studies of lowell-第7节

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that　people　spoke　of　him　seriously；　as　〃an　addition　to　society〃　in
London；　where　one　man　more　or　less　seemed　like　a　drop　in　the　sea。
She　was　a　woman　perfectly　of　the　New　England　type　and　tradition：　almost
repellantly　shy　at　first；　and　almost　glacially　cold　with　new
acquaintance；　but　afterwards　very　sweet　and　cordial。　　She　was　of　a　dark
beauty　with　a　regular　face　of　the　Spanish　outline；　Lowell　was　of　an　ideal
manner　towards　her；　and　of　an　admiration　which　delicately　travestied
itself　and　which　she　knew　how　to　receive　with　smiling　irony。　　After　her
death；　which　occurred　while　he　was　still　in　England；　he　never　spoke　of
her　to　me；　though　before　that　he　used　to　be　always　bringing　her　name　in；
with　a　young　lover…like　fondness。




XI。

In　the　hurry　of　the　London　season　I　did　not　see　so　much　of　Lowell　on　our
second　sojourn　as　on　our　first；　but　once　when　we　were　alone　in　his　study
there　was　a　return　to　the　terms　of　the　old　meetings　in　Cambridge。　　He
smoked　his　pipe；　and　sat　by　his　fire　and　philosophized；　and　but　for　the
great　London　sea　swirling　outside　and　bursting　through　our　shelter；　and
dashing　him　with　notes　that　must　be　instantly　answered；　it　was　a　very
fair　image　of　the　past。　　He　wanted　to　tell　me　about　his　coachman　whom　he
had　got　at　on　his　human　side　with　great　liking　and　amusement；　and　there
was　a　patient　gentleness　in　his　manner　with　the　footman　who　had　to　keep
coming　in　upon　him　with　those　notes　which　was　like　the　echo　of　his　young
faith　in　the　equality　of　men。　　But　he　always　distinguished　between　the
simple　unconscious　equality　of　the　ordinary　American　and　its　assumption
by　a　foreigner。　　He　said　he　did　not　mind　such　an　American's　coming　into
his　house　with　his　hat　on；　but　if　a　German　or　Englishman　did　it；　he
wanted　to　knock　it　off。　　He　was　apt　to　be　rather　punctilious　in　his　shows
of　deference　towards　others；　and　at　one　time　he　practised　removing　his
own　hat　when　he　went　into　shops　in　Cambridge。　　It　must　have　mystified　the
Cambridge　salesmen；　and　I　doubt　if　he　kept　it　up。

With　reference　to　the　doctrine　of　his　young　poetry；　the　fierce　and　the
tender　humanity　of　his　storm　and　stress　period；　I　fancy　a　kind　of　baffle
in　Lowell；　which　I　should　not　perhaps　find　it　easy　to　prove。　　I　never
knew　him　by　word　or　hint　to　renounce　this　doctrine；　but　he　could　not　come
to　seventy　years　without　having　seen　many　high　hopes　fade；　and　known　many
inspired　prophecies　fail。　　When　we　have　done　our　best　to　make　the　world
over；　we　are　apt　to　be　dismayed　by　finding　it　in　much　the　old　shape。
As　he　said　of　the　moral　government　of　the　universe；　the　scale　is　so　vast；
and　a　little　difference；　a　little　change　for　the　better；　is　scarcely
perceptible　to　the　eager　consciousness　of　the　wholesale　reformer。
But　with　whatever　sense　of　disappointment；　of　doubt　as　to　his　own　deeds
for　truer　freedom　and　for　better　conditions　I　believe　his　sympathy　was
still　with　those　who　had　some　heart　for　hoping　and　striving。　　I　am　sure
that　though　he　did　not　agree　with　me　in　some　of　my　own　later　notions　for
the　redemption　of　the　race；　he　did　not　like　me　the　less　but　rather　the
more　because　（to　my　own　great　surprise　I　confess）　I　had　now　and　then　the
courage　of　my　convictions；　both　literary　and　social。

He　was　probably　most　at　odds　with　me　in　regard　to　my　theories　of　fiction；
though　he　persisted　in　declaring　his　pleasure　in　my　own　fiction。　　He　was
in　fact；　by　nature　and　tradition；　thoroughly　romantic；　and　he　could　not
or　would　not　suffer　realism　in　any　but　a　friend。　　He　steadfastly　refused
even　to　read　the　Russian　masters；　to　his　immense　loss；　as　I　tried　to
persuade　him；　and　even　among　the　modern　Spaniards；　for　whom　he　might　have
had　a　sort　of　personal　kindness　from　his　love　of　Cervantes；　he　chose　one
for　his　praise　the　least　worthy；　of　it；　and　bore　me　down　with　his　heavier
metal　in　argument　when　I　opposed　to　Alarcon's　factitiousness　the
delightful　genuineness　of　Valdes。　　Ibsen；　with　all　the　Norwegians；　he　put
far　from　him；　he　would　no　more　know　them　than　the　Russians；　the　French
naturalists　he　abhorred。　　I　thought　him　all　wrong；　but　you　do　not　try
improving　your　elders　when　they　have　come　to　three　score　and　ten　years；
and　I　would　rather　have　had　his　affection　unbroken　by　our　difference　of
opinion　than　a　perfect　agreement。　　Where　he　even　imagined　that　this
difference　could　work　me　harm；　he　was　anxious　to　have　me　know　that　he
meant　me　none；　and　he　was　at　the　trouble　to　write　me　a　letter　when　a
Boston　paper　had　perverted　its　report　of　what　he　said　in　a　public　lecture
to　my　disadvantage；　and　to　assure　me　that　he　had　not　me　in　mind。　　When
once　he　had　given　his　liking；　he　could　not　bear　that　any　shadow　of　change
should　seem　to　have　come　upon　him。　　He　had　a　most　beautiful　and　endearing
ideal　of　friendship；　he　desired　to　affirm　it　and　to　reaffirm　it　as　often
as　occasion　offered；　and　if　occasion　did　not　offer；　he　made　occasion。
It　did　not　matter　what　you　said　or　did　that　contraried　him；　if　he　thought
he　had　essentially　divined　you；　you　were　still　the　same：　and　on　his　part
he　was　by　no　means　exacting　of　equal　demonstration；　but　seemed　not　even
to　wish　it。




