the white mr. longfellow-第4节

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Longfellow；　and　their　friendship　continued　while　they　lived；　but　towards
the　last　of　his　visits　at　Craigie　House　it　had　a　pathos　for　the　witness
which　I　should　grieve　to　wrong。　　Greene　was　then　a　quivering　paralytic；
and　he　clung　tremulously　to　Longfellow's　arm　in　going　out　to　dinner；
where　even　the　modern　Italian　poets　were　silent　upon　his　lips。　　When　we
rose　from　table；　Longfellow　lifted　him　out　of　his　chair；　and　took　him
upon　his　arm　again　for　their　return　to　the　study。

He　was　of　lighter　metal　than　most　other　members　of　the　Dante　Club；　and　he
was　not　of　their　immediate　intimacy；　living　away　from　Cambridge；　as　he
did；　and　I　shared　his　silence　in　their　presence　with　full　sympathy。
I　was　by　far　the　youngest　of　their　number；　and　I　cannot　yet　quite　make
out　why　I　was　of　it　at　all。　　But　at　every　moment　I　was　as　sensible　of　my
good　fortune　as　of　my　ill　desert。　　They　were　the　men　whom　of　all　men
living　I　most　honored；　and　it　seemed　to　be　impossible　that　I　at　my　age
should　be　so　perfectly　fulfilling　the　dream　of　my　life　in　their　company。
Often；　the　nights　were　very　cold；　and　as　I　returned　home　from　Craigie
House　to　the　carpenter's　box　on　Sacramento　Street；　a　mile　or　two　away；
I　was　as　if　soul…borne　through　the　air　by　my　pride　and　joy；　while　the
frozen　blocks　of　snow　clinked　and　tinkled　before　my　feet　stumbling　along
the　middle　of　the　road。　　I　still　think　that　was　the　richest　moment　of　my
life；　and　I　look　back　at　it　as　the　moment；　in　a　life　not　unblessed　by
chance；　which　I　would　most　like　to　live　over　againif　I　must　live　any。
The　next　winter　the　sessions　of　the　Dante　Club　were　transferred　to　the
house　of　Mr。　Norton；　who　was　then　completing　his　version　of　the　'Vita
Nuova'。　　This　has　always　seemed　to　me　a　work　of　not　less　graceful　art
than　Longfellow's　translation　of　the　'Commedia'。　　In　fact；　it　joins　the
effect　of　a　sympathy　almost　mounting　to　divination　with　a　patient
scholarship　and　a　delicate　skill　unknown　to　me　elsewhere　in　such　work。
I　do　not　know　whether　Mr。　Norton　has　satisfied　himself　better　in　his
prose　version　of　the　'Commedia'　than　in　this　of　the　'Vita　Nuova'；　but　I
do　not　believe　he　could　have　satisfied　Dante　better；　unless　he　had　rhymed
his　sonnets　and　canzonets。　　I　am　sure　he　might　have　done　this　if　he　had
chosen。　　He　has　always　pretended　that　it　was　impossible；　but　miracles　are
never　impossible　in　the　right　hands。




