roundabout to boston-第4节

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with　the　treatment　of　social　phases　and　events　in　a　department　which　grew
up　under　my　hand。　　My　associations　personally　were　of　the　most　agreeable
kind。　　I　worked　with　joy；　with　ardor；　and　I　liked　so　much　to　be　there；　in
that　place　and　in　that　company；　that　I　hated　to　have　each　day　come　to　an
end。

I　believed　that　my　lines　were　cast　in　New　York　for　good　and　all；　and　I
renewed　my　relations　with　the　literary　friends　I　had　made　before　going
abroad。　　I　often　stopped；　on　my　way　up　town；　at　an　apartment　the
Stoddards　had　in　Lafayette　Place；　or　near　it；　I　saw　Stedman；　and　reasoned
high；　to　my　heart's　content；　of　literary　things　with　them　and　him。

With　the　winter　Bayard　Taylor　came　on　from　his　home　in　Kennett　and　took
an　apartment　in　East　Twelfth　Street；　and　once　a　week　Mrs。　Taylor　and　he
received　all　their　friends　there；　with　a　simple　and　charming　hospitality。
There　was　another　house　which　we　much　resorted　tothe　house　of　James
Lorrimer　Graham；　afterwards　Consul…General　at　Florence；　where　he　died。
I　had　made　his　acquaintance　at　Venice　three　years　before；　and　I　came　in
for　my　share　of　that　love　for　literary　men　which　all　their　perversities
could　not　extinguish　in　him。　　It　was　a　veritable　passion；　which　I　used　to
think　he　could　not　have　felt　so　deeply　if　he　had　been　a　literary　man
himself。　　There　were　delightful　dinners　at　his　house；　where　the　wit　of
the　Stoddards　shone；　and　Taylor　beamed　with　joyous　good…fellowship　and
overflowed　with　invention；　and　Huntington；　long　Paris　correspondent　of
the　Tribune；　humorously　tried　to　talk　himself　into　the　resolution　of
spending　the　rest　of　his　life　in　his　own　country。　　There　was　one　evening
when　C。　P。　Cranch；　always　of　a　most　pensive　presence　and　aspect；　sang　the
most　killingly　comic　songs；　and　there　was　another　evening　when；　after　we
all　went　into　the　library；　something　tragical　happened。　　Edwin　Booth　was
of　our　number；　a　gentle；　rather　silent　person　in　company；　or　with　at
least　little　social　initiative；　who；　as　his　fate　would；　went　up　to　the
cast　of　a　huge　hand　that　lay　upon　one　of　the　shelves。　　〃Whose　hand　is
this；　Lorry？〃　he　asked　our　host；　as　he　took　it　up　and　turned　it　over　in
both　his　own　hands。　　Graham　feigned　not　to　hear；　and　Booth　asked　again；
〃whose　hand　is　this？〃　　Then　there　was　nothing　for　Graham　but　to　say；
〃It's　Lincoln's　hand；〃　and　the　man　for　whom　it　meant　such　unspeakable
things　put　it　softly　down　without　a　word。




V。

It　was　one　of　the　disappointments　of　a　time　which　was　nearly　all　joy　that
I　did　not　then　meet　a　man　who　meant　hardly　less　than　Lowell　himself　for
me。　　George　William　Curtis　was　during　my　first　winter　in　New　York　away　on
one　of　the　long　lecturing　rounds　to　which　he　gave　so　many　of　his　winters；
and　I　did　not　see　him　till　seven　years　afterwards；　at　Mr。　Norton's　in
Cambridge。　　He　then　characteristically　spent　most　of　the　evening　in
discussing　an　obscure　point　in　Browning's　poem　of　'My　Last　Duchess'。
I　have　long　forgotten　what　the　point　was；　but　not　the　charm　of　Curtis's
personality；　his　fine　presence；　his　benign　politeness；　his　almost
deferential　tolerance　of　difference　in　opinion。　　Afterwards　I　saw　him
again　and　again　in　Boston　and　New　York；　but　always　with　a　sense　of
something　elusive　in　his　graciousness；　for　which　something　in　me　must
have　been　to　blame。　　Cold；　he　was　not；　even　to　the　youth　that　in　those
days　was　apt　to　shiver　in　any　but　the　higher　temperatures；　and　yet　I　felt
that　I　made　no　advance　in　his　kindness　towards　anything　like　the
friendship　I　knew　in　the　Cambridge　men。　　Perhaps　I　was　so　thoroughly
attuned　to　their　mood　that　I　could　not　be　put　in　unison　with　another；　and
perhaps　in　Curtis　there　was　really　not　the　material　of　much　intimacy。

He　had　the　potentiality　of　publicity　in　the　sort　of　welcome　he　gave
equally　to　all　men；　and　if　I　asked　more　I　was　not　reasonable。　　Yet　he　was
never　far　from　any　man　of　good…will；　and　he　was　the　intimate　of
multitudes　whose　several　existence　he　never　dreamt　of。　　In　this　sort　he
had　become　my　friend　when　he　made　his　first　great　speech　on　the　Kansas
question　in　1855；　which　will　seen　as　remote　to　the　young　men　of　this　day
as　the　Thermopylae　question　to　which　he　likened　it。　　I　was　his　admirer；
his　lover；　his　worshipper　before　that　for　the　things　he　had　done　in
literature；　for　the　'Howadji'　books；　and　for　the　lovely　fantasies　of
'Prue　and　I'；　and　for　the　sound…hearted　satire　of　the　'Potiphar　Papers'；
and　now　suddenly　I　learnt　that　this　brilliant　and　graceful　talent；　this
travelled　and　accomplished　gentleman；　this　star　of　society　who　had
dazzled　me　with　his　splendor　far　off　in　my　Western　village　obscurity；　was
a　man　with　the　heart　to　feel　the　wrongs　of　men　so　little　friended　then　as
to　be　denied　all　the　rights　of　men。　　I　do　not　remember　any　passage　of　the
speech；　or　any　word　of　it；　but　I　remember　the　joy；　the　pride　with　which
the　soul　of　youth　recognizes　in　the　greatness　it　has　honored　the　goodness
it　may　love。　　Mere　politicians　might　be　pro…slavery　or　anti…slavery
without　touching　me　very　much；　but　here　was　the　citizen　of　a　world　far
greater　than　theirs；　a　light　of　the　universal　republic　of　letters；　who
was　willing　and　eager　to　stand　or　fall　with　the　just　cause；　and　that　was
all　in　all　to　me。　　His　country　was　my　country；　and　his　kindred　my
kindred；　and　nothing　could　have　kept　me　from　following　after　him。

