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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:41:20 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:41:20 -0700 |
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diff --git a/13088-h/13088-h.htm b/13088-h/13088-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5019422 --- /dev/null +++ b/13088-h/13088-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4963 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=UTF-8"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Emerson, by John Jay Chapman. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + ul { margin-left: 10%; + list-style-type: none; } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; + margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 0em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13088 ***</div> + +<h1>EMERSON<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +AND OTHER ESSAYS</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>JOHN JAY CHAPMAN</h2> +<br /> +<h3>AMS PRESS<br />NEW YORK</h3> + + +<h5><i>Second Printing 1969</i><br /><br /><a name='Page_-1'></a> +Reprinted from the edition of 1899, New York<br /> +First AMS EDITION published 1965<br /> +Manufactured in the United States of America<br /><br /> +Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 75-108126<br /> +SEN: 404-00619-1</h5> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2><a name='Page_0'></a> + +<ul> +<li>EMERSON <a href="#Page_3"> 3</a></li> +<li>WALT WHITMAN <a href="#Page_111"> 111</a></li> +<li>A STUDY OF ROMEO <a href="#Page_131"> 131</a></li> +<li>MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS <a href="#Page_153"> 153</a></li> +<li>THE FOURTH CANTO OF THE INFERNO <a href="#Page_173"> 173</a></li> +<li>ROBERT BROWNING <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li> +<li>ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON <a href="#Page_217"> 217</a></li> +</ul> + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<a name='Page_3'></a><h2>EMERSON</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Leave this hypocritical prating about the masses. Masses are rude, + lame, unmade, pernicious in their demands and influence, and need not + to be flattered, but to be schooled. I wish not to concede anything + to them, but to tame, drill, divide, and break them up, and draw + individuals out of them. The worst of charity is that the lives you + are asked to preserve are not worth preserving. Masses! The calamity + is the masses. I do not wish any mass at all, but honest men only, + lovely, sweet, accomplished women only, and no shovel-handed, + narrow-brained, gin-drinking million stockingers or lazzaroni at all. + If government knew how, I should like to see it check, not multiply + the population. When it reaches its true law of action, every man + that is born will be hailed as essential. Away with this hurrah of + masses, and let us have the considerate vote of single men spoken on + their honor and their conscience."</p></div> + +<p>This extract from The Conduct of Life gives fairly enough the leading<a name='Page_4'></a> +thought of Emerson's life. The unending warfare between the individual +and society shows us in each generation a poet or two, a dramatist or +a musician who exalts and deifies the individual, and leads us back +again to the only object which is really worthy of enthusiasm or which +can permanently excite it,—the character of a man. It is surprising +to find this identity of content in all great deliverances. The only +thing we really admire is personal liberty. Those who fought for it +and those who enjoyed it are our heroes.</p> + +<p>But the hero may enslave his race by bringing in a system of tyranny; +the battle-cry of freedom may become a dogma which crushes the soul; +one good custom may corrupt the world. And so the inspiration of one +age becomes the damnation of the next. This crystallizing of life into +death has occurred so often that it may almost be regarded as one of +the laws of progress.</p> + +<p>Emerson represents a protest against the tyranny of democracy. He is +the most recent example of elemental hero-worship. His opinions are +absolutely unqualified except by his temperament. He expresses a form +of belief in the importance of the individual which is independent of<a name='Page_5'></a> +any personal relations he has with the world. It is as if a man had +been withdrawn from the earth and dedicated to condensing and +embodying this eternal idea—the value of the individual soul—so +vividly, so vitally, that his words could not die, yet in such +illusive and abstract forms that by no chance and by no power could +his creed be used for purposes of tyranny. Dogma cannot be extracted +from it. Schools cannot be built on it. It either lives as the spirit +lives, or else it evaporates and leaves nothing. Emerson was so afraid +of the letter that killeth that he would hardly trust his words to +print. He was assured there was no such thing as literal truth, but +only literal falsehood. He therefore resorted to metaphors which could +by no chance be taken literally. And he has probably succeeded in +leaving a body of work which cannot be made to operate to any other +end than that for which he designed it. If this be true, he has +accomplished the inconceivable feat of eluding misconception. If it be +true, he stands alone in the history of teachers; he has circumvented +fate, he has left an unmixed blessing behind him.</p> + +<p>The signs of those times which brought forth Emerson are not wholly +undecipherable. <a name='Page_6'></a>They are the same times which gave rise to every +character of significance during the period before the war. Emerson is +indeed the easiest to understand of all the men of his time, because +his life is freest from the tangles and qualifications of +circumstance. He is a sheer and pure type and creature of destiny, and +the unconsciousness that marks his development allies him to the +deepest phenomena. It is convenient, in describing him, to use +language which implies consciousness on his part, but he himself had +no purpose, no theory of himself; he was a product.</p> + +<p>The years between 1820 and 1830 were the most pitiable through which +this country has ever passed. The conscience of the North was pledged +to the Missouri Compromise, and that Compromise neither slumbered nor +slept. In New England, where the old theocratical oligarchy of the +colonies had survived the Revolution and kept under its own waterlocks +the new flood of trade, the conservatism of politics reinforced the +conservatism of religion; and as if these two inquisitions were not +enough to stifle the soul of man, the conservatism of business +self-interest was superimposed. The history of the conflicts which +followed has been written by the radicals, who negligently charge up +to <a name='Page_7'></a>self-interest all the resistance which establishments offer to +change. But it was not solely self-interest, it was conscience that +backed the Missouri Compromise, nowhere else, naturally, so strongly +as in New England. It was conscience that made cowards of us all. The +white-lipped generation of Edward Everett were victims, one might even +say martyrs, to conscience. They suffered the most terrible martyrdom +that can fall to man, a martyrdom which injured their immortal +volition and dried up the springs of life. If it were not that our +poets have too seldom deigned to dip into real life, I do not know +what more awful subject for a poem could have been found than that of +the New England judge enforcing the fugitive slave law. For lack of +such a poem the heroism of these men has been forgotten, the losing +heroism of conservatism. It was this spiritual power of a committed +conscience which met the new forces as they arose, and it deserves a +better name than these new forces afterward gave it. In 1830 the +social fruits of these heavy conditions could be seen in the life of +the people. Free speech was lost.</p> + +<p>"I know no country," says Tocqueville, who was here in 1831, "in which +there is so little independence of mind and freedom of discussion as +in America." Tocqueville <a name='Page_8'></a>recurs to the point again and again. He +cannot disguise his surprise at it, and it tinged his whole philosophy +and his book. The timidity of the Americans of this era was a thing +which intelligent foreigners could not understand. Miss Martineau +wrote in her Autobiography: "It was not till months afterwards that I +was told that there were two reasons why I was not invited there +[Chelsea] as elsewhere. One reason was that I had avowed, in reply to +urgent questions, that I was disappointed in an oration of Mr. +Everett's; and another was that I had publicly condemned the +institution of slavery. I hope the Boston people have outgrown the +childishness of sulking at opinions not in either case volunteered, +but obtained by pressure. But really, the subservience to opinion at +that time seemed a sort of mania."</p> + +<p>The mania was by no means confined to Boston, but qualified this +period of our history throughout the Northern States. There was no +literature. "If great writers have not at present existed in America, +the reason is very simply given in the fact that there can be no +literary genius without freedom of opinion, and freedom of opinion +does not exist in America," wrote Tocqueville. There were no +amusements, neither music nor sport <a name='Page_9'></a>nor pastime, indoors or out of +doors. The whole life of the community was a life of the intelligence, +and upon the intelligence lay the weight of intellectual tyranny. The +pressure kept on increasing, and the suppressed forces kept on +increasing, till at last, as if to show what gigantic power was needed +to keep conservatism dominant, the Merchant Province put forward +Daniel Webster.</p> + +<p>The worst period of panic seems to have preceded the anti-slavery +agitations of 1831, because these agitations soon demonstrated that +the sky did not fall nor the earth yawn and swallow Massachusetts +because of Mr. Garrison's opinions, as most people had sincerely +believed would be the case. Some semblance of free speech was +therefore gradually regained.</p> + +<p>Let us remember the world upon which the young Emerson's eyes opened. +The South was a plantation. The North crooked the hinges of the knee +where thrift might follow fawning. It was the era of Martin +Chuzzlewit, a malicious caricature,—founded on fact. This time of +humiliation, when there was no free speech, no literature, little +manliness, no reality, no simplicity, no accomplishment, was the era +of American brag. We flattered the foreigner and we boasted of +ourselves. <a name='Page_10'></a>We were over-sensitive, insolent, and cringing. As late as +1845, G.P. Putnam, a most sensible and modest man, published a book to +show what the country had done in the field of culture. The book is a +monument of the age. With all its good sense and good humor, it +justifies foreign contempt because it is explanatory. Underneath +everything lay a feeling of unrest, an instinct,—"this country cannot +permanently endure half slave and half free,"—which was the truth, +but which could not be uttered.</p> + +<p>So long as there is any subject which men may not freely discuss, they +are timid upon all subjects. They wear an iron crown and talk in +whispers. Such social conditions crush and maim the individual, and +throughout New England, as throughout the whole North, the individual +was crushed and maimed.</p> + +<p>The generous youths who came to manhood between 1820 and 1830, while +this deadly era was maturing, seem to have undergone a revulsion +against the world almost before touching it; at least two of them +suffered, revolted, and condemned, while still boys sitting on benches +in school, and came forth advancing upon this old society like +gladiators. The activity of William Lloyd <a name='Page_11'></a>Garrison, the man of +action, preceded by several years that of Emerson, who is his prophet. +Both of them were parts of one revolution. One of Emerson's articles +of faith was that a man's thoughts spring from his actions rather than +his actions from his thoughts, and possibly the same thing holds good +for society at large. Perhaps all truths, whether moral or economic, +must be worked out in real life before they are discovered by the +student, and it was therefore necessary that Garrison should be +evolved earlier than Emerson.</p> + +<p>The silent years of early manhood, during which Emerson passed through +the Divinity School and to his ministry, known by few, understood by +none, least of all by himself, were years in which the revolting +spirit of an archangel thought out his creed. He came forth perfect, +with that serenity of which we have scarce another example in +history,—that union of the man himself, his beliefs, and his vehicle +of expression that makes men great because it makes them +comprehensible. The philosophy into which he had already transmuted +all his earlier theology at the time we first meet him consisted of a +very simple drawing together of a few ideas, all of which had long +been familiar to the world. <a name='Page_12'></a>It is the wonderful use he made of these +ideas, the closeness with which they fitted his soul, the tact with +which he took what he needed, like a bird building its nest, that make +the originality, the man.</p> + +<p>The conclusion of Berkeley, that the external world is known to us +only through our impressions, and that therefore, for aught we know, +the whole universe exists only in our own consciousness, cannot be +disproved. It is so simple a conception that a child may understand +it; and it has probably been passed before the attention of every +thinking man since Plato's time. The notion is in itself a mere +philosophical catch or crux to which there is no answer. It may be +true. The mystics made this doctrine useful. They were not content to +doubt the independent existence of the external world. They imagined +that this external world, the earth, the planets, the phenomena of +nature, bore some relation to the emotions and destiny of the soul. +The soul and the cosmos were somehow related, and related so +intimately that the cosmos might be regarded as a sort of projection +or diagram of the soul.</p> + +<p>Plato was the first man who perceived that this idea could be made to +provide the philosopher with a vehicle of expression more <a name='Page_13'></a>powerful +than any other. If a man will once plant himself firmly on the +proposition that <i>he is</i> the universe, that every emotion or +expression of his mind is correlated in some way to phenomena in the +external world, and that he shall say how correlated, he is in a +position where the power of speech is at a maximum. His figures of +speech, his tropes, his witticisms, take rank with the law of gravity +and the precession of the equinoxes. Philosophical exaltation of the +individual cannot go beyond this point. It is the climax.</p> + +<p>This is the school of thought to which Emerson belonged. The sun and +moon, the planets, are mere symbols. They signify whatever the poet +chooses. The planets for the most part stay in conjunction just long +enough to flash his thought through their symbolism, and no permanent +relation is established between the soul and the zodiac. There is, +however, one link of correlation between the external and internal +worlds which Emerson considered established, and in which he believed +almost literally, namely, the moral law. This idea he drew from Kant +through Coleridge and Wordsworth, and it is so familiar to us all that +it hardly needs stating. The fancy that the good, the true, the +beautiful,—all things of which we instinctively approve,—are +<a name='Page_14'></a>somehow connected together and are really one thing; that our +appreciation of them is in its essence the recognition of a law; that +this law, in fact all law and the very idea of law, is a mere +subjective experience; and that hence any external sequence which we +coördinate and name, like the law of gravity, is really intimately +connected with our moral nature,—this fancy has probably some basis +of truth. Emerson adopted it as a corner-stone of his thought.</p> + +<p>Such are the ideas at the basis of Emerson's philosophy, and it is +fair to speak of them in this place because they antedate everything +else which we know of him. They had been for years in his mind before +he spoke at all. It was in the armor of this invulnerable idealism and +with weapons like shafts of light that he came forth to fight.