V。

After　three　or　four　years　we　sold　the　carpenter's　box　on　Sacramento
Street；　and　removed　to　a　larger　house　near　Harvard　Square；　and　in　the
immediate　neighborhood　of　Longfellow。　　He　gave　me　an　easement　across　that
old　garden　behind　his　house；　through　an　opening　in　the　high　board　fence
which　enclosed　it；　and　I　saw　him　oftener　than　ever；　though　the　meetings
of　the　Dante　Club　had　come　to　an　end。　　At　the　last　of　them；　Lowell　had
asked　him；　with　fond　regret　in　his　jest；　〃Longfellow；　why　don't　you　do
that　Indian　poem　in　forty　thousand　verses？〃　　The　demand　but　feebly
expressed　the　reluctance　in　us　all；　though　I　suspect　the　Indian　poem
existed　only　by　the　challenger's　invention。　　Before　I　leave　my　faint　and
unworthy　record　of　these　great　times　I　am　tempted　to　mention　an　incident
poignant　with　tragical　associations。　　The　first　night　after　Christmas　the
holly　and　the　pine　wreathed　about　the　chandelier　above　the　supper…table
took　fire　from　the　gas；　just　as　we　came　out　from　the　reading；　and
Longfellow　ran　forward　and　caught　the　burning　garlands　down　and　bore　them
out。　　No　one　could　speak　for　thinking　what　he　must　be　thinking　of　when
the　ineffable　calamity　of　his　home　befell　it。　　Curtis　once　told　me　that　a
little　while　before　Mrs。　Longfellow's　death　he　was　driving　by　Craigie
House　with　Holmes；　who　said　be　trembled　to　look　at　it；　for　those　who
lived　there　had　their　happiness　so　perfect　that　no　change；　of　all　the
changes　which　must　come　to　them；　could　fail　to　be　for　the　worse。
I　did　not　know　Longfellow　before　that　fatal　time；　and　I　shall　not　say
that　his　presence　bore　record　of　it　except　in　my　fancy。　　He　may　always
have　had　that　look　of　one　who　had　experienced　the　utmost　harm　that　fate
can　do；　and　henceforth　could　possess　himself　of　what　was　left　of　life　in
peace。　　He　could　never　have　been　a　man　of　the　flowing　ease　that　makes　all
comers　at　home；　some　people　complained　of　a　certain　'gene'　in　him；　and　he
had　a　reserve　with　strangers；　which　never　quite　lost　itself　in　the
abandon　of　friendship；　as　Lowell's　did。　　He　was　the　most　perfectly　modest
man　I　ever　saw；　ever　imagined；　but　he　had　a　gentle　dignity　which　I　do　not
believe　any　one；　the　coarsest；　the　obtusest；　could　trespass　upon。　　In　the
years　when　I　began　to　know　him；　his　long　hair　and　the　beautiful　beard
which　mixed　with　it　were　of　one　iron…gray；　which　I　saw　blanch　to　a
perfect　silver；　while　that　pearly　tone　of　his　complexion；　which　Appleton
so　admired；　lost　itself　in　the　wanness　of　age　and　pain。　　When　he　walked；
he　had　a　kind　of　spring　in　his　gait；　as　if　now　and　again　a　buoyant
thought　lifted　him　from　the　ground。　　It　was　fine　to　meet　him　coming　down
a　Cambridge　street；　you　felt　that　the　encounter　made　you　a　part　of
literary　history；　and　set　you　apart　with　him　for　the　moment　from　the　poor
and　mean。　　When　he　appeared　in　Harvard　Square；　he　beatified　if　not
beautified　the　ugliest　and　vulgarest　looking　spot　on　the　planet　outside
of　New　York。　　You　could　meet　him　sometimes　at　the　market；　if　you　were　of
the　same　provision…man　as　he；　and　Longfellow　remained　as　constant　to　his
tradespeople　as　to　any　other　friends。　　He　rather　liked　to　bring　his
proofs　back　to　the　printer's　himself；　and　we　often　found　ourselves
together　at　the　University　Press；　where　the　Atlantic　Monthly　used　to　be
printed。　　But　outside　of　his　own　house　Longfellow　seemed　to　want　a　fit
atmosphere；　and　I　love　best　to　think　of　him　in　his　study；　where　he
wrought　at　his　lovely　art　with　a　serenity　expressed　in　his　smooth；
regular；　and　scrupulously　perfect　handwriting。　　It　was　quite　vertical；
and　rounded；　with　a　slope　neither　to　the　right　nor　left；　and　at　the　time
I　knew　him　first；　he　was　fond　of　using　a　soft　pencil　on　printing　paper；
though　commonly　he　wrote　with　a　quill。　　Each　letter　was　distinct　in
shape；　and　between　the　verses　was　always　the　exact　space　of　half　an　inch。
I　have　a　good　many　of　his　poems　written　in　this　fashion；　but　whether　they
were　the　first　drafts　or　not　I　cannot　say；　very　likely　not。　　Towards　the
last　he　no　longer　sent　his　poems　to　the　magazines　in　his　own　hand；　but
they　were　always　signed　in　autograph。

