by　no　means　follow　in　the　lines　which　you　laid　down　about　brevity　and　the　steady　working　to　one　single　effect。　Probably　you　would　not　be　very　tolerant　（tolerance　was　not　your　leading　virtue）　of　Mr。　Roe；　now　your　countrymen's　favourite　novelist。　　He　is　long；　he　is　didactic；　he　is　eminently　uninspired。　In　the　works　of　one　who　is；　what　you　were　called　yourself；　a　Bostonian；　you　would　admire；　at　least；　the　acute　observation；　the　subtlety；　and　the　unfailing　distinction。　　But；　destitute　of　humour　as　you　unhappily　but　undeniably　were；　you　would　miss；　I　fear；　the　charm　of　〃Daisy　Miller。〃　　You　would　admit　the　unity　of　effect　secured　in　〃Washington　Square；〃　though　that　effect　is　as　remote　as　possible　from　the　terror　of　〃The　House　of　Usher〃　or　the　vindictive　triumph　of　〃The　Cask　of　Amontillado。〃

Farewell；　farewell；　thou　sombre　and　solitary　spirit：　　a　genius　tethered　to　the　hack…work　of　the　press；　a　gentleman　among　canaille；　a　poet　among　poetasters；　dowered　with　a　scholar's　taste　without　a　scholar's　training；　embittered　by　his　sensitive　scorn；　and　all　unsupported　by　his　consolations。



LETTERTo　Sir　Walter　Scott；　Bart。



Rodono；　St。　Mary's　Loch：　Sept。　8；　1885。

Sir；In　your　biography　it　is　recorded　that　you　not　only　won　the　favour　of　all　men　and　women；　but　that　a　domestic　fowl　conceived　an　affection　for　you；　and　that　a　pig；　by　his　will；　had　never　been　severed　from　your　company。　　If　some　Circe　had　repeated　in　my　case　her　favourite　miracle　of　turning　mortals　into　swine；　and　had　given　me　a　choice；　into　that　fortunate　pig；　blessed　among　his　race；　would　I　have　been　converted！　　You；　almost　alone　among　men　of　letters；　still；　like　a　living　friend；　win　and　charm　us　out　of　the　past；　and　if　one　might　call　up　a　poet；　as　the　scholiast　tried　to　call　Homer；　from　the　shades；　who　would　not；　out　of　all　the　rest；　demand　some　hours　of　your　society？　　Who　that　ever　meddled　with　letters；　what　child　of　the　irritable　race；　possessed　even　a　tithe　of　your　simple　manliness；　of　the　heart　that　never　knew　a　touch　of　jealousy；　that　envied　no　man　his　laurels；　that　took　honour　and　wealth　as　they　came；　but　never　would　have　deplored　them　had　you　missed　both　and　remained　but　the　Border　sportsman　and　the　Border　antiquary？

Were　the　word　〃genial〃　not　so　much　profaned；　were　it　not　misused　in　easy　good…nature；　to　extenuate　lettered　and　sensual　indolence；　that　worn　old　term　might　be　applied；　above　all　men；　to　〃the　Shirra。〃　　But　perhaps　we　scarcely　need　a　word　（it　would　be　seldom　in　use）　for　a　character　so　rare；　or　rather　so　lonely；　in　its　nobility　and　charm　as　that　of　Walter　Scott。　　Here；　in　the　heart　of　your　own　country；　among　your　own　grey　round…shouldered　hills　（each　so　like　the　other　that　the　shadow　of　one　falling　on　its　neighbour　exactly　outlines　that　neighbour's　shape）；　it　is　of　you　and　of　your　works　that　a　native　of　the　Forest　is　most　frequently　brought　in　mind。　　All　the　spirits　of　the　river　and　the　hill；　all　the　dying　refrains　of　ballad　and　the　fading　echoes　of　story；　all　the　memory　of　the　wild　past；　each　legend　of　burn　and　loch；　seem　to　have　combined　to　inform　your　spirit；　and　to　secure　themselves　an　immortal　life　in　your　song。　　It　is　through　you　that　we　remember　them；　and　in　recalling　them；　as　in　treading　each　hillside　in　this　land；　we　again　remember　you　and　bless　you。

It　is　not；　〃Sixty　Years　Since〃　the　echo　of　Tweed　among　his　pebbles　fell　for　the　last　time　on　your　ear；　not　sixty　years　since；　and　how　much　is　altered！　　But　two　generations　have　passed；　the　lad　who　used　to　ride　from　Edinburgh　to　Abbotsford；　carrying　new　books　for　you；　and　old；　is　still　vending；　in　George　Street；　old　books　and　new。　　Of　politics　I　have　not　the　heart　to　speak。　　Little　joy　would　you　have　had　in　most　that　has　befallen　since　the　Reform　Bill　was　passed；　to　the　chivalrous　cry　of　〃burke　Sir　Walter。〃　　We　are　still　very　Radical　in　the　Forest；　and　you　were　taken　away　from　many　evils　to　come。　　How　would　the　cheek　of　Walter　Scott；　or　of　Leyden；　have　blushed　at　the　names　of　Majuba；　The　Soudan；　Maiwand；　and　many　others　that　recall