XII。

After　he　was　replaced　at　London　by　a　minister　more　immediately
representative　of　the　Democratic　administration；　he　came　home。　　He　made　a
brave　show　of　not　caring　to　have　remained　away；　but　in　truth　he　had
become　very　fond　of　England；　where　he　had　made　so　many　friends；　and　where
the　distinction　he　had；　in　that　comfortably　padded　environment；　was　so
agreeable　to　him。

It　would　have　been　like　him　to　have　secretly　hoped　that　the　new　President
might　keep　him　in　London；　but　he　never　betrayed　any　ignoble
disappointment；　and　he　would　not　join　in　any　blame　of　him。　　At　our　first
meeting　after　he　came　home　he　spoke　of　the　movement　which　had　made　Mr。
Cleveland　president；　and　said　he　supposed　that　if　he　had　been　here；
he　should　have　been　in　it。　　All　his　friends　were；　he　added；　a　little
helplessly；　but　he　seemed　not　to　dislike　my　saying　I　knew　one　of　his
friends　who　was　not：　in　fact；　as　I　have　told；　he　never　disliked　a　plump
differenceunless　he　disliked　the　differer。

For　several　years　he　went　back　to　England　every　summer；　and　it　was　not
until　he　took　up　his　abode　at　Elmwood　again　that　he　spent　a　whole　year　at
home。　　One　winter　he　passed　at　his　sister's　home　in　Boston；　but　mostly　he
lived　with　his　daughter　at　Southborough。　　I　have　heard　a　story　of　his
going　to　Elmwood　soon　after　his　return　in　1885；　and　sitting　down　in　his
old　study；　where　he　declared　with　tears　that　the　place　was　full　of
ghosts。　　But　four　or　five　years　later　it　was　well　for　family　reasons　that
he　should　live　there；　and　about　the　same　time　it　happened　that　I　had
taken　a　house　for　the　summer　in　his　neighborhood。　　He　came　to　see　me；
and　to　assure　me；　in　all　tacit　forms　of　his　sympathy　in　a　sorrow　for
which　there　could　be　no　help；　but　it　was　not　possible　that　the　old
intimate　relations　should　be　resumed。　　The　affection　was　there；　as　much
on　his　side　as　on　mine；　I　believe；　but　he　was　now　an　old　man　and　I　was　an
elderly　man；　and　we　could　not；　without　insincerity；　approach　each　other
in　the　things　that　had　drawn　us　together　in　earlier　and　happier　years。
His　course　was　run；　my　own；　in　which　he　had　taken　such　a　generous
pleasure；　could　scarcely　move　his　jaded　interest。　　His　life；　so　far　as　it
remained　to　him；　had　renewed　itself　in　other　air；　the　later　friendships
beyond　seas　sufficed　him；　and　were　without　the　pang；　without　the　effort
that　must　attend　the　knitting　up　of　frayed　ties　here。

He　could　never　have　been　anything　but　American；　if　he　had　tried；　and　he
certainly　never　tried；　but　he　certainly　did　not　return　to　the　outward
simplicities　of　his　life　as　I　first　knew　it。　　There　was　no　more　round…
hat…and…sack…coat　business　for　him；　he　wore　a　frock　and　a　high　hat；　and
whatever　else　was　rather　like　London　than　Cambridge；　I　do　not　know　but
drab　gaiters　sometimes　added　to　the　effect　of　a　gentleman　of　the　old
school　which　he　now　produced　upon　the　witness。　　Some　fastidiousnesses
showed　themselves　in　him；　which　were　not　so　surprising。　　He　complained　of
the　American　lower　class　manner；　the　conductor　and　cabman　would　be　kind
to　you　but　they　would　not　be　respectful；　and　he　could　not　see　the　fun　of
this　in　the　old　way。　　Early　in　our　acquaintance　he　rather　stupified　me　by
saying；　〃I　like　you　because　you　don't　put　your　hands　on　me；〃　and　I　heard
of　his　consenting　to　some　sort　of　reception　in　those　last　years；　〃Yes；
if　they　won't　shake　hands。〃

Ever　since　his　visit　to　Rome　in　1875　he　had　let　his　heavy　mustache　grow
long　till　it　dropped　below　the　corners　of　his　beard；　which　was　now　almost
white；　his　face　had　lost　the　ruddy　hue　so　characteristic　of　him。　　I　fancy
he　was　then　ailing　with　premonitions　of　the　disorder　which　a　few　years
later　proved　mortal；　but　he　still　bore　himself　with　sufficient　vigor；
and　he　walked　the　distance　between　his　house　and　mine；　though　once　when　I
missed　his　visit　the　family　reported　that　after　he　came　in　he　sat　a　long
time　with　scarcely　a　word；　as　if　too　weary　to　talk。　　That　winter；　I　went
into　Boston　to　live；　and　I　saw　him　only　at　infrequent　intervals；　when　I
could　go　out　to　Elmwood。　　At　such　times　I　found　him　sitting　in　the　room
which