</p> + +<p>In 1836, at the age of thirty-three, Emerson published the little +pamphlet called Nature, which was an attempt to state his creed. +Although still young, he was not without experience of life. He had +been assistant minister to the Rev. Dr. Ware from 1829 to 1832, when +he resigned his ministry on account of his views regarding the Lord's +Supper. He had married and lost his first wife in the same interval. +He had been <a name='Page_15'></a>abroad and had visited Carlyle in 1833. He had returned +and settled in Concord, and had taken up the profession of lecturing, +upon which he in part supported himself ever after. It is unnecessary +to review these early lectures. "Large portions of them," says Mr. +Cabot, his biographer, "appeared afterwards in the Essays, especially +those of the first series." Suffice it that through them Emerson had +become so well known that although Nature was published anonymously, +he was recognized as the author. Many people had heard of him at the +time he resigned his charge, and the story went abroad that the young +minister of the Second Church had gone mad. The lectures had not +discredited the story, and Nature seemed to corroborate it. Such was +the impression which the book made upon Boston in 1836. As we read it +to-day, we are struck by its extraordinary beauty of language. It is a +supersensuous, lyrical, and sincere rhapsody, written evidently by a +man of genius. It reveals a nature compelling respect,—a Shelley, and +yet a sort of Yankee Shelley, who is mad only when the wind is +nor'-nor'west; a mature nature which must have been nourished for +years upon its own thoughts, to speak this new language so eloquently, +to stand so <a name='Page_16'></a>calmly on its feet. The deliverance of his thought is so +perfect that this work adapts itself to our mood and has the quality +of poetry. This fluency Emerson soon lost; it is the quality missing +in his poetry. It is the efflorescence of youth.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing + a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, + without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, + I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of + fear. In the woods, too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his + slough, and at what period soever of life is always a child. In the + woods is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum + and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest + sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years.... It is the + uniform effect of culture on the human mind, not to shake our faith + in the stability of particular phenomena, as heat, water, azote; but + to lead us to regard nature as phenomenon, not a substance; to + attribute necessary existence to spirit; to esteem nature as an + accident and an effect."</p></div> + +<p>Perhaps these quotations from the pamphlet called Nature are enough to +show the <a name='Page_17'></a>clouds of speculation in which Emerson had been walking. +With what lightning they were charged was soon seen.</p> + +<p>In 1837 he was asked to deliver the Phi Beta Kappa oration at +Cambridge. This was the opportunity for which he had been waiting. The +mystic and eccentric young poet-preacher now speaks his mind, and he +turns out to be a man exclusively interested in real life. This +recluse, too tender for contact with the rough facts of the world, +whose conscience has retired him to rural Concord, pours out a vial of +wrath. This cub puts forth the paw of a full-grown lion.</p> + +<p>Emerson has left behind him nothing stronger than this address, The +American Scholar. It was the first application of his views to the +events of his day, written and delivered in the heat of early manhood +while his extraordinary powers were at their height. It moves with a +logical progression of which he soon lost the habit. The subject of +it, the scholar's relation to the world, was the passion of his life. +The body of his belief is to be found in this address, and in any +adequate account of him the whole address ought to be given.</p> + +<p>"Thus far," he said, "our holiday has been simply a friendly sign of +the survival of the <a name='Page_18'></a>love of letters amongst a people too busy to give +to letters any more. As such it is precious as the sign of an +indestructible instinct. Perhaps the time is already come when it +ought to be, and will be, something else; when the sluggard intellect +of this continent will look from under its iron lids and fill the +postponed expectation of the world with something better than the +exertions of mechanical skill.... The theory of books is noble. The +scholar of the first age received into him the world around; brooded +thereon; gave it the new arrangement of his own mind, and uttered it +again. It came into him life; it went out from him truth.... Yet hence +arises a grave mischief. The sacredness which attaches to the act of +creation, the act of thought, is transferred to the record. The poet +chanting was felt to be a divine man: henceforth the chant is divine, +also. The writer was a just and wise spirit: hence-forward it is +settled the book is perfect; as love of the hero corrupts into worship +of his statue. Instantly the book becomes noxious: the guide is a +tyrant.... Books are the best of things, well used; abused, among the +worst. What is the right use? What is the one end which all means go +to effect? They are for nothing but to inspire.... <a name='Page_19'></a>The one thing in +the world, of value, is the active soul. This every man is entitled +to; this every man contains within him, although in almost all men +obstructed, and as yet unborn. The soul active sees absolute truth and +utters truth, or creates. In this action it is genius; not the +privilege of here and there a favorite, but the sound estate of every +man.... Genius is always sufficiently the enemy of genius by +over-influence. The literature of every nation bears me witness. The +English dramatic poets have Shakspearized now for two hundred +years.... These being his functions, it becomes him to feel all +confidence in himself, and to defer never to the popular cry. He, and +he only, knows the world. The world of any moment is the merest +appearance. Some great decorum, some fetish of a government, some +ephemeral trade, or war, or man, is cried up by half mankind and cried +down by the other half, as if all depended on this particular up or +down. The odds are that the whole question is not worth the poorest +thought which the scholar has lost in listening to the controversy. +Let him not quit his belief that a popgun is a popgun, though the +ancient and honorable of the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom." +<a name='Page_20'></a>Dr. Holmes called this speech of Emerson's our "intellectual +Declaration of Independence," and indeed it was. "The Phi Beta Kappa +speech," says Mr. Lowell, "was an event without any former parallel in +our literary annals,—a scene always to be treasured in the memory for +its picturesqueness and its inspiration. What crowded and breathless +aisles, what windows clustering with eager heads, what enthusiasm of +approval, what grim silence of foregone dissent!"</p> + +<p>The authorities of the Divinity School can hardly have been very +careful readers of Nature and The American Scholar, or they would not +have invited Emerson, in 1838, to deliver the address to the +graduating class. This was Emerson's second opportunity to apply his +beliefs directly to society. A few lines out of the famous address are +enough to show that he saw in the church of his day signs of the same +decadence that he saw in the letters: "The prayers and even the dogmas +of our church are like the zodiac of Denderah and the astronomical +monuments of the Hindoos, wholly insulated from anything now extant in +the life and business of the people. They mark the height to which the +waters once rose.... It is the office of a true teacher to show us +that God is, not <a name='Page_21'></a>was; that he speaketh, not spake. The true +Christianity—a faith like Christ's in the infinitude of man—is lost. +None believeth in the soul of man, but only in some man or person old +and departed. Ah me! no man goeth alone. All men go in flocks to this +saint or that poet, avoiding the God who seeth in secret. They cannot +see in secret; they love to be blind in public. They think society +wiser than their soul, and know not that one soul, and their soul, is +wiser than the whole world."</p> + +<p>It is almost misleading to speak of the lofty utterances of these +early addresses as attacks upon society, but their reception explains +them. The element of absolute courage is the same in all natures. +Emerson himself was not unconscious of what function he was +performing.</p> + +<p>The "storm in our wash-bowl" which followed this Divinity School +address, the letters of remonstrance from friends, the advertisements +by the Divinity School of "no complicity," must have been cheering to +Emerson. His unseen yet dominating ambition is shown throughout the +address, and in this note in his diary of the following year:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"<i>August 31.</i> Yesterday at the Phi Beta Kappa anniversary. Steady, + steady. I am <a name='Page_22'></a>convinced that if a man will be a true scholar he shall + have perfect freedom. The young people and the mature hint at odium + and the aversion of forces to be presently encountered in society. I + say No; I fear it not."</p></div> + +<p>The lectures and addresses which form the latter half of the first +volume in the collected edition show the early Emerson in the ripeness +of his powers. These writings have a lyrical sweep and a beauty which +the later works often lack. Passages in them remind us of Hamlet:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"How silent, how spacious, what room for all, yet without space to + insert an atom;—in graceful succession, in equal fulness, in + balanced beauty, the dance of the hours goes forward still. Like an + odor of incense, like a strain of music, like a sleep, it is inexact + and boundless. It will not be dissected, nor unravelled, nor + shown.... The great Pan of old, who was clothed in a leopard skin to + signify the beautiful variety of things and the firmament, his coat + of stars,—was but the representative of thee, O rich and various + man! thou palace of sight and sound, carrying in thy senses the + morning and the night and the unfathomable galaxy; in thy brain, the + geometry of the City of God; in thy heart, the bower of love and the + realms of <a name='Page_23'></a>right and wrong.... Every star in heaven is discontent and + insatiable. Gravitation and chemistry cannot content them. Ever they + woo and court the eye of the beholder. Every man who comes into the + world they seek to fascinate and possess, to pass into his mind, for + they desire to republish themselves in a more delicate world than + that they occupy.... So it is with all immaterial objects. These + beautiful basilisks set their brute glorious eyes on the eye of every + child, and, if they can, cause their nature to pass through his + wondering eyes into him, and so all things are mixed."</p></div> + +<p>Emerson is never far from his main thought:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"The universe does not attract us till it is housed in an + individual." "A man, a personal ascendency, is the only great + phenomenon."</p> + +<p> "I cannot find language of sufficient energy to convey my sense of + the sacredness of private integrity."</p></div> + +<p>On the other hand, he is never far from his great fear: "But Truth is +such a fly-away, such a sly-boots, so untransportable and unbarrelable +a commodity, that it is as bad to catch as light." "Let him beware of +proposing to himself any end.... I say to you plainly, there is no end +so sacred or so large <a name='Page_24'></a>that if pursued for itself will not become +carrion and an offence to the nostril."</p> + +<p>There can be nothing finer than Emerson's knowledge of the world, his +sympathy with young men and with the practical difficulties of +applying his teachings. We can see in his early lectures before +students and mechanics how much he had learned about the structure of +society from his own short contact with the organized church.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Each finds a tender and very intelligent conscience a + disqualification for success. Each requires of the practitioner a + certain shutting of the eyes, a certain dapperness and compliance, an + acceptance of customs, a sequestration from the sentiments of + generosity and love, a compromise of private opinion and lofty + integrity.... The fact that a new thought and hope have dawned in + your breast, should apprise you that in the same hour a new light + broke in upon a thousand private hearts.... And further I will not + dissemble my hope that each person whom I address has felt his own + call to cast aside all evil customs, timidity, and limitations, and + to be in his place a free and helpful man, a reformer, a benefactor, + not content to slip along through the world like a footman or a spy, + escaping by his nimbleness and apologies as many knocks as <a name='Page_25'></a>he can, + but a brave and upright man who must find or cut a straight road to + everything excellent in the earth, and not only go honorably himself, + but make it easier for all who follow him to go in honor and with + benefit...."</p></div> + +<p>Beneath all lay a greater matter,—Emerson's grasp of the forms and +conditions of progress, his reach of intellect, which could afford +fair play to every one.</p> + +<p>His lecture on The Conservative is not a puzzling <i>jeu d' esprit</i>, +like Bishop Blougram's Apology, but an honest attempt to set up the +opposing chessmen of conservatism and reform so as to represent real +life. Hardly can such a brilliant statement of the case be found +elsewhere in literature. It is not necessary to quote here the +reformer's side of the question, for Emerson's whole life was devoted +to it. The conservatives' attitude he gives with such accuracy and +such justice that the very bankers of State Street seem to be +speaking:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"The order of things is as good as the character of the population + permits. Consider it as the work of a great and beneficent and + progressive necessity, which, from the first pulsation in the first + animal life up to the present high culture of the best nations, has + advanced thus far....</p> + +<p> <a name='Page_26'></a>"The conservative party in the universe concedes that the radical + would talk sufficiently to the purpose if we were still in the garden + of Eden; he legislates for man as he ought to be; his theory is + right, but he makes no allowance for friction, and this omission + makes his whole doctrine false. The idealist retorts that the + conservative falls into a far more noxious error in the other + extreme. The conservative assumes sickness as a necessity, and his + social frame is a hospital, his total legislation is for the present + distress, a universe in slippers and flannels, with bib and + pap-spoon, swallowing pills and herb tea. Sickness gets organized as + well as health, the vice as well as the virtue."</p></div> + +<p>It is unnecessary to go, one by one, through the familiar essays and +lectures which Emerson published between 1838 and 1875. They are in +everybody's hands and in everybody's thoughts. In 1840 he wrote in his +diary: "In all my lectures I have taught one doctrine, namely, the +infinitude of the private man. This the people accept readily enough, +and even with commendation, as long as I call the lecture Art or +Politics, or Literature or the Household; but the moment I call it +Religion they are shocked, though it be only the application of the +same truth which they <a name='Page_27'></a>receive elsewhere to a new class of facts." To +the platform he returned, and left it only once or twice during the +remainder of his life.</p> + +<p>His writings vary in coherence. In his early occasional pieces, like +the Phi Beta Kappa address, coherence is at a maximum. They were +written for a purpose, and were perhaps struck off all at once. But he +earned his living by lecturing, and a lecturer is always recasting his +work and using it in different forms. A lecturer has no prejudice +against repetition. It is noticeable that in some of Emerson's +important lectures the logical scheme is more perfect than in his +essays. The truth seems to be that in the process of working up and +perfecting his writings, in revising and filing his sentences, the +logical scheme became more and more obliterated. Another circumstance +helped make his style fragmentary. He was by nature a man of +inspirations and exalted moods. He was subject to ecstasies, during +which his mind worked with phenomenal brilliancy. Throughout his works +and in his diary we find constant reference to these moods, and to his +own inability to control or recover them. "But what we want is +consecutiveness. 'T is with us a flash of light, <a name='Page_28'></a>then a long +darkness, then a flash again. Ah! could we turn these fugitive +sparkles into an astronomy of Copernican worlds!"</p> + +<p>In order to take advantage of these periods of divination, he used to +write down the thoughts that came to him at such times. From boyhood +onward he kept journals and commonplace books, and in the course of +his reading and meditation he collected innumerable notes and +quotations which he indexed for ready use. In these mines he +"quarried," as Mr. Cabot says, for his lectures and essays. When he +needed a lecture he went to the repository, threw together what seemed +to have a bearing on some subject, and gave it a title. If any other +man should adopt this method of composition, the result would be +incomprehensible chaos; because most men have many interests, many +moods, many and conflicting ideas. But with Emerson it was otherwise. +There was only one thought which could set him aflame, and that was +the thought of the unfathomed might of man. This thought was his +religion, his politics, his ethics, his philosophy. One moment of +inspiration was in him own brother to the next moment of inspiration, +although they might be separated by six weeks. When he came to put +together his star-born ideas, they fitted <a name='Page_29'></a>well, no matter in what +order he placed them, because they were all part of the same idea.