the white mr. longfellow-第6部分

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carriage；　he　was　often　to　be　met　in　the　horse…cars；　which　were　such
common　ground　in　Cambridge　that　they　were　often　like　small　invited
parties　of　friends　when　they　left　Harvard　Square；　so　that　you　expected
the　gentlemen　to　jump　up　and　ask　the　ladies　whether　they　would　have
chicken　salad。　　In　civic　and　political　matters　he　mingled　so　far　as　to
vote　regularly；　and　he　voted　with　his　party；　trusting　it　for　a　general
regard　to　the　public　welfare。

I　fancy　he　was　somewhat　shy　of　his　fellow…men；　as　the　scholar　seems
always　to　be；　from　the　sequestered　habit　of　his　life；　but　I　think
Longfellow　was　incapable　of　marking　any　difference　between　himself　and
them。　　I　never　heard　from　him　anything　that　was　'de　haut　en　bas'；　when　he
spoke　of　people；　and　in　Cambridge；　where　there　was　a　good　deal　of
contempt　for　the　less　lettered；　and　we　liked　to　smile　though　we　did　not
like　to　sneer；　and　to　analyze　if　we　did　not　censure；　Longfellow　and
Longfellow's　house　were　free　of　all　that。　　Whatever　his　feeling　may　have
been　towards　other　sorts　and　conditions　of　men；　his　effect　was　of　an
entire　democracy。　　He　was　always　the　most　unassuming　person　in　any
company；　and　at　some　large　public　dinners　where　I　saw　him　I　found　him
patient　of　the　greater　attention　that　more　public　men　paid　themselves　and
one　another。　　He　was　not　a　speaker；　and　I　never　saw　him　on　his　feet　at
dinner；　except　once；　when　he　read　a　poem　for　Whittier；　who　was　absent。
He　disliked　after…dinner　speaking；　and　made　conditions　for　his　own
exemption　from　it。




VIII。

Once　your　friend；　Longfellow　was　always　your　friend；　he　would　not　think
evil　of　you；　and　if　he　knew　evil　of　you；　he　would　be　the　last　of　all　that
knew　it　to　judge　you　for　it。　　This　may　have　been　from　the　impersonal
habit　of　his　mind；　but　I　believe　it　was　also　the　effect　of　principle；　for
he　would　do　what　he　could　to　arrest　the　delivery　of　judgment　from　others；
and　would　soften　the　sentences　passed　in　his　presence。　　Naturally　this
brought　him　under　some　condemnation　with　those　of　a　severer　cast；　and　I
have　heard　him　criticised　for　his　benevolence　towards　all；　and　his
constancy　to　some　who　were　not　quite　so　true　to　themselves；　perhaps。
But　this　leniency　of　Longfellow's　was　what　constituted　him　great　as　well
as　good；　for　it　is　not　our　wisdom　that　censures　others。　　As　for　his
goodness；　I　never　saw　a　fault　in　him。　　I　do　not　mean　to　say　that　he　had
no　faults；　or　that　there　were　no　better　men；　but　only　to　give　the　witness
of　my　knowledge　concerning　him。　　I　claim　in　no　wise　to　have　been　his
intimate；　such　a　thing　was　not　possible　in　my　case　for　quite　apparent
reasons；　and　I　doubt　if　Longfellow　was　capable　of　intimacy　in　the　sense
we　mostly　attach　to　the　word。　　Something　more　of　egotism　than　I　ever
found　in　him　must　go　to　the　making　of　any　intimacy　which　did　not　come
from　the　tenderest　affections　of　his　heart。　　But　as　a　man　shows　himself
to　those　often　with　him；　and　in　his　noted　relations　with　other　men；　he
showed　himself　without　blame。　　All　men　that　I　have　known；　besides；　have
had　some　foible　（it　often　endeared　them　the　more）；　or　some　meanness；　or
pettiness；　or　bitterness；　but　Longfellow　had　none；　nor　the　suggestion　of
any。　　No　breath　of　evil　ever　touched　his　name；　he　went　in　and　out　among
his　fellow…men　without　the　reproach　that　follows　wrong；　the　worst　thing　I
ever　heard　said　of　him　was　that　he　had　'gene'；　and　this　was　said　by　one
of　those　difficult　Cambridge　men　who　would　have　found　'gene'　in　a
celestial　angel。　　Something　that　Bjornstjerne　Bjornson　wrote　to　me　when
he　was　leaving　America　after　a　winter　in　Cambridge；　comes　nearer
suggesting　Longfellow　than　all　my　talk。　　The　Norsemen；　in　the　days　of
their　stormy　and　reluctant　conversion；　used　always　to　speak　of　Christ　as
the　White　Christ；　and　Bjornson　said　in　his　letter；　〃Give　my　love　to　the
White　Mr。　Longfellow。〃