His　whole　life　taught　the　lesson　that　the　world　is　well　lost　whenever　the
world　is　wrong；　but　never；　I　think；　did　any　life　teach　this　so　sweetly；
so　winningly。　　The　wrong　world　itself　might　have　been　entreated　by　him　to
be　right；　for　he　was　one　of　the　few　reformers　who　have　not　in　some
measure　mixed　their　love　of　man　with　hate　of　men；　his　quarrel　was　with
error；　and　not　with　the　persons　who　were　in　it。　　He　was　so　gently
steadfast　in　his　opinions　that　no　one　ever　thought　of　him　as　a　fanatic；
though　many　who　held　his　opinions　were　assailed　as　fanatics；　and　suffered
the　shame　if　they　did　not　win　the　palm　of　martyrdom。　　In　early　life　he
was　a　communist；　and　then　when　he　came　out　of　Brook　Farm　into　the　world
which　he　was　so　well　fitted　to　adorn；　and　which　would　so　gladly　have　kept
him　all　its　own；　he　became　an　abolitionist　in　the　very　teeth　of　the　world
which　abhorred　abolitionists。　　He　was　a　believer　in　the　cause　of　women's
rights；　which　has　no　picturesqueness；　and　which　chiefly　appeals　to　the
sense　of　humor　in　the　men　who　never　dreamt　of　laughing　at　him。　　The　man
who　was　in　the　last　degree　amiable　was　to　the　last　degree　unyielding
where　conscience　was　concerned；　the　soul　which　was　so　tender　had　no
weakness　in　it；　his　lenity　was　the　divination　of　a　finer　justice。　　His
honesty　made　all　men　trust　him　when　they　doubted　his　opinions；　his　good
sense　made　them　doubt　their　own　opinions；　when　they　had　as　little
question　of　their　own　honesty。

I　should　not　find　it　easy　to　speak　of　him　as　a　man　of　letters　only；　for
humanity　was　above　the　humanities　with　him；　and　we　all　know　how　he　turned
from　the　fairest　career　in　literature　to　tread　the　thorny　path　of
politics　because　he　believed　that　duty　led　the　way；　and　that　good
citizens　were　needed　more　than　good　romancers。　　No　doubt　they　are；
and　yet　it　must　always　be　a　keen　regret　with　the　men　of　my　generation　who
witnessed　with　such　rapture　the　early　proofs　of　his　talent；　that　he　could
not　have　devoted　it　wholly　to　the　beautiful；　and　let　others　look　after
the　true。　　Now　that　I　have　said　this　I　am　half　ashamed　of　it；　for　I　know
well　enough　that　what　he　did　was　best；　but　if　my　regret　is　mean；　I　will
let　it　remain；　for　it　is　faithful　to　the　mood　which　many　have　been　in
concerning　him。

There　can　be　no　dispute；　I　am　sure；　as　to　the　value　of　some　of　the
results　he　achieved　in　that　other　path。　　He　did　indeed　create　anew　for　us
the　type　of　good…citizenship；　well…nigh　effaced　in　a　sordid　and　selfish
time；　and　of　an　honest　politician　and　a　pure…minded　journalist。　　He　never
really　forsook　literature；　and　the　world　of　actual　interests　and
experiences　afforded　him　outlooks　and　perspectives；　without　which
aesthetic　endeavor　is　self…limited　and　purblind。　　He　was　a　great　man　of
letters；　he　was　a　great　orator；　he　was　a　great　political　journalist；　he
was　a　great　citizen；　he　was　a　great　philanthropist。　　But　that　last　word
with　its　conventional　application　scarcely　describes　the　brave　and　gentle
friend　of　men　that　he　was。　　He　was　one　that　helped　others　by　all　that　he
did；　and　said；　and　was；　and　the　circle　of　his　use　was　as　wide　as　his
fame。　　There　are　other　great　men；　plenty　of　them；　common　great　men；　whom
we　know　as　names　and　powers；　and　whom　we　willingly　let　the　ages　have　when
they　die；　for；　living　or　dead；　they　are　alike　remote　from　us。　　They　have
never　been　with　us　where　we　live；　but　this　great　man　was　the　neighbor；
the　contemporary；　and　the　friend　of　all　who　read　him　or　heard　him；　and
even　in　the　swift　forgetting　of　this　electrical　age　the　stamp　of　his
personality　will　not　be　effaced　from　their　minds　or　hearts。




VI。

Of　those　evenings　at　the　Taylors'　in　New　York；　I　can　recall　best　the　one
which　was　most　significant　for　me；　and　even　fatefully　significant。
Mr。　and　Mrs。　Fields　were　there；　from　Boston；　and　I　renewed　all　the
pleasure　of　my　earlier　meetings　with　them。　　At　the