</p> + +<p>His works are all one single attack on the vice of the age, moral +cowardice. He assails it not by railings and scorn, but by positive +and stimulating suggestion. The imagination of the reader is touched +by every device which can awake the admiration for heroism, the +consciousness of moral courage. Wit, quotation, anecdote, eloquence, +exhortation, rhetoric, sarcasm, and very rarely denunciation, are +launched at the reader, till he feels little lambent flames beginning +to kindle in him. He is perhaps unable to see the exact logical +connection between two paragraphs of an essay, yet he feels they are +germane. He takes up Emerson tired and apathetic, but presently he +feels himself growing heady and truculent, strengthened in his most +inward vitality, surprised to find himself again master in his own +house.</p> + +<p>The difference between Emerson and the other moralists is that all +these stimulating pictures and suggestions are not given by him in +illustration of a general proposition. They have never been through +the mill of generalization in his own mind. He himself could not have +told you their logical bearing on one another. They have all the +vividness of <a name='Page_30'></a>disconnected fragments of life, and yet they all throw +light on one another, like the facets of a jewel. But whatever cause +it was that led him to adopt his method of writing, it is certain that +he succeeded in delivering himself of his thought with an initial +velocity and carrying power such as few men ever attained. He has the +force at his command of the thrower of the discus.</p> + +<p>His style is American, and beats with the pulse of the climate. He is +the only writer we have had who writes as he speaks, who makes no +literary parade, has no pretensions of any sort. He is the only writer +we have had who has wholly subdued his vehicle to his temperament. It +is impossible to name his style without naming his character: they are +one thing.</p> + +<p>Both in language and in elocution Emerson was a practised and +consummate artist, who knew how both to command his effects and to +conceal his means. The casual, practical, disarming directness with +which he writes puts any honest man at his mercy. What difference does +it make whether a man who can talk like this is following an argument +or not? You cannot always see Emerson clearly; he is hidden by a high +wall; but you always know exactly on what spot he is <a name='Page_31'></a>standing. You +judge it by the flight of the objects he throws over the wall,—a +bootjack, an apple, a crown, a razor, a volume of verse. With one or +other of these missiles, all delivered with a very tolerable aim, he +is pretty sure to hit you. These catchwords stick in the mind. People +are not in general influenced by long books or discourses, but by odd +fragments of observation which they overhear, sentences or head-lines +which they read while turning over a book at random or while waiting +for dinner to be announced. These are the oracles and orphic words +that get lodged in the mind and bend a man's most stubborn will. +Emerson called them the Police of the Universe. His works are a +treasury of such things. They sparkle in the mine, or you may carry +them off in your pocket. They get driven into your mind like nails, +and on them catch and hang your own experiences, till what was once +his thought has become your character.</p> + +<p>"God offers to every mind its choice between truth and repose. Take +which you please; you can never have both." "Discontent is want of +self-reliance; it is infirmity of will." "It is impossible for a man +to be cheated by any one but himself."</p> + +<p>The orchestration with which Emerson <a name='Page_32'></a>introduces and sustains these +notes from the spheres is as remarkable as the winged things +themselves. Open his works at a hazard. You hear a man talking.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"A garden is like those pernicious machineries we read of every month + in the newspapers, which catch a man's coat-skirt or his hand, and + draw in his arm, his leg, and his whole body to irresistible + destruction. In an evil hour he pulled down his wall and added a + field to his homestead. No land is bad, but land is worse. If a man + own land, the land owns him. Now let him leave home if he dare. Every + tree and graft, every hill of melons, row of corn, or quickset hedge, + all he has done and all he means to do, stand in his way like duns, + when he would go out of his gate."</p></div> + +<p>Your attention is arrested by the reality of this gentleman in his +garden, by the first-hand quality of his mind. It matters not on what +subject he talks. While you are musing, still pleased and patronizing, +he has picked up the bow of Ulysses, bent it with the ease of Ulysses, +and sent a shaft clear through the twelve axes, nor missed one of +them. But this, it seems, was mere byplay and marksmanship; for before +you have done wondering, Ulysses rises to his feet in anger, <a name='Page_33'></a>and +pours flight after flight, arrow after arrow, from the great bow. The +shafts sing and strike, the suitors fall in heaps. The brow of Ulysses +shines with unearthly splendor. The air is filled with lightning. +After a little, without shock or transition, without apparent change +of tone, Mr. Emerson is offering you a biscuit before you leave, and +bidding you mind the last step at the garden end. If the man who can +do these things be not an artist, then must we have a new vocabulary +and rename the professions.</p> + +<p>There is, in all this effectiveness of Emerson, no pose, no literary +art; nothing that corresponds even remotely to the pretended modesty +and ignorance with which Socrates lays pitfalls for our admiration in +Plato's dialogues.</p> + +<p>It was the platform which determined Emerson's style. He was not a +writer, but a speaker. On the platform his manner of speech was a +living part of his words. The pauses and hesitation, the abstraction, +the searching, the balancing, the turning forward and back of the +leaves of his lecture, and then the discovery, the illumination, the +gleam of lightning which you saw before your eyes descend into a man +of genius,—all this was Emerson. He invented this style of speak<a name='Page_34'></a>ing, +and made it express the supersensuous, the incommunicable. Lowell +wrote, while still under the spell of the magician: "Emerson's oration +was more disjointed than usual, even with him. It began nowhere, and +ended everywhere, and yet, as always with that divine man, it left you +feeling that something beautiful had passed that way, something more +beautiful than anything else, like the rising and setting of stars. +Every possible criticism might have been made on it but one,—that it +was not noble. There was a tone in it that awakened all elevating +associations. He boggled, he lost his place, he had to put on his +glasses; but it was as if a creature from some fairer world had lost +his way in our fogs, and it was <i>our</i> fault, not his. It was chaotic, +but it was all such stuff as stars are made of, and you couldn't help +feeling that, if you waited awhile, all that was nebulous would be +whirled into planets, and would assume the mathematical gravity of +system. All through it I felt something in me that cried, 'Ha! ha!' to +the sound of the trumpets."</p> + +<p>It is nothing for any man sitting in his chair to be overcome with the +sense of the immediacy of life, to feel the spur of courage, the +victory of good over evil, the value, now <a name='Page_35'></a>and forever, of all +great-hearted endeavor. Such moments come to us all. But for a man to +sit in his chair and write what shall call up these forces in the +bosoms of others—that is desert, that is greatness. To do this was +the gift of Emerson. The whole earth is enriched by every moment of +converse with him. The shows and shams of life become transparent, the +lost kingdoms are brought back, the shutters of the spirit are opened, +and provinces and realms of our own existence lie gleaming before us.</p> + +<p>It has been necessary to reduce the living soul of Emerson to mere +dead attributes like "moral courage" in order that we might talk about +him at all. His effectiveness comes from his character; not from his +philosophy, nor from his rhetoric nor his wit, nor from any of the +accidents of his education. He might never have heard of Berkeley or +Plato. A slightly different education might have led him to throw his +teaching into the form of historical essays or of stump speeches. He +might, perhaps, have been bred a stonemason, and have done his work in +the world by travelling with a panorama. But he would always have been +Emerson. His weight and his power would always have been the same. It +is solely as character that he <a name='Page_36'></a>is important. He discovered nothing; +he bears no relation whatever to the history of philosophy. We must +regard him and deal with him simply as a man.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, the world has always insisted upon accepting him as +a thinker: and hence a great coil of misunderstanding. As a thinker, +Emerson is difficult to classify. Before you begin to assign him a +place, you must clear the ground by a disquisition as to what is meant +by "a thinker", and how Emerson differs from other thinkers. As a man, +Emerson is as plain as Ben Franklin.</p> + +<p>People have accused him of inconsistency; they say that he teaches one +thing one day, and another the next day. But from the point of view of +Emerson there is no such thing as inconsistency. Every man is each day +a new man. Let him be to-day what he is to-day. It is immaterial and +waste of time to consider what he once was or what he may be.</p> + +<p>His picturesque speech delights in fact and anecdote, and a public +which is used to treatises and deduction cares always to be told the +moral. It wants everything reduced to a generalization. All +generalizations are partial truths, but we are used to them, and we +ourselves mentally make the proper allowance. Emerson's method is, not +to give a <a name='Page_37'></a>generalization and trust to our making the allowance, but +to give two conflicting statements and leave the balance of truth to +be struck in our own minds on the facts. There is no inconsistency in +this. It is a vivid and very legitimate method of procedure. But he is +much more than a theorist: he is a practitioner. He does not merely +state a theory of agitation: he proceeds to agitate. "Do not," he +says, "set the least value on what I do, or the least discredit on +what I do not, as if I pretended to settle anything as false or true. +I unsettle all things. No facts are to me sacred, none are profane. I +simply experiment, an endless seeker with no past at my back." He was +not engaged in teaching many things, but one thing,—Courage. +Sometimes he inspires it by pointing to great characters,—Fox, +Milton, Alcibiades; sometimes he inspires it by bidding us beware of +imitating such men, and, in the ardor of his rhetoric, even seems to +regard them as hindrances and dangers to our development. There is no +inconsistency here. Emerson might logically have gone one step further +and raised inconsistency into a jewel. For what is so useful, so +educational, so inspiring, to a timid and conservative man, as to do +something inconsistent and regrettable? It lends <a name='Page_38'></a>character to him at +once. He breathes freer and is stronger for the experience.</p> + +<p>Emerson is no cosmopolitan. He is a patriot. He is not like Goethe, +whose sympathies did not run on national lines. Emerson has America in +his mind's eye all the time. There is to be a new religion, and it is +to come from America; a new and better type of man, and he is to be an +American. He not only cared little or nothing for Europe, but he cared +not much for the world at large. His thought was for the future of +this country. You cannot get into any chamber in his mind which is +below this chamber of patriotism. He loves the valor of Alexander and +the grace of the Oxford athlete; but he loves them not for themselves. +He has a use for them. They are grist to his mill and powder to his +gun. His admiration of them he subordinates to his main purpose,—they +are his blackboard and diagrams. His patriotism is the backbone of his +significance. He came to his countrymen at a time when they lacked, +not thoughts, but manliness. The needs of his own particular public +are always before him.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"It is odd that our people should have, not water on the brain, but a + little gas there. A shrewd foreigner said of the Americans that + <a name='Page_39'></a>'whatever they say has a little the air of a speech.'"</p> + +<p> "I shall not need to go into an enumeration of our national defects + and vices which require this Order of Censors in the State.... The + timidity of our public opinion is our disease, or, shall I say, the + publicness of opinion, the absence of private opinion."</p> + +<p> "Our measure of success is the moderation and low level of an + individual's judgment. Dr. Channing's piety and wisdom had such + weight in Boston that the popular idea of religion was whatever this + eminent divine held."</p> + +<p> "Let us affront and reprimand the smooth mediocrity, the squalid + contentment of the times."</p></div> + +<p>The politicians he scores constantly.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Who that sees the meanness of our politics but congratulates + Washington that he is long already wrapped in his shroud and forever + safe." The following is his description of the social world of his + day: "If any man consider the present aspects of what is called by + distinction <i>society</i>, he will see the need of these ethics. The + sinew and heart of man seem to be drawn out, and we are become + timorous, desponding whimperers."</p></div> + +<p>It is the same wherever we open his books. <a name='Page_40'></a>He must spur on, feed up, +bring forward the dormant character of his countrymen. When he goes to +England, he sees in English life nothing except those elements which +are deficient in American life. If you wish a catalogue of what +America has not, read English Traits. Emerson's patriotism had the +effect of expanding his philosophy. To-day we know the value of +physique, for science has taught it, but it was hardly discovered in +his day, and his philosophy affords no basis for it. Emerson in this +matter transcends his philosophy. When in England, he was fairly made +drunk with the physical life he found there. He is like Caspar Hauser +gazing for the first time on green fields. English Traits is the +ruddiest book he ever wrote. It is a hymn to force, honesty, and +physical well-being, and ends with the dominant note of his belief: +"By this general activity and by this sacredness of individuals, they +[the English] have in seven hundred years evolved the principles of +freedom. It is the land of patriots, martyrs, sages, and bards, and if +the ocean out of which it emerged should wash it away, it will be +remembered as an island famous for immortal laws, for the +announcements of original right which make the stone tables of +liberty." He had found in England <a name='Page_41'></a>free speech, personal courage, and +reverence for the individual.</p> + +<p>No convulsion could shake Emerson or make his view unsteady even for +an instant. What no one else saw, he saw, and he saw nothing else. Not +a boy in the land welcomed the outbreak of the war so fiercely as did +this shy village philosopher, then at the age of fifty-eight. He saw +that war was the cure for cowardice, moral as well as physical. It was +not the cause of the slave that moved him; it was not the cause of the +Union for which he cared a farthing. It was something deeper than +either of these things for which he had been battling all his life. It +was the cause of character against convention. Whatever else the war +might bring, it was sure to bring in character, to leave behind it a +file of heroes; if not heroes, then villains, but in any case strong +men. On the 9th of April, 1861, three days before Fort Sumter was +bombarded, he had spoken with equanimity of "the downfall of our +character-destroying civilization.... We find that civilization crowed +too soon, that our triumphs were treacheries; we had opened the wrong +door and let the enemy into the castle."</p> + +<p>"Ah," he said, when the firing began, "sometimes gunpowder smells +good." Soon <a name='Page_42'></a>after the attack on Sumter he said in a public address, +"We have been very homeless for some years past, say since 1850; but +now we have a country again.... The war was an eye-opener, and showed +men of all parties and opinions the value of those primary forces that +lie beneath all political action." And it was almost a personal pledge +when he said at the Harvard Commemoration in 1865, "We shall not again +disparage America, now that we have seen what men it will bear."