A　good　many；　years　before　Longfellow's　death　he　began　to　be　sleepless；
and　he　suffered　greatly。　　He　said　to　me　once　that　he　felt　as　if　he　were
going　about　with　his　heart　in　a　kind　of　mist。　　The　whole　night　through　he
would　not　be　aware　of　having　slept。　　〃　But；〃　he　would　add；　with　his
heavenly　patience；　〃I　always　get　a　good　deal　of　rest　from　lying　down　so
long。〃　　I　cannot　say　whether　these　conditions　persisted；　or　how　much　his
insomnia　had　to　do　with　his　breaking　health；　three　or　four　years　before
the　end　came；　we　left　Cambridge　for　a　house　farther　in　the　country；　and　I
saw　him　less　frequently　than　before。　　He　did　not　allow　our　meetings　to
cease；　he　asked　me　to　dinner　from　time　to　time；　as　if　to　keep　them　up；
but　it　could　not　be　with　the　old　frequency。　　Once　he　made　a　point　of
coming　to　see　us　in　our　cottage　on　the　hill　west　of　Cambridge；　but　it　was
with　an　effort　not　visible　in　the　days　when　he　could　end　one　of　his　brief
walks　at　our　house　on　Concord　Avenue；　he　never　came　but　he　left　our　house
more　luminous　for　his　having　been　there。　　Once　he　came　to　supper　there　to
meet　Garfield　（an　old　family　friend　of　mine　in　Ohio）；　and　though　he　was
suffering　from　a　heavy　cold；　he　would　not　scant　us　in　his　stay。　　I　had
some　very　bad　sherry　which　he　drank　with　the　serenity　of　a　martyr；　and　I
shudder　to　this　day　to　think　what　his　kindness　must　have　cost　him。　　He
told　his　story　of　the　clothes…line　ghost；　and　Garfield　matched　it　with
the　story　of　an　umbrella　ghost　who　sheltered　a　friend　of　his　through　a
midnight　storm；　but　was　not　cheerful　company　to　his　beneficiary；　who
passed　his　hand　through　him　at　one　point　in　the　effort　to　take　his　arm。

After　the　end　of　four　years　I　came　to　Cambridge　to　be　treated　for　a　long
sickness；　which　had　nearly　been　my　last；　and　when　I　could　get　about　I
returned　the　visit　Longfellow　had　not　failed　to　pay　me。　　But　I　did　not
find　him；　and　I　never　saw　him　again　in　life。　　I　went　into　Boston　to
finish　the　winter　of　1881…2；　and　from　time　to　time　I　heard　that　the　poet
was　failing　in　health。　　As　soon　as　I　felt　able　to　bear　the　horse…car
journey　I　went　out　to　Cambridge　to　see　him。　　I　had　knocked　once　at　his
door；　the　friendly　door　that　had　so　often　opened　to　his　welcome；　and
stood　with　the　knocker　in　my　hand　when　the　door　was　suddenly　set　ajar；
and　a　maid　showed　her　face　wet　with　tears。　　〃How　is　Mr。　Longfellow？〃
I　palpitated；　and　with　a　burst　of　grief　she　answered；　〃Oh；　the　poor
gentleman　has　just　departed！〃　　I　turned　away　as　if　from　a　helpless
intrusion　at　a　death…bed。

At　the　services　held　in　the　house　before　the　obsequies　at　the　cemetery；　I
saw　the　poet　for　the　last　time；　where

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃Dead　he　lay　among　his　books；〃

in　the　library　behind　his　study。　　Death　seldom　fails　to　bring　serenity　to
all；　and　I　will　not　pretend　that　there　was　a　peculiar　peacefulness　in
Longfellow's　noble　mask；　as　I　saw　it　then。　　It　was　calm　and　benign　as　it
had　been　in　life；　he　could　not　have　worn　a　gentler　aspect　in　going　out　of
the　world　than　he　had　always　worn　in　it；　he　had　not　to　wait　for　death　to
dignify　it　with　〃the　peace　of　God。〃　　All　who　were　left　of　his　old
Cambridge　were　present；　and　among　those　who　had　come　farther　was　Emerson。
He　went　up　to　the　bier；　and　with　his　arms　crossed　on　his　breast；　and　his
elbows　held　in　either　hand；　stood　with　his　head　pathetically　fallen
forward；　looking　down　at　the　dead　face。　　Those　who　knew　how　his　memory
was　a　mere　blank；　with　faint　gleams　of　recognition　capriciously　coming
and　going　in　it；　must　have　felt　that　he　was　struggling　；to　remember　who
it　was　lay　there　before　him；　and　for　me　the　electly　simple　words
confessing　his　failure　will　always　be　pathetic　with　his　remembered
aspect：　〃The　gentleman　we　have　just　been　burying；〃　he　said；　to　the　friend
who　had　come　with　him；　〃was　a　sweet　and　beautiful　soul；　but　I　forget　his
name。〃

I　had　the　privilege　and　honor　of　looking　over　the　unprinted　poems
Longfellow　left　behind　him；　and　of　helping　to　decide　which　of　them　should
be　published。

There　were　not　many　of　them；　and　some　of　these　few　were　quite
fragmentary。　　I　gave　my　voice　for　the　publication　of　all　that　had　any
sort　of　completeness；　for　in　every　one　there　was　a　touch　of　his　exquisite
art；　the　grace　of　his　most　lovely　spirit。　　We　have　so　far　had　two　men
only　who　felt　the　claim　of　their　gift　to　the　very　best　that　the　most
patient　skill　could　give　its　utterance：　one　was　Hawthorne　and　the　other
was　Longfellow。　　I　shall　not　undertake　to　say　which　was　the　greater
artist　of　these　two；　but　I　am　sure　that　every　one　who　has　studied　it　must
feel　with　me　that　the　art　of　Longfellow　held　out　to　the　end　with　no　touch
of　decay　in　it；　and　that　it　equalled　the　art　of　any　other　poet　of　his
time。　　It　knew　when　to　give　itself；　and　more　and　more　it　knew　when　to
withhold　itself。

What　Longfellow's　place　in　literature　will　be；　I　shall　not　offer　to　say；
that　is　Time's　affair；　not　mine；　but　I　am　sure　that　with　Tennyson　and
Browning　he　fully　shared　in　the　expression　of　an　age　which　more
completely　than　any　former　age　got　itself　said　by　its　poets。









End