I　once　asked　him　if　he　were　not　a　great　deal　interrupted；　and　he　said；
with　a　faint　sigh；　Not　more　than　was　good　for　him；　he　fancied；　if　it　were
not　for　the　interruptions；　he　might　overwork。　　He　was　not　a　friend　to
stated　exercise；　I　believe；　nor　fond　of　walking；　as　Lowell　was；　he　had
not；　indeed；　the　childish　associations　of　the　younger　poet　with　the
Cambridge　neighborhoods；　and　I　never　saw　him　walking　for　pleasure　except
on　the　east　veranda　of　his　house；　though　I　was　told　he　loved　walking　in
his　youth。　　In　this　and　in　some　other　things　Longfellow　was　more　European
than　American；　more　Latin　than　Saxon。　　He　once　said　quaintly　that　one　got
a　great　deal　of　exercise　in　putting　on　and　off　one's　overcoat　and
overshoes。

I　suppose　no　one　who　asked　decently　at　his　door　was　denied　access　to　him；
and　there　must　have　been　times　when　he　was　overrun　with　volunteer
visitors；　but　I　never　heard　him　complain　of　them。　　He　was　very　charitable
in　the　immediate　sort　which　Christ　seems　to　have　meant；　but　he　had　his
preferences；　humorously　owned；　among　beggars。　　He　liked　the　German
beggars　least；　and　the　Italian　beggars　most；　as　having　most　savair…faire；
in　fact；　we　all　loved　the　Italians　in　Cambridge。　　He　was　pleased　with　the
accounts　I　could　give　him　of　the　love　and　honor　I　had　known　for　him　in
Italy；　and　one　day　there　came　a　letter　from　an　Italian　admirer；　addressed
to　〃Mr。　Greatest　Poet　Longfellow；〃　which　he　said　was　the　very　most
amusing　superscription　he　had　ever　seen。

It　is　known　that　the　King　of　Italy　offered　Longfellow　the　cross　of　San
Lazzaro；　which　is　the　Italian　literary　decoration。　　It　came　through　the
good　offices　of　my　old　acquaintance　Professor　Messadaglia；　then　a　deputy
in　the　Italian　Parliament；　whom；　for　some　reason　I　cannot　remember；　I　had
put　in　correspondence　with　Longfellow。　　The　honor　was　wholly　unexpected；
and　it　brought　Longfellow　a　distress　which　was　chiefly　for　the　gentleman
who　had　procured　him　the　impossible　distinction。　　He　showed　me　the　pretty
collar　and　cross；　not；　I　think；　without　a　natural　pleasure　in　it。　　No　man
was　ever　less　a　bigot　in　things　civil　or　religious　than　he；　but　he　said；
firmly；　〃Of　course；　as　a　republican　and　a　Protestant；　I　can't　accept　a
decoration　from　a　Catholic　prince。〃　　His　decision　was　from　his
conscience；　and　I　think　that　all　Americans　who　think　duly　about　it　will
approve　his　decision。




VI。

Such　honors　as　he　could　fitly　permit　himself　he　did　not　refuse；　and　I
recall　what　zest　he　had　in　his　election　to　the　Arcadian　Academy；　which
had　made　him　a　shepherd　of　its　Roman　Fold；　with　the　title；　as　he　said；　of
〃Olimipico　something。〃　　But　I　fancy　his　sweetest　pleasure　in　his　vast
renown　came　from　his　popular　recognition　everywhere。　　F