</p> + +<p>The place which Emerson forever occupies as a great critic is defined +by the same sharp outlines that mark his work, in whatever light and +from whatever side we approach it. A critic in the modern sense he was +not, for his point of view is fixed, and he reviews the world like a +search-light placed on the top of a tall tower. He lived too early and +at too great a distance from the forum of European thought to absorb +the ideas of evolution and give place to them in his philosophy. +Evolution does not graft well upon the Platonic Idealism, nor are +physiology and the kindred sciences sympathetic. Nothing aroused +Emerson's indignation more than the attempts of the medical faculty +and of phrenologists to classify, and therefore limit individuals. +"The <a name='Page_43'></a>grossest ignorance does not disgust me like this ignorant +knowingness."</p> + +<p>We miss in Emerson the underlying conception of growth, of +development, so characteristic of the thought of our own day, and +which, for instance, is found everywhere latent in Browning's poetry. +Browning regards character as the result of experience and as an ever +changing growth. To Emerson, character is rather an entity complete +and eternal from the beginning. He is probably the last great writer +to look at life from a stationary standpoint. There is a certain lack +of the historic sense in all he has written. The ethical assumption +that all men are exactly alike permeates his work. In his mind, +Socrates, Marco Polo, and General Jackson stand surrounded by the same +atmosphere, or rather stand as mere naked characters surrounded by no +atmosphere at all. He is probably the last great writer who will fling +about classic anecdotes as if they were club gossip. In the discussion +of morals, this assumption does little harm. The stories and proverbs +which illustrate the thought of the moralist generally concern only +those simple relations of life which are common to all ages. There is +charm in this familiar dealing with antiquity. The classics are thus +<a name='Page_44'></a>domesticated and made real to us. What matter if Æsop appear a little +too much like an American citizen, so long as his points tell?</p> + +<p>It is in Emerson's treatment of the fine arts that we begin to notice +his want of historic sense. Art endeavors to express subtle and ever +changing feelings by means of conventions which are as protean as the +forms of a cloud; and the man who in speaking on the plastic arts +makes the assumption that all men are alike will reveal before he has +uttered three sentences that he does not know what art is, that he has +never experienced any form of sensation from it. Emerson lived in a +time and clime where there was no plastic art, and he was obliged to +arrive at his ideas about art by means of a highly complex process of +reasoning. He dwelt constantly in a spiritual place which was the very +focus of high moral fervor. This was his enthusiasm, this was his +revelation, and from it he reasoned out the probable meaning of the +fine arts. "This," thought Emerson, his eye rolling in a fine frenzy +of moral feeling, "this must be what Apelles experienced, this fervor +is the passion of Bramante. I understand the Parthenon." And so he +projected his feelings about morality into the field of the plastic +arts. He deals very freely and rather <a name='Page_45'></a>indiscriminately with the names +of artists,—Phidias, Raphael, Salvator Rosa,—and he speaks always in +such a way that it is impossible to connect what he says with any +impression we have ever received from the works of those masters.</p> + +<p>In fact, Emerson has never in his life felt the normal appeal of any +painting, or any sculpture, or any architecture, or any music. These +things, of which he does not know the meaning in real life, he yet +uses, and uses constantly, as symbols to convey ethical truths. The +result is that his books are full of blind places, like the notes +which will not strike on a sick piano.</p> + +<p>It is interesting to find that the one art of which Emerson did have a +direct understanding, the art of poetry, gave him some insight into +the relation of the artist to his vehicle. In his essay on Shakespeare +there is a full recognition of the debt of Shakespeare to his times. +This essay is filled with the historic sense. We ought not to accuse +Emerson because he lacked appreciation of the fine arts, but rather +admire the truly Goethean spirit in which he insisted upon the reality +of arts of which he had no understanding. This is the same spirit +which led him to insist on the value of the Eastern poets. Perhaps +<a name='Page_46'></a>there exist a few scholars who can tell us how far Emerson understood +or misunderstood Saadi and Firdusi and the Koran. But we need not be +disturbed for his learning. It is enough that he makes us recognize +that these men were men too, and that their writings mean something +not unknowable to us. The East added nothing to Emerson, but gave him +a few trappings of speech. The whole of his mysticism is to be found +in Nature, written before he knew the sages of the Orient, and it is +not improbable that there is some real connection between his own +mysticism and the mysticism of the Eastern poets.</p> + +<p>Emerson's criticism on men and books is like the test of a great +chemist who seeks one or two elements. He burns a bit of the stuff in +his incandescent light, shows the lines of it in his spectrum, and +there an end.</p> + +<p>It was a thought of genius that led him to write Representative Men. +The scheme of this book gave play to every illumination of his mind, +and it pinned him down to the objective, to the field of vision under +his microscope. The table of contents of Representative Men is the +dial of his education. It is as follows: Uses of Great Men; Plato, or +The Philosopher; Plato, New Readings; Swedenborg, or The Mystic; +Montaigne, <a name='Page_47'></a>or The Sceptic; Shakespeare, or The Poet; Napoleon, or The +Man of the World; Goethe, or The Writer. The predominance of the +writers over all other types of men is not cited to show Emerson's +interest in The Writer, for we know his interest centred in the +practical man,—even his ideal scholar is a practical man,—but to +show the sources of his illustration. Emerson's library was the +old-fashioned gentleman's library. His mines of thought were the +world's classics. This is one reason why he so quickly gained an +international currency. His very subjects in Representative Men are of +universal interest, and he is limited only by certain inevitable local +conditions. Representative Men is thought by many persons to be his +best book. It is certainly filled with the strokes of a master. There +exists no more profound criticism than Emerson's analysis of Goethe +and of Napoleon, by both of whom he was at once fascinated and +repelled.</p> + + +<a name='Page_48'></a><h3>II</h3> +<br /> + +<p>The attitude of Emerson's mind toward reformers results so logically +from his philosophy that it is easily understood. He saw in them +people who sought something as a panacea or as an end in itself. To +speak strictly and not irreverently, he had his own panacea,—the +development of each individual; and he was impatient of any other. He +did not believe in association. The very idea of it involved a +surrender by the individual of some portion of his identity, and of +course all the reformers worked through their associations. With their +general aims he sympathized. "These reforms," he wrote, "are our +contemporaries; they are ourselves, our own light and sight and +conscience; they only name the relation which subsists between us and +the vicious institutions which they go to rectify." But with the +methods of the reformers he had no sympathy: "He who aims at progress +should aim at an infinite, not at a special benefit. The reforms whose +fame now fills the land with temperance, anti-slavery, non-resistance, +no-government, equal <a name='Page_49'></a>labor, fair and generous as each appears, are +poor bitter things when prosecuted for themselves as an end." Again: +"The young men who have been vexing society for these last years with +regenerative methods seem to have made this mistake: they all +exaggerated some special means, and all failed to see that the reform +of reforms must be accomplished without means."</p> + +<p>Emerson did not at first discriminate between the movement of the +Abolitionists and the hundred and one other reform movements of the +period; and in this lack of discrimination lies a point of +extraordinary interest. The Abolitionists, as it afterwards turned +out, had in fact got hold of the issue which was to control the +fortunes of the republic for thirty years. The difference between them +and the other reformers was this: that the Abolitionists were men set +in motion by the primary and unreasoning passion of pity. Theory +played small part in the movement. It grew by the excitement which +exhibitions of cruelty will arouse in the minds of sensitive people.</p> + +<p>It is not to be denied that the social conditions in Boston in 1831 +foreboded an outbreak in some form. If the abolition excitement had +not drafted off the rising forces, there might have been a Merry +Mount, <a name='Page_50'></a>an epidemic of crime or insanity, or a mob of some sort. The +abolition movement afforded the purest form of an indulgence in human +feeling that was ever offered to men. It was intoxicating. It made the +agitators perfectly happy. They sang at their work and bubbled over +with exhilaration. They were the only people in the United States, at +this time, who were enjoying an exalted, glorifying, practical +activity.</p> + +<p>But Emerson at first lacked the touchstone, whether of intellect or of +heart, to see the difference between this particular movement and the +other movements then in progress. Indeed, in so far as he sees any +difference between the Abolitionists and the rest, it is that the +Abolitionists were more objectionable and distasteful to him. "Those," +he said, "who are urging with most ardor what are called the greatest +benefits to mankind are narrow, conceited, self-pleasing men, and +affect us as the insane do." And again: "By the side of these men [the +idealists] the hot agitators have a certain cheap and ridiculous air; +they even look smaller than others. Of the two, I own I like the +speculators the best. They have some piety which looks with faith to a +fair future unprofaned by rash and unequal attempts to realize it." He +was drawn <a name='Page_51'></a>into the abolition cause by having the truth brought home +to him that these people were fighting for the Moral Law. He was slow +in seeing this, because in their methods they represented everything +he most condemned. As soon, however, as he was convinced, he was ready +to lecture for them and to give them the weight of his approval. In +1844 he was already practically an Abolitionist, and his feelings upon +the matter deepened steadily in intensity ever after.</p> + +<p>The most interesting page of Emerson's published journal is the +following, written at some time previous to 1844; the exact date is +not given. A like page, whether written or unwritten, may be read into +the private annals of every man who lived before the war. Emerson has, +with unconscious mastery, photographed the half-spectre that stalked +in the minds of all. He wrote: "I had occasion to say the other day to +Elizabeth Hoar that I like best the strong and worthy persons, like +her father, who support the social order without hesitation or +misgiving. I like these; they never incommode us by exciting grief, +pity, or perturbation of any sort. But the professed philanthropists, +it is strange and horrible to say, are an altogether odious set of +people, whom one would <a name='Page_52'></a>shun as the worst of bores and canters. But my +conscience, my unhappy conscience respects that hapless class who see +the faults and stains of our social order, and who pray and strive +incessantly to right the wrong; this annoying class of men and women, +though they commonly find the work altogether beyond their faculty, +and their results are, for the present, distressing. They are partial, +and apt to magnify their own. Yes, and the prostrate penitent, +also,—he is not comprehensive, he is not philosophical in those tears +and groans. Yet I feel that under him and his partiality and +exclusiveness is the earth and the sea and all that in them is, and +the axis around which the universe revolves passes through his body +where he stands."</p> + +<p>It was the defection of Daniel Webster that completed the conversion +of Emerson and turned him from an adherent into a propagandist of +abolition. Not pity for the slave, but indignation at the violation of +the Moral Law by Daniel Webster, was at the bottom of Emerson's anger. +His abolitionism was secondary to his main mission, his main +enthusiasm. It is for this reason that he stands on a plane of +intellect where he might, under other circumstances, have met and +defeated Webster. After the 7th of March, 1850, he <a name='Page_53'></a>recognized in +Webster the embodiment of all that he hated. In his attacks on +Webster, Emerson trembles to his inmost fibre with antagonism. He is +savage, destructive, personal, bent on death.</p> + +<p>This exhibition of Emerson as a fighting animal is magnificent, and +explains his life. There is no other instance of his ferocity. No +other nature but Webster's ever so moved him; but it was time to be +moved, and Webster was a man of his size. Had these two great men of +New England been matched in training as they were matched in +endowment, and had they then faced each other in debate, they would +not have been found to differ so greatly in power. Their natures were +electrically repellent, but from which did the greater force radiate? +Their education differed so radically that it is impossible to compare +them, but if you translate the Phi Beta Kappa address into politics, +you have something stronger than Webster,—something that recalls +Chatham; and Emerson would have had this advantage,—that he was not +afraid. As it was, he left his library and took the stump. Mr. Cabot +has given us extracts from his speeches:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"The tameness is indeed complete; all are involved in one hot haste + of terror,—presidents <a name='Page_54'></a>of colleges and professors, saints and + brokers, lawyers and manufacturers; not a liberal recollection, not + so much as a snatch of an old song for freedom, dares intrude on + their passive obedience.... Mr. Webster, perhaps, is only following + the laws of his blood and constitution. I suppose his pledges were + not quite natural to him. He is a man who lives by his memory; a man + of the past, not a man of faith and of hope. All the drops of his + blood have eyes that look downward, and his finely developed + understanding only works truly and with all its force when it stands + for animal good; that is, for property. He looks at the Union as an + estate, a large farm, and is excellent in the completeness of his + defence of it so far. What he finds already written he will defend. + Lucky that so much had got well written when he came, for he has no + faith in the power of self-government. Not the smallest municipal + provision, if it were new, would receive his sanction. In + Massachusetts, in 1776, he would, beyond all question, have been a + refugee. He praises Adams and Jefferson, but it is a past Adams and + Jefferson. A present Adams or Jefferson he would denounce.... But one + thing appears certain to me: that the Union is at an end as soon as + <a name='Page_55'></a>an immoral law is enacted. He who writes a crime into the statute + book digs under the foundations of the Capitol.... The words of John + Randolph, wiser than he knew, have been ringing ominously in all + echoes for thirty years: 'We do not govern the people of the North by + our black slaves, but by their own white slaves.' ... They come down + now like the cry of fate, in the moment when they are fulfilled."</p></div> + +<p>The exasperation of Emerson did not subside, but went on increasing +during the next four years, and on March 7, 1854, he read his lecture +on the Fugitive Slave Law at the New York Tabernacle: "I have lived +all my life without suffering any inconvenience from American Slavery. +I never saw it; I never heard the whip; I never felt the check on my +free speech and action, until the other day, when Mr. Webster, by his +personal influence, brought the Fugitive Slave Law on the country. I +say Mr. Webster, for though the bill was not his, it is yet notorious +that he was the life and soul of it, that he gave it all he had. It +cost him his life, and under the shadow of his great name inferior men +sheltered themselves, threw their ballots for it, and made the law.... +Nobody doubts that Daniel Webster could make a good speech. <a name='Page_56'></a>Nobody +doubts that there were good and plausible things to be said on the +part of the South. But this is not a question of ingenuity, not a +question of syllogisms, but of sides. <i>How came he there</i>? ... But the +question which history will ask is broader. In the final hour when he +was forced by the peremptory necessity of the closing armies to take a +side,—did he take the part of great principles, the side of humanity +and justice, or the side of abuse, and oppression and chaos? ... He +did as immoral men usually do,—made very low bows to the Christian +Church and went through all the Sunday decorums, but when allusion was +made to the question of duty and the sanctions of morality, he very +frankly said, at Albany, 'Some higher law, something existing +somewhere between here and the heaven—I do not know where.' And if +the reporters say true, this wretched atheism found some laughter in +the company."</p> + +<p>It was too late for Emerson to shine as a political debater. On May +14, 1857, Longfellow wrote in his diary, "It is rather painful to see +Emerson in the arena of politics, hissed and hooted at by young law +students." Emerson records a similar experience at a later date: "If I +were dumb, yet would I have gone and <a name='Page_57'></a>mowed and muttered or made +signs. The mob roared whenever I attempted to speak, and after several +beginnings I withdrew." There is nothing "painful" here: it is the +sublime exhibition of a great soul in bondage to circumstance.</p> + +<p>The thing to be noted is that this is the same man, in the same state +of excitement about the same idea, who years before spoke out in The +American Scholar, in the Essays, and in the Lectures.</p> + +<p>What was it that had aroused in Emerson such Promethean antagonism in +1837 but those same forces which in 1850 came to their culmination and +assumed visible shape in the person of Daniel Webster? The formal +victory of Webster drew Emerson into the arena, and made a dramatic +episode in his life. But his battle with those forces had begun +thirteen years earlier, when he threw down the gauntlet to them in his +Phi Beta Kappa oration. Emerson by his writings did more than any +other man to rescue the youth of the next generation and fit them for +the fierce times to follow. It will not be denied that he sent ten +thousand sons to the war.</p> + +<p>In speaking of Emerson's attitude toward the anti-slavery cause, it +has been possible to dispense with any survey of that movement, +<a name='Page_58'></a>because the movement was simple and specific and is well remembered. +But when we come to analyze the relations he bore to some of the local +agitations of his day, it becomes necessary to weave in with the +matter a discussion of certain tendencies deeply imbedded in the life +of his times, and of which he himself was in a sense an outcome. In +speaking of the Transcendentalists, who were essentially the children +of the Puritans, we must begin with some study of the chief traits of +Puritanism.</p> + +<p>What parts the factors of climate, circumstance, and religion have +respectively played in the development of the New England character no +analysis can determine. We may trace the imaginary influence of a +harsh creed in the lines of the face. We may sometimes follow from +generation to generation the course of a truth which at first +sustained the spirit of man, till we see it petrify into a dogma which +now kills the spirits of men. Conscience may destroy the character. +The tragedy of the New England judge enforcing the Fugitive Slave Law +was no new spectacle in New England. A dogmatic crucifixion of the +natural instincts had been in progress there for two hundred years. +Emerson, who is more free from dogma than any other teacher that can +be named, yet comes very <a name='Page_59'></a>near being dogmatic in his reiteration of +the Moral Law.</p> + +<p>Whatever volume of Emerson we take up, the Moral Law holds the same +place in his thoughts. It is the one statable revelation of truth +which he is ready to stake his all upon. "The illusion that strikes me +as the masterpiece in that ring of illusions which our life is, is the +timidity with which we assert our moral sentiment. We are made of it, +the world is built by it, things endure as they share it; all beauty, +all health, all intelligence exist by it; yet we shrink to speak of it +or range ourselves by its side. Nay, we presume strength of him or +them who deny it. Cities go against it, the college goes against it, +the courts snatch any precedent at any vicious form of law to rule it +out; legislatures listen with appetite to declamations against it and +vote it down."</p> + +<p>With this very beautiful and striking passage no one will quarrel, nor +will any one misunderstand it.</p> + +<p>The following passage has the same sort of poetical truth. "Things are +saturated with the moral law. There is no escape from it. Violets and +grass preach it; rain and snow, wind and tides, every change, every +cause in Nature is nothing but a disguised missionary." ...</p> + +<p><a name='Page_60'></a>But Emerson is not satisfied with metaphor. "We affirm that in all +men is this majestic perception and command; that it is the presence +of the eternal in each perishing man; that it distances and degrades +all statements of whatever saints, heroes, poets, as obscure and +confused stammerings before its silent revelation. <i>They</i> report the +truth. <i>It</i> is the truth." In this last extract we have Emerson +actually affirming that his dogma of the Moral Law is Absolute Truth. +He thinks it not merely a form of truth, like the old theologies, but +very distinguishable from all other forms in the past.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough, his statement of the law grows dogmatic and incisive +in proportion as he approaches the borderland between his law and the +natural instincts: "The last revelation of intellect and of sentiment +is that in a manner it severs the man from all other men; makes known +to him <i>that the spiritual powers are sufficient to him if no other +being existed</i>; that he is to deal absolutely in the world, as if he +alone were a system and a state, and though all should perish could +make all anew." Here we have the dogma applied, and we see in it only +a new form of old Calvinism as cruel as Calvinism, and not much +different from its original. The italics are not <a name='Page_61'></a>Emerson's, but are +inserted to bring out an idea which is everywhere prevalent in his +teaching.</p> + +<p>In this final form, the Moral Law, by insisting that sheer conscience +can slake the thirst that rises in the soul, is convicted of +falsehood; and this heartless falsehood is the same falsehood that has +been put into the porridge of every Puritan child for six generations. +A grown man can digest doctrine and sleep at night. But a young person +of high purpose and strong will, who takes such a lie as this +half-truth and feeds on it as on the bread of life, will suffer. It +will injure the action of his heart. Truly the fathers have eaten sour +grapes, therefore the children's teeth are set on edge.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>To understand the civilization of cities, we must look at the rural +population from which they draw their life. We have recently had our +attention called to the last remnants of that village life so +reverently gathered up by Miss Wilkins, and of which Miss Emily +Dickinson was the last authentic voice. The spirit of this age has +examined with an almost pathological interest this rescued society. We +must go to it if we would understand Emerson, who is the blossoming of +its culture. We must <a name='Page_62'></a>study it if we would arrive at any intelligent +and general view of that miscellaneous crop of individuals who have +been called the Transcendentalists.</p> + +<p>Between 1830 and 1840 there were already signs in New England that the +nutritive and reproductive forces of society were not quite wholesome, +not exactly well adjusted. Self-repression was the religion which had +been inherited. "Distrust Nature" was the motto written upon the front +of the temple. What would have happened to that society if left to +itself for another hundred years no man can guess. It was rescued by +the two great regenerators of mankind, new land and war. The +dispersion came, as Emerson said of the barbarian conquests of Rome, +not a day too soon. It happened that the country at large stood in +need of New England as much as New England stood in need of the +country. This congested virtue, in order to be saved, must be +scattered. This ferment, in order to be kept wholesome, must be used +as leaven to leaven the whole lump. "As you know," says Emerson in his +Eulogy on Boston, "New England supplies annually a large detachment of +preachers and schoolmasters and private tutors to the interior of the +South and West.... We are willing to see our sons <a name='Page_63'></a>emigrate, as to see +our hives swarm. That is what they were made to do, and what the land +wants and invites."</p> + +<p>For purposes of yeast, there was never such leaven as the Puritan +stock. How little the natural force of the race had really abated +became apparent when it was placed under healthy conditions, given +land to till, foes to fight, the chance to renew its youth like the +eagle. But during this period the relief had not yet come. The +terrible pressure of Puritanism and conservatism in New England was +causing a revolt not only of the Abolitionists, but of another class +of people of a type not so virile as they. The times have been smartly +described by Lowell in his essay on Thoreau:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Every possible form of intellectual and physical dyspepsia brought + forth its gospel. Bran had its prophets.... Everybody had a Mission + (with a capital M) to attend to everybody else's business. No brain + but had its private maggot, which must have found pitiably short + commons sometimes. Not a few impecunious zealots abjured the use of + money (unless earned by other people), professing to live on the + internal revenues of the spirit. Some had an assurance of instant + millennium so soon as hooks and eyes should <a name='Page_64'></a>be substituted for + buttons. Communities were established where everything was to be + common but common sense.... Conventions were held for every hitherto + inconceivable purpose."</p></div> + +<p>Whatever may be said of the Transcendentalists, it must not be +forgotten that they represented an elevation of feeling, which through +them qualified the next generation, and can be traced in the life of +New England to-day. The strong intrinsic character lodged in these +recusants was later made manifest; for many of them became the best +citizens of the commonwealth,—statesmen, merchants, soldiers, men and +women of affairs. They retained their idealism while becoming +practical men. There is hardly an example of what we should have +thought would be common in their later lives, namely, a reaction from +so much ideal effort, and a plunge into cynicism and malice, +scoundrelism and the flesh-pots. In their early life they resembled +the Abolitionists in their devotion to an idea; but with the +Transcendentalists self-culture and the aesthetic and sentimental +education took the place of more public aims. They seem also to have +been persons of greater social refinement than the Abolitionists.</p> + +<p>The Transcendentalists were sure of only <a name='Page_65'></a>one thing,—that society as +constituted was all wrong. In this their main belief they were right. +They were men and women whose fundamental need was activity, contact +with real life, and the opportunity for social expansion; and they +keenly felt the chill and fictitious character of the reigning +conventionalities. The rigidity of behavior which at this time +characterized the Bostonians seemed sometimes ludicrous and sometimes +disagreeable to the foreign visitor. There was great gravity, together +with a certain pomp and dumbness, and these things were supposed to be +natural to the inhabitants and to give them joy. People are apt to +forget that such masks are never worn with ease. They result from the +application of an inflexible will, and always inflict discomfort. The +Transcendentalists found themselves all but stifled in a society as +artificial in its decorum as the court of France during the last years +of Louis XIV.</p> + +<p>Emerson was in no way responsible for the movement, although he got +the credit of having evoked it by his teaching. He was elder brother +to it, and was generated by its parental forces; but even if Emerson +had never lived, the Transcendentalists would have appeared. He was +their victim rather than their <a name='Page_66'></a>cause. He was always tolerant of them +and sometimes amused at them, and disposed to treat them lightly. It +is impossible to analyze their case with more astuteness than he did +in an editorial letter in The Dial. The letter is cold, but is a +masterpiece of good sense. He had, he says, received fifteen letters +on the Prospects of Culture. "Excellent reasons have been shown us why +the writers, obviously persons of sincerity and elegance, should be +dissatisfied with the life they lead, and with their company.... They +want a friend to whom they can speak and from whom they may hear now +and then a reasonable word." After discussing one or two of their +proposals,—one of which was that the tiresome "uncles and aunts" of +the enthusiasts should be placed by themselves in one delightful +village, the dough, as Emerson says, be placed in one pan and the +leaven in another,—he continues: "But it would be unjust not to +remind our younger friends that whilst this aspiration has always made +its mark in the lives of men of thought, in vigorous individuals it +does not remain a detached object, but is satisfied along with the +satisfaction of other aims." Young Americans "are educated above the +work of their times and country, and disdain it. Many of the more +acute minds pass into a lofty <a name='Page_67'></a>criticism ... which only embitters +their sensibility to the evil, and widens the feeling of hostility +between them and the citizens at large.... We should not know where to +find in literature any record of so much unbalanced intellectuality, +such undeniable apprehension without talent, so much power without +equal applicability, as our young men pretend to.... The balance of +mind and body will redress itself fast enough. Superficialness is the +real distemper.... It is certain that speculation is no succedaneum +for life." He then turns to find the cure for these distempers in the +farm lands of Illinois, at that time already being fenced in "almost +like New England itself," and closes with a suggestion that so long as +there is a woodpile in the yard, and the "wrongs of the Indian, of the +Negro, of the emigrant, remain unmitigated," relief might be found +even nearer home.</p> + +<p>In his lecture on the Transcendentalists he says: " ... But their +solitary and fastidious manners not only withdraw them from the +conversation, but from the labors of the world: they are not good +citizens, not good members of society; unwillingly they bear their +part of the public and private burdens; they do not willingly share in +the public charities, in the public religious rites, in the +<a name='Page_68'></a>enterprises of education, of missions foreign and domestic, in the +abolition of the slave-trade, or in the temperance society. They do +not even like to vote." A less sympathetic observer, Harriet +Martineau, wrote of them: "While Margaret Fuller and her adult pupils +sat 'gorgeously dressed,' talking about Mars and Venus, Plato and +Goethe, and fancying themselves the elect of the earth in intellect +and refinement, the liberties of the republic were running out as fast +as they could go at a breach which another sort of elect persons were +devoting themselves to repair; and my complaint against the 'gorgeous' +pedants was that they regarded their preservers as hewers of wood and +drawers of water, and their work as a less vital one than the pedantic +orations which were spoiling a set of well-meaning women in a pitiable +way." Harriet Martineau, whose whole work was practical, and who wrote +her journal in 1855 and in the light of history, was hardly able to do +justice to these unpractical but sincere spirits.</p> + +<p>Emerson was divided from the Transcendentalists by his common sense. +His shrewd business intellect made short work of their schemes. Each +one of their social projects contained some covert economic weakness, +<a name='Page_69'></a>which always turned out to lie in an attack upon the integrity of the +individual, and which Emerson of all men could be counted on to +detect. He was divided from them also by the fact that he was a man of +genius, who had sought out and fought out his means of expression. He +was a great artist, and as such he was a complete being. No one could +give to him nor take from him. His yearnings found fruition in +expression. He was sure of his place and of his use in this world. But +the Transcendentalists were neither geniuses nor artists nor complete +beings. Nor had they found their places or uses as yet. They were men +and women seeking light. They walked in dry places, seeking rest and +finding none. The Transcendentalists are not collectively important +because their <i>Sturm und Drang</i> was intellectual and bloodless. Though +Emerson admonish and Harriet Martineau condemn, yet from the memorials +that survive, one is more impressed with the sufferings than with the +ludicrousness of these persons. There is something distressing about +their letters, their talk, their memoirs, their interminable diaries. +They worry and contort and introspect. They rave and dream. They peep +and theorize. They cut open the bellows of life to see where the wind +<a name='Page_70'></a>comes from. Margaret Fuller analyzes Emerson, and Emerson Margaret +Fuller. It is not a wholesome ebullition of vitality. It is a +nightmare, in which the emotions, the terror, the agony, the rapture, +are all unreal, and have no vital content, no consequence in the world +outside. It is positively wonderful that so much excitement and so +much suffering should have left behind nothing in the field of art +which is valuable. All that intelligence could do toward solving +problems for his friends Emerson did. But there are situations in life +in which the intelligence is helpless, and in which something else, +something perhaps possessed by a ploughboy, is more divine than Plato.</p> + +<p>If it were not pathetic, there would be something cruel—indeed there +is something cruel—in Emerson's incapacity to deal with Margaret +Fuller. He wrote to her on October 24, 1840: "My dear Margaret, I have +your frank and noble and affecting letter, and yet I think I could +wish it unwritten. I ought never to have suffered you to lead me into +any conversation or writing on our relation, a topic from which with +all persons my Genius warns me away."</p> + +<p>The letter proceeds with unimpeachable emptiness and integrity in the +same strain. <a name='Page_71'></a>In 1841 he writes in his diary: "Strange, cold-warm, +attractive-repelling conversation with Margaret, whom I always admire, +most revere when I nearest see, and sometimes love; yet whom I freeze +and who freezes me to silence when we promise to come nearest."</p> + +<p>Human sentiment was known to Emerson mainly in the form of pain. His +nature shunned it; he cast it off as quickly as possible. There is a +word or two in the essay on Love which seems to show that the inner +and diaphanous core of this seraph had once, but not for long, been +shot with blood: he recalls only the pain of it. His relations with +Margaret Fuller seem never normal, though they lasted for years. This +brilliant woman was in distress. She was asking for bread, and he was +giving her a stone, and neither of them was conscious of what was +passing. This is pitiful. It makes us clutch about us to catch hold, +if we somehow may, of the hand of a man.</p> + +<p>There was manliness in Horace Greeley, under whom Miss Fuller worked +on the New York Tribune not many years afterward. She wrote: "Mr. +Greeley I like,—nay, more, love. He is in his habit a plebeian, in +his heart a nobleman. His abilities in his own <a name='Page_72'></a>way are great. He +believes in mine to a surprising degree. We are true friends."</p> + +<p>This anæmic incompleteness of Emerson's character can be traced to the +philosophy of his race; at least it can be followed in that +philosophy. There is an implication of a fundamental falsehood in +every bit of Transcendentalism, including Emerson. That falsehood +consists in the theory of the self-sufficiency of each individual, men +and women alike. Margaret Fuller is a good example of the effect of +this philosophy, because her history afterward showed that she was +constituted like other human beings, was dependent upon human +relationship, and was not only a very noble, but also a very womanly +creature. Her marriage, her Italian life, and her tragic death light +up with the splendor of reality the earlier and unhappy period of her +life. This woman had been driven into her vagaries by the lack of +something which she did not know existed, and which she sought blindly +in metaphysics. Harriet Martineau writes of her: "It is the most +grievous loss I have almost ever known in private history, the +deferring of Margaret Fuller's married life so long. That noble last +period of her life is happily on record as well as the earlier." The +hardy Englishwoman has here laid a kind <a name='Page_73'></a>human hand on the weakness of +New England, and seems to be unconscious that she is making a +revelation as to the whole Transcendental movement. But the point is +this: there was no one within reach of Margaret Fuller, in her early +days, who knew what was her need. One offered her Kant, one Comte, one +Fourier, one Swedenborg, one the Moral Law. You cannot feed the heart +on these things.</p> + +<p>Yet there is a bright side to this New England spirit, which seems, if +we look only to the graver emotions, so dry, dismal, and deficient. A +bright and cheery courage appears in certain natures of which the sun +has made conquest, that almost reconciles us to all loss, so splendid +is the outcome. The practical, dominant, insuppressible active +temperaments who have a word for every emergency, and who carry the +controlled force of ten men at their disposal, are the fruits of this +same spirit. Emerson knew not tears, but he and the hundred other +beaming and competent characters which New England has produced make +us almost envy their state. They give us again the old Stoics at their +best.</p> + +<p>Very closely connected with this subject—the crisp and cheery New +England temperament—lies another which any discussion of <a name='Page_74'></a>Emerson +must bring up,—namely, Asceticism. It is probable that in dealing with +Emerson's feelings about the plastic arts we have to do with what is +really the inside, or metaphysical side, of the same phenomena which +present themselves on the outside, or physical side, in the shape of +asceticism.</p> + +<p>Emerson's natural asceticism is revealed to us in almost every form in +which history can record a man. It is in his philosophy, in his style, +in his conduct, and in his appearance. It was, however, not in his +voice. Mr. Cabot, with that reverence for which every one must feel +personally grateful to him, has preserved a description of Emerson by +the New York journalist, N.P. Willis: "It is a voice with shoulders in +it, which he has not; with lungs in it far larger than his; with a +walk which the public never see; with a fist in it which his own hand +never gave him the model for; and with a gentleman in it which his +parochial and 'bare-necessaries-of-life' sort of exterior gives no +other betrayal of. We can imagine nothing in nature (which seems too +to have a type for everything) like the want of correspondence between +the Emerson that goes in at the eye and the Emerson that goes in at +the ear. A heavy and vase-like blossom of a magnolia, with fragrance +enough to perfume <a name='Page_75'></a>a whole wilderness, which should be lifted by a +whirlwind and dropped into a branch of aspen, would not seem more as +if it could never have grown there than Emerson's voice seems inspired +and foreign to his visible and natural body." Emerson's ever exquisite +and wonderful good taste seems closely connected with this asceticism, +and it is probable that his taste influenced his views and conduct to +some small extent.</p> + +<p>The anti-slavery people were not always refined. They were constantly +doing things which were tactically very effective, but were not +calculated to attract the over-sensitive. Garrison's rampant and +impersonal egotism was good politics, but bad taste. Wendell Phillips +did not hesitate upon occasion to deal in personalities of an +exasperating kind. One sees a certain shrinking in Emerson from the +taste of the Abolitionists. It was not merely their doctrines or their +methods which offended him. He at one time refused to give Wendell +Phillips his hand because of Phillips's treatment of his friend, Judge +Hoar. One hardly knows whether to be pleased at Emerson for showing a +human weakness, or annoyed at him for not being more of a man. The +anecdote is valuable in both lights. It is like a tiny speck on the +crystal of his character <a name='Page_76'></a>which shows us the exact location of the +orb, and it is the best illustration of the feeling of the times which +has come down to us.</p> + +<p>If by "asceticism" we mean an experiment in starving the senses, there +is little harm in it. Nature will soon reassert her dominion, and very +likely our perceptions will be sharpened by the trial. But "natural +asceticism" is a thing hardly to be distinguished from functional +weakness. What is natural asceticism but a lack of vigor? Does it not +tend to close the avenues between the soul and the universe? "Is it +not so much death?" The accounts of Emerson show him to have been a +man in whom there was almost a hiatus between the senses and the most +inward spirit of life. The lower register of sensations and emotions +which domesticate a man into fellowship with common life was weak. +Genial familiarity was to him impossible; laughter was almost a pain. +"It is not the sea and poverty and pursuit that separate us. Here is +Alcott by my door,—yet is the union more profound? No! the sea, +vocation, poverty, are seeming fences, but man is insular and cannot +be touched. Every man is an infinitely repellent orb, and holds his +individual being on that condition.... Most of the persons whom I see +in my own house I see <a name='Page_77'></a>across a gulf; I cannot go to them nor they +come to me."</p> + +<p>This aloofness of Emerson must be remembered only as blended with his +benignity. "His friends were all that knew him," and, as Dr. Holmes +said, "his smile was the well-remembered line of Terence written out +in living features." Emerson's journals show the difficulty of his +intercourse even with himself. He could not reach himself at will, nor +could another reach him. The sensuous and ready contact with nature +which more carnal people enjoy was unknown to him. He had eyes for the +New England landscape, but for no other scenery. If there is one +supreme sensation reserved for man, it is the vision of Venice seen +from the water. This sight greeted Emerson at the age of thirty. The +famous city, as he approached it by boat, "looked for some time like +nothing but New York. It is a great oddity, a city for beavers, but to +my thought a most disagreeable residence. You feel always in prison +and solitary. It is as if you were always at sea. I soon had enough of +it."</p> + +<p>Emerson's contempt for travel and for the "rococo toy," Italy, is too +well known to need citation. It proceeds from the same deficiency of +sensation. His eyes saw <a name='Page_78'></a>nothing; his ears heard nothing. He believed +that men travelled for distraction and to kill time. The most vulgar +plutocrat could not be blinder to beauty nor bring home less from +Athens than this cultivated saint. Everything in the world which must +be felt with a glow in the breast, in order to be understood, was to +him dead-letter. Art was a name to him; music was a name to him; love +was a name to him. His essay on Love is a nice compilation of +compliments and elegant phrases ending up with some icy morality. It +seems very well fitted for a gift-book or an old-fashioned lady's +annual.</p> + +<p>"The lovers delight in endearments, in avowals of love, in comparisons +of their regards.... The soul which is in the soul of each, craving a +perfect beatitude, detects incongruities, defects, and disproportion +in the behavior of the other. Hence arise surprise, expostulation, and +pain. Yet that which drew them to each other was signs of loveliness, +signs of virtue; and these virtues are there, however eclipsed. They +appear and reappear and continue to attract; but the regard changes, +quits the sign and attaches to the substance. This repairs the wounded +affection. Meantime, as life wears on, it proves a game of permutation +and <a name='Page_79'></a>combination of all possible positions of the parties, to employ +all the resources of each, and acquaint each with the weakness of the +other.... At last they discover that all which at first drew them +together—those once sacred features, that magical play of charms—was +deciduous, had a prospective end like the scaffolding by which the +house was built, and the purification of the intellect and the heart +from year to year is the real marriage, foreseen and prepared from the +first, and wholly above their consciousness.... Thus are we put in +training for a love which knows not sex nor person nor partiality, but +which seeks wisdom and virtue everywhere, to the end of increasing +virtue and wisdom.... There are moments when the affections rule and +absorb the man, and make his happiness dependent on a person or +persons. But in health the mind is presently seen again," etc.</p> + +<p>All this is not love, but the merest literary coquetry. Love is +different from this. Lady Burton, when a very young girl, and six +years before her engagement, met Burton at Boulogne. They met in the +street, but did not speak. A few days later they were formally +introduced at a dance. Of this she writes: "That was a night of +nights. He <a name='Page_80'></a>waltzed with me once, and spoke to me several times. I +kept the sash where he put his arm around me and my gloves, and never +wore them again."</p> + +<p>A glance at what Emerson says about marriage shows that he suspected +that institution. He can hardly speak of it without some sort of +caveat or precaution. "Though the stuff of tragedy and of romances is +in a moral union of two superior persons whose confidence in each +other for long years, out of sight and in sight, and against all +appearances, is at last justified by victorious proof of probity to +gods and men, causing joyful emotions, tears, and glory,—though there +be for heroes this <i>moral union</i>, yet they too are as far as ever +from, an intellectual union, and the moral is for low and external +purposes, like the corporation of a ship's company or of a fire club." +In speaking of modern novels, he says: "There is no new element, no +power, no furtherance. 'Tis only confectionery, not the raising of new +corn. Great is the poverty of their inventions. <i>She was beautiful, +and he fell in love</i>.... Happy will that house be in which the +relations are formed by character; after the highest and not after the +lowest; the house in which character marries and not confusion and a +<a name='Page_81'></a>miscellany of unavowable motives.... To each occurs soon after +puberty, some event, or society or way of living, which becomes the +crisis of life and the chief fact in their history. In women it is +love and marriage (which is more reasonable), and yet it is pitiful to +date and measure all the facts and sequel of an unfolding life from +such a youthful and generally inconsiderate period as the age of +courtship and marriage.... Women more than all are the element and +kingdom of illusion. Being fascinated they fascinate. They sec through +Claude Lorraines. And how dare any one, if he could, pluck away the +coulisses, stage effects and ceremonies by which they live? Too +pathetic, too pitiable, is the region of affection, and its atmosphere +always liable to mirage."</p> + +<p>We are all so concerned that a man who writes about love shall tell +the truth that if he chance to start from premises which are false or +mistaken, his conclusions will appear not merely false, but offensive. +It makes no matter how exalted the personal character of the writer +may be. Neither sanctity nor intellect nor moral enthusiasm, though +they be intensified to the point of incandescence, can make up for a +want of nature.</p> + +<p>This perpetual splitting up of love into two <a name='Page_82'></a>species, one of which is +condemned, but admitted to be useful—is it not degrading? There is in +Emerson's theory of the relation between the sexes neither good sense, +nor manly feeling, nor sound psychology. It is founded on none of +these things. It is a pure piece of dogmatism, and reminds us that he +was bred to the priesthood. We are not to imagine that there was in +this doctrine anything peculiar to Emerson. But we are surprised to +find the pessimism inherent in the doctrine overcome Emerson, to whom +pessimism is foreign. Both doctrine and pessimism are a part of the +Puritanism of the times. They show a society in which the intellect +had long been used to analyze the affections, in which the head had +become dislocated from the body. To this disintegration of the simple +passion of love may be traced the lack of maternal tenderness +characteristic of the New England nature. The relation between the +blood and the brain was not quite normal in this civilization, nor in +Emerson, who is its most remarkable representative.</p> + +<p>If we take two steps backward from the canvas of this mortal life and +glance at it impartially, we shall see that these matters of love and +marriage pass like a pivot through the lives of almost every +individual, and are, <a name='Page_83'></a>sociologically speaking, the <i>primum mobile</i> of +the world. The books of any philosopher who slurs them or distorts +them will hold up a false mirror to life. If an inhabitant of another +planet should visit the earth, he would receive, on the whole, a truer +notion of human life by attending an Italian opera than he would by +reading Emerson's volumes. He would learn from the Italian opera that +there were two sexes; and this, after all, is probably the fact with +which the education of such a stranger ought to begin.</p> + +<p>In a review of Emerson's personal character and opinions, we are thus +led to see that his philosophy, which finds no room for the emotions, +is a faithful exponent of his own and of the New England temperament, +which distrusts and dreads the emotions. Regarded as a sole guide to +life for a young person of strong conscience and undeveloped +affections, his works might conceivably be even harmful because of +their unexampled power of purely intellectual stimulation.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Emerson's poetry has given rise to much heart-burning and disagreement +Some people do not like it. They fail to find the fire in the ice. On +the other hand, his poems appeal not only to a large number of +pro<a name='Page_84'></a>fessed lovers of poetry, but also to a class of readers who find +in Emerson an element for which they search the rest of poesy in vain.</p> + +<p>It is the irony of fate that his admirers should be more than usually +sensitive about his fame. This prophet who desired not to have +followers, lest he too should become a cult and a convention, and +whose main thesis throughout life was that piety is a crime, has been +calmly canonized and embalmed in amber by the very forces he braved. +He is become a tradition and a sacred relic. You must speak of him +under your breath, and you may not laugh near his shrine.</p> + +<p>Emerson's passion for nature was not like the passion of Keats or of +Burns, of Coleridge or of Robert Browning; compared with these men he +is cold. His temperature is below blood-heat, and his volume of poems +stands on the shelf of English poets like the icy fish which in +Caliban upon Setebos is described as finding himself thrust into the +warm ooze of an ocean not his own.</p> + +<p>But Emerson is a poet, nevertheless, a very extraordinary and rare man +of genius, whose verses carry a world of their own within them. They +are overshadowed by the greatness of his prose, but they are +authentic. He is the chief poet of that school of which Emily +<a name='Page_85'></a>Dickinson is a minor poet. His poetry is a successful spiritual +deliverance of great interest. His worship of the New England +landscape amounts to a religion. His poems do that most wonderful +thing, make us feel that we are alone in the fields and with the +trees,—not English fields nor French lanes, but New England meadows +and uplands. There is no human creature in sight, not even Emerson is +there, but the wind and the flowers, the wild birds, the fences, the +transparent atmosphere, the breath of nature. There is a deep and true +relation between the intellectual and almost dry brilliancy of +Emerson's feelings and the landscape itself. Here is no defective +English poet, no Shelley without the charm, but an American poet, a +New England poet with two hundred years of New England culture and New +England landscape in him.</p> + +<p>People are forever speculating upon what will last, what posterity +will approve, and some people believe that Emerson's poetry will +outlive his prose. The question is idle. The poems are alive now, and +they may or may not survive the race whose spirit they embody; but one +thing is plain: they have qualities which have preserved poetry in the +past. They are utterly indigenous and sincere. <a name='Page_86'></a>They are short. They +represent a civilization and a climate.</p> + +<p>His verse divides itself into several classes. We have the single +lyrics, written somewhat in the style of the later seventeenth +century. Of these The Humble Bee is the most exquisite, and although +its tone and imagery can be traced to various well-known and dainty +bits of poetry, it is by no means an imitation, but a masterpiece of +fine taste. The Rhodora and Terminus and perhaps a few others belong +to that class of poetry which, like Abou Ben Adhem, is poetry because +it is the perfection of statement. The Boston Hymn, the Concord Ode, +and the other occasional pieces fall in another class, and do not seem +to be important. The first two lines of the Ode,</p> + +<p class="poem">"O tenderly the haughty day<br /> +Fills his blue urn with fire."<br /></p> + +<p>are for their extraordinary beauty worthy of some mythical Greek, some +Simonides, some Sappho, but the rest of the lines are commonplace. +Throughout his poems there are good bits, happy and golden lines, +snatches of grace. He himself knew the quality of his poetry, and +wrote of it,</p> + +<p class="poem">"All were sifted through and through,<br /> +Five lines lasted sound and true."</p> + +<p><a name='Page_87'></a>He is never merely conventional, and his poetry, like his prose, is +homespun and sound. But his ear was defective: his rhymes are crude, +and his verse is often lame and unmusical, a fault which can be +countervailed by nothing but force, and force he lacks. To say that +his ear was defective is hardly strong enough. Passages are not +uncommon which hurt the reader and unfit him to proceed; as, for +example:—</p> + +<p class="poem">"Thorough a thousand voices<br /> +<span class="i2">Spoke the universal dame:</span> +'Who telleth one of my meanings<br /> +<span class="i2">Is master of all I am.'"</span></p> + +<p>He himself has very well described the impression his verse is apt to +make on a new reader when he says,—</p> + +<p class="poem">"Poetry must not freeze, but flow."</p> + +<p>The lovers of Emerson's poems freely acknowledge all these defects, +but find in them another element, very subtle and rare, very refined +and elusive, if not altogether unique. This is the mystical element or +strain which qualifies many of his poems, and to which some of them +are wholly devoted.</p> + +<p>There has been so much discussion as to Emerson's relation to the +mystics that it is well here to turn aside for a moment and <a name='Page_88'></a>consider +the matter by itself. The elusiveness of "mysticism" arises out of the +fact that it is not a creed, but a state of mind. It is formulated +into no dogmas, but, in so far as it is communicable, it is conveyed, +or sought to be conveyed, by symbols. These symbols to a sceptical or +an unsympathetic person will say nothing, but the presumption among +those who are inclined towards the cult is that if these symbols +convey anything at all, that thing is mysticism. The mystics are +right. The familiar phrases, terms, and symbols of mysticism are not +meaningless, and a glance at them shows that they do tend to express +and evoke a somewhat definite psychic condition.</p> + +<p>There is a certain mood of mind experienced by most of us in which we +feel the mystery of existence; in which our consciousness seems to +become suddenly separated from our thoughts, and we find ourselves +asking, "Who am I? What are these thoughts?" The mood is very apt to +overtake us while engaged in the commonest acts. In health it is +always momentary, and seems to coincide with the instant of the +transition and shift of our attention from one thing to another. It is +probably connected with the transfer of energy from one set of +faculties to <a name='Page_89'></a>another set, which occurs, for instance, on our waking +from sleep, on our hearing a bell at night, on our observing any +common object, a chair or a pitcher, at a time when our mind is or has +just been thoroughly preoccupied with something else. This +displacement of the attention occurs in its most notable form when we +walk from the study into the open fields. Nature then attacks us on +all sides at once, overwhelms, drowns, and destroys our old thoughts, +stimulates vaguely and all at once a thousand new ideas, dissipates +all focus of thought and dissolves our attention. If we happen to be +mentally fatigued, and we take a walk in the country, a sense of +immense relief, of rest and joy, which nothing else on earth can give, +accompanies this distraction of the mind from its problems. The +reaction fills us with a sense of mystery and expansion. It brings us +to the threshold of those spiritual experiences which are the obscure +core and reality of our existence, ever alive within us, but generally +veiled and sub-conscious. It brings us, as it were, into the +ante-chamber of art, poetry, and music. The condition is one of +excitation and receptiveness, where art may speak and we shall +understand. On the other hand, the condition shows a certain +dethronement <a name='Page_90'></a>of the will and attention which may ally it to the +hypnotic state.</p> + +<p>Certain kinds of poetry imitate this method of nature by calling on us +with a thousand voices at once. Poetry deals often with vague or +contradictory statements, with a jumble of images, a throng of +impressions. But in true poetry the psychology of real life is closely +followed. The mysticism is momentary. We are not kept suspended in a +limbo, "trembling like a guilty thing surprised," but are ushered into +another world of thought and feeling. On the other hand, a mere +statement of inconceivable things is the <i>reductio ad absurdum</i> of +poetry, because such a statement puzzles the mind, scatters the +attention, and does to a certain extent superinduce the "blank +misgivings" of mysticism. It does this, however, <i>without</i> going +further and filling the mind with new life. If I bid a man follow my +reasoning closely, and then say, "I am the slayer and the slain, I am +the doubter and the doubt," I puzzle his mind, and may succeed in +reawakening in him the sense he has often had come over him that we +are ignorant of our own destinies and cannot grasp the meaning of +life. If I do this, nothing can be a more legitimate opening for a +poem, for it is an opening of the reader's mind. Emerson, like many +other highly <a name='Page_91'></a>organized persons, was acquainted with the mystic mood. +It was not momentary with him. It haunted him, and he seems to have +believed that the whole of poetry and religion was contained in the +mood. And no one can gainsay that this mental condition is intimately +connected with our highest feelings and leads directly into them.</p> + +<p>The fault with Emerson is that he stops in the ante-chamber of poetry. +He is content if he has brought us to the hypnotic point. His prologue +and overture are excellent, but where is the argument? Where is the +substantial artistic content that shall feed our souls?</p> + +<p>The Sphinx is a fair example of an Emerson poem. The opening verses +are musical, though they are handicapped by a reminiscence of the +German way of writing. In the succeeding verses we are lapped into a +charming reverie, and then at the end suddenly jolted by the question, +"What is it all about?" In this poem we see expanded into four or five +pages of verse an experience which in real life endures an eighth of a +second, and when we come to the end of the mood we are at the end of +the poem.</p> + +<p>There is no question that the power to throw your sitter into a +receptive mood by a <a name='Page_92'></a>pass or two which shall give you his virgin +attention is necessary to any artist. Nobody has the knack of this +more strongly than Emerson in his prose writings. By a phrase or a +common remark he creates an ideal atmosphere in which his thought has +the directness of great poetry. But he cannot do it in verse. He seeks +in his verse to do the very thing which he avoids doing in his prose: +follow a logical method. He seems to know too much what he is about, +and to be content with doing too little. His mystical poems, from the +point of view of such criticism as this, are all alike in that they +all seek to do the same thing. Nor does he always succeed. How does he +sometimes fail in verse to say what he conveys with such everlasting +happiness in prose!</p> + +<p class="poem">"I am owner of the sphere,<br /> +Of the seven stars and the solar year,<br /> +Of Cæsar's hand and Plato's brain,<br /> +Of Lord Christ's heart and Shakespeare's strain."<br /></p> + +<p>In these lines we have the same thought which appears a few pages +later in prose: "All that Shakespeare says of the king, yonder slip of +a boy that reads in the corner feels to be true of himself." He has +failed in the verse because he has thrown a mystical gloss over a +thought which was <a name='Page_93'></a>stronger in its simplicity; because in the verse he +states an abstraction instead of giving an instance. The same failure +follows him sometimes in prose when he is too conscious of his +machinery.</p> + +<p>Emerson knew that the sense of mystery accompanies the shift of an +absorbed attention to some object which brings the mind back to the +present. "There are times when the cawing of a crow, a weed, a +snowflake, a boy's willow whistle, or a farmer planting in his field +is more suggestive to the mind than the Yosemite gorge or the Vatican +would be in another hour. In like mood, an old verse, or certain +words, gleam with rare significance." At the close of his essay on +History he is trying to make us feel that all history, in so far as we +can know it, is within ourselves, and is in a certain sense +autobiography. He is speaking of the Romans, and he suddenly pretends +to see a lizard on the wall, and proceeds to wonder what the lizard +has to do with the Romans. For this he has been quite properly laughed +at by Dr. Holmes, because he has resorted to an artifice and has +failed to create an illusion. Indeed, Dr. Holmes is somewhere so +irreverent as to remark that a gill of alcohol will bring on a +psychical state very similar to that suggested by Emerson; <a name='Page_94'></a>and Dr. +Holmes is accurately happy in his jest, because alcohol does dislocate +the attention in a thoroughly mystical manner.</p> + +<p>There is throughout Emerson's poetry, as throughout all of the New +England poetry, too much thought, too much argument. Some of his verse +gives the reader a very curious and subtle impression that the lines +are a translation. This is because he is closely following a thesis. +Indeed, the lines are a translation. They were thought first, and +poetry afterwards. Read off his poetry, and you see through the scheme +of it at once. Read his prose, and you will be put to it to make out +the connection of ideas. The reason is that in the poetry the sequence +is intellectual, in the prose the sequence is emotional. It is no mere +epigram to say that his poetry is governed by the ordinary laws of +prose writing, and his prose by the laws of poetry.</p> + +<p>The lines entitled Days have a dramatic vigor, a mystery, and a music +all their own:—</p> + +<p class="poem">"Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,<br /> +Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,<br /> +And marching single in an endless file,<br /> +Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.<br /> +To each they offer gifts after his will,<br /> +Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.<br /> +I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp,<br /><a name='Page_95'></a> +Forgot my morning wishes, hastily<br /> +Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day<br /> +Turned and departed silent. I, too late,<br /> +Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn."</p> + +<p>The prose version of these lines, which in this case is inferior, is +to be found in Works and Days: "He only is rich who owns the day.... +They come and go like muffled and veiled figures, sent from a distant +friendly party; but they say nothing, and if we do not use the gifts +they bring, they carry them as silently away."</p> + +<p>That Emerson had within him the soul of a poet no one will question, +but his poems are expressed in prose forms. There are passages in his +early addresses which can be matched in English only by bits from Sir +Thomas Browne or Milton, or from the great poets. Heine might have +written the following parable into verse, but it could not have been +finer. It comes from the very bottom of Emerson's nature. It is his +uttermost. Infancy and manhood and old age, the first and the last of +him, speak in it.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Every god is there sitting in his sphere. The young mortal enters + the hall of the firmament; there is he alone with them alone, they + pouring on him benedictions and gifts, and <a name='Page_96'></a>beckoning him up to their + thrones. On the instant, and incessantly, fall snowstorms of + illusions. He fancies himself in a vast crowd which sways this way + and that, and whose movements and doings he must obey; he fancies + himself poor, orphaned, insignificant. The mad crowd drives hither + and thither, now furiously commanding this thing to be done, now + that. What is he that he should resist their will, and think or act + for himself? Every moment new changes and new showers of deceptions + to baffle and distract him. And when, by and by, for an instant, the + air clears and the cloud lifts a little, there are the gods still + sitting around him on their thrones,—they alone with him alone."</p></div> + +<p>With the war closes the colonial period of our history, and with the +end of the war begins our national life. Before that time it was not +possible for any man to speak for the nation, however much he might +long to, for there was no nation; there were only discordant provinces +held together by the exercise on the part of each of a strong and +conscientious will. It is too much to expect that national character +shall be expressed before it is developed, or that the arts shall +flourish during a period when everybody is <a name='Page_97'></a>preoccupied with the fear +of revolution. The provincial note which runs through all our +literature down to the war resulted in one sense from our dependence +upon Europe. "All American manners, language, and writings," says +Emerson, "are derivative. We do not write from facts, but we wish to +state the facts after the English manner. It is the tax we pay for the +splendid inheritance of English Literature." But in a deeper sense +this very dependence upon Europe was due to our disunion among +ourselves. The equivocal and unhappy self-assertive patriotism to +which we were consigned by fate, and which made us perceive and resent +the condescension of foreigners, was the logical outcome of our +political situation.</p> + +<p>The literature of the Northern States before the war, although full of +talent, lacks body, lacks courage. It has not a full national tone. +The South is not in it. New England's share in this literature is so +large that small injustice will be done if we give her credit for all +of it. She was the Academy of the land, and her scholars were our +authors. The country at large has sometimes been annoyed at the +self-consciousness of New England, at the atmosphere of clique, of +mutual admiration, of isolation, in which all her scholars, except +<a name='Page_98'></a>Emerson, have lived, and which notably enveloped the last little +distinguished group of them. The circumstances which led to the +isolation of Lowell, Holmes, Longfellow, and the Saturday Club +fraternity are instructive. The ravages of the war carried off the +poets, scholars, and philosophers of the generation which immediately +followed these men, and by destroying their natural successors left +them standing magnified beyond their natural size, like a grove of +trees left by a fire. The war did more than kill off a generation of +scholars who would have succeeded these older scholars. It emptied the +universities by calling all the survivors into the field of practical +life; and after the war ensued a period during which all the learning +of the land was lodged in the heads of these older worthies who had +made their mark long before. A certain complacency which piqued the +country at large was seen in these men. An ante-bellum colonial +posing, inevitable in their own day, survived with them. When Jared +Sparks put Washington in the proper attitude for greatness by +correcting his spelling, Sparks was in cue with the times. It was +thought that a great man must have his hat handed to him by his +biographer, and be ushered on with decency toward posterity. <a name='Page_99'></a>In the +lives and letters of some of our recent public men there has been a +reminiscence of this posing, which we condemn as absurd because we +forget it is merely archaic. Provincial manners are always a little +formal, and the pomposity of the colonial governor was never quite +worked out of our literary men.</p> + +<p>Let us not disparage the past. We are all grateful for the New England +culture, and especially for the little group of men in Cambridge and +Boston who did their best according to the light of their day. Their +purpose and taste did all that high ideals and good taste can do, and +no more eminent literati have lived during this century. They gave the +country songs, narrative poems, odes, epigrams, essays, novels. They +chose their models well, and drew their materials from decent and +likely sources. They lived stainless lives, and died in their +professors' chairs honored by all men. For achievements of this sort +we need hardly use as strong language as Emerson does in describing +contemporary literature: "It exhibits a vast carcass of tradition +every year with as much solemnity as a new revelation."</p> + +<p>The mass and volume of literature must always be traditional, and the +secondary writers <a name='Page_100'></a>of the world do nevertheless perform a function of +infinite consequence in the spread of thought. A very large amount of +first-hand thinking is not comprehensible to the average man until it +has been distilled and is fifty years old. The men who welcome new +learning as it arrives are the picked men, the minor poets of the next +age. To their own times these secondary men often seem great because +they are recognized and understood at once. We know the disadvantage +under which these Humanists of ours worked. The shadow of the time in +which they wrote hangs over us still. The conservatism and timidity of +our politics and of our literature to-day are due in part to that +fearful pressure which for sixty years was never lifted from the souls +of Americans. That conservatism and timidity may be seen in all our +past. They are in the rhetoric of Webster and in the style of +Hawthorne. They killed Poe. They created Bryant.</p> + +<p>Since the close of our most blessed war, we have been left to face the +problems of democracy, unhampered by the terrible complications of +sectional strife. It has happened, however, that some of the +tendencies of our commercial civilization go toward strengthening and +riveting upon us <a name='Page_101'></a>the very traits encouraged by provincial disunion. +Wendell Phillips, with a cool grasp of understanding for which he is +not generally given credit, states the case as follows:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"The general judgment is that the freest possible government produces + the freest possible men and women, the most individual, the least + servile to the judgment of others. But a moment's reflection will + show any man that this is an unreasonable expectation, and that, on + the contrary, entire equality and freedom in political forms almost + invariably tend to make the individual subside into the mass and lose + his identity in the general whole. Suppose we stood in England + to-night. There is the nobility, and here is the church. There is the + trading class, and here is the literary. A broad gulf separates the + four; and provided a member of either can conciliate his own section, + he can afford in a very large measure to despise the opinions of the + other three. He has to some extent a refuge and a breakwater against + the tyranny of what we call public opinion. But in a country like + ours, of absolute democratic equality, public opinion is not only + omnipotent, it is omnipresent. There is no refuge from its tyranny, + there is no hiding from its reach; and the <a name='Page_102'></a>result is that if you + take the old Greek lantern and go about to seek among a hundred, you + will find not one single American who has not, or who does not fancy + at least that he has, something to gain or lose in his ambition, his + social life, or his business, from the good opinion and the votes of + those around him. And the consequence is that instead of being a mass + of individuals, each one fearlessly blurting out his own convictions, + as a nation, compared to other nations, we are a mass of cowards. + More than all other people, we are afraid of each other."</p></div> + +<p>If we take a bird's-eye view of our history, we shall find that this +constant element of democratic pressure has always been so strong a +factor in moulding the character of our citizens, that there is less +difference than we could wish to see between the types of citizenship +produced before the war and after the war.</p> + +<p>Charles Pollen, that excellent and worthy German who came to this +country while still a young man and who lived in the midst of the +social and intellectual life of Boston, felt the want of intellectual +freedom in the people about him. If one were obliged to describe the +America of to-day in a single sentence, one could hardly do it better +than by a <a name='Page_103'></a>sentence from a letter of Follen to Harriet Martineau +written in 1837, after the appearance of one of her books: "You have +pointed out the two most striking national characteristics, +'Deficiency of individual moral independence and extraordinary mutual +respect and kindness.'"</p> + +<p>Much of what Emerson wrote about the United States in 1850 is true of +the United States to-day. It would be hard to find a civilized people +who are more timid, more cowed in spirit, more illiberal, than we. It +is easy to-day for the educated man who has read Bryce and Tocqueville +to account for the mediocrity of American literature. The merit of +Emerson was that he felt the atmospheric pressure without knowing its +reason. He felt he was a cabined, cribbed, confined creature, although +every man about him was celebrating Liberty and Democracy, and every +day was Fourth of July. He taxes language to its limits in order to +express his revolt. He says that no man should write except what he +has discovered in the process of satisfying his own curiosity, and +that every man will write well in proportion as he has contempt for +the public.</p> + +<p>Emerson seems really to have believed that if any man would only +resolutely be himself, <a name='Page_104'></a>he would turn out to be as great as +Shakespeare. He will not have it that anything of value can be +monopolized. His review of the world, whether under the title of +Manners, Self-Reliance, Fate, Experience, or what-not, leads him to +the same thought. His conclusion is always the finding of eloquence, +courage, art, intellect, in the breast of the humblest reader. He +knows that we are full of genius and surrounded by genius, and that we +have only to throw something off, not to acquire any new thing, in +order to be bards, prophets, Napoleons, and Goethes. This belief is +the secret of his stimulating power. It is this which gives his +writings a radiance like that which shone from his personality.</p> + +<p>The deep truth shadowed forth by Emerson when he said that "all the +American geniuses lacked nerve and dagger" was illustrated by our best +scholar. Lowell had the soul of the Yankee, but in his habits of +writing he continued English tradition. His literary essays are full +of charm. The Commemoration Ode is the high-water mark of the attempt +to do the impossible. It is a fine thing, but it is imitative and +secondary. It has paid the inheritance tax. Twice, however, at a +crisis of pressure, Lowell assumed his real self under the guise of a +pseudonym; and with his <a name='Page_105'></a>own hand he rescued a language, a type, a +whole era of civilization from oblivion. Here gleams the dagger and +here is Lowell revealed. His limitations as a poet, his too much wit, +his too much morality, his mixture of shrewdness and religion, are +seen to be the very elements of power. The novelty of the Biglow +Papers is as wonderful as their world-old naturalness. They take rank +with greatness, and they were the strongest political tracts of their +time. They imitate nothing; they are real.</p> + +<p>Emerson himself was the only man of his times who consistently and +utterly expressed himself, never measuring himself for a moment with +the ideals of others, never troubling himself for a moment with what +literature was or how literature should be created. The other men of +his epoch, and among whom he lived, believed that literature was a +very desirable article, a thing you could create if you were only +smart enough. But Emerson had no literary ambition. He cared nothing +for belles-lettres. The consequence is that he stands above his age +like a colossus. While he lived his figure could be seen from Europe +towering like Atlas over the culture of the United States.</p> + +<p>Great men are not always like wax which <a name='Page_106'></a>their age imprints. They are +often the mere negation and opposite of their age. They give it the +lie. They become by revolt the very essence of all the age is not, and +that part of the spirit which is suppressed in ten thousand breasts +gets lodged, isolated, and breaks into utterance in one. Through +Emerson spoke the fractional spirits of a multitude. He had not time, +he had not energy left over to understand himself; he was a +mouthpiece.</p> + +<p>If a soul be taken and crushed by democracy till it utter a cry, that +cry will be Emerson. The region of thought he lived in, the figures of +speech he uses, are of an intellectual plane so high that the +circumstances which produced them may be forgotten; they are +indifferent. The Constitution, Slavery, the War itself, are seen as +mere circumstances. They did not confuse him while he lived; they are +not necessary to support his work now that it is finished. Hence comes +it that Emerson is one of the world's voices. He was heard afar off. +His foreign influence might deserve a chapter by itself. Conservatism +is not confined to this country. It is the very basis of all +government. The bolts Emerson forged, his thought, his wit, his +perception, are not provincial. They were found <a name='Page_107'></a>to carry inspiration +to England and Germany. Many of the important men of the last +half-century owe him a debt. It is not yet possible to give any +account of his influence abroad, because the memoirs which will show +it are only beginning to be published. We shall have them in due time; +for Emerson was an outcome of the world's progress. His appearance +marks the turning-point in the history of that enthusiasm for pure +democracy which has tinged the political thought of the world for the +past one hundred and fifty years. The youths of England and Germany +may have been surprised at hearing from America a piercing voice of +protest against the very influences which were crushing them at home. +They could not realize that the chief difference between Europe and +America is a difference in the rate of speed with which revolutions in +thought are worked out.</p> + +<p>While the radicals of Europe were revolting in 1848 against the abuses +of a tyranny whose roots were in feudalism, Emerson, the great radical +of America, the arch-radical of the world, was revolting against the +evils whose roots were in universal suffrage. By showing the identity +in essence of all tyranny, and by bringing back the attention of +political <a name='Page_108'></a>thinkers to its starting-point, the value of human +character, he has advanced the political thought of the world by one +step. He has pointed out for us in this country to what end our +efforts must be bent.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<a name='Page_111'></a><h2>WALT WHITMAN</h2> +<br /> + +<p>It would be an ill turn for an essay-writer to destroy Walt +Whitman,—for he was discovered by the essayists, and but for them his +notoriety would have been postponed for fifty years. He is the mare's +nest of "American Literature," and scarce a contributor to The +Saturday Review but has at one time or another raised a flag over him.</p> + +<p>The history of these chronic discoveries of Whitman as a poet, as a +force, as a something or a somebody, would write up into the best +possible monograph on the incompetency of the Anglo-Saxon in matters +of criticism.</p> + +<p>English literature is the literature of genius, and the Englishman is +the great creator. His work outshines the genius of Greece. His wealth +outvalues the combined wealth of all modern Europe. The English mind +is the only unconscious mind the world has ever seen. And for this +reason the English mind is incapable of criticism.</p> + +<p><a name='Page_112'></a>There has never been an English critic of the first rank, hardly a +critic of any rank; and the critical work of England consists either +of an academical bandying of a few old canons and shibboleths out of +Horace or Aristotle, or else of the merest impressionism, and wordy +struggle to convey the sentiment awakened by the thing studied.</p> + +<p>Now, true criticism means an attempt to find out what something is, +not for the purpose of judging it, or of imitating it, nor for the +purpose of illustrating something else, nor for any other ulterior +purpose whatever.</p> + +<p>The so-called canons of criticism are of about as much service to a +student of literature as the Nicene Creed and the Lord's Prayer are to +the student of church history. They are a part of his subject, of +course, but if he insists upon using them as a tape measure and a +divining-rod he will produce a judgment of no possible value to any +one, and interesting only as a record of a most complex state of mind.</p> + +<p>The educated gentlemen of England have surveyed literature with these +time-honored old instruments, and hordes of them long ago rushed to +America with their theodolites and their quadrants in their hands. +They sized us up and they sized us down, and <a name='Page_113'></a>they never could find +greatness in literature among us till Walt Whitman appeared and +satisfied the astrologers.</p> + +<p>Here was a comet, a man of the people, a new man, who spoke no known +language, who was very uncouth and insulting, who proclaimed himself a +"barbaric yawp," and who corresponded to the English imagination with +the unpleasant and rampant wildness of everything in America,—with +Mormonism and car factories, steamboat explosions, strikes, +repudiation, and whiskey; whose form violated every one of their minor +canons as America violated every one of their social ideas.</p> + +<p>Then, too, Whitman arose out of the war, as Shakespeare arose out of +the destruction of the Armada, as the Greek poets arose out of the +repulse of the Persians. It was impossible, it was unprecedented, that +a national revulsion should not produce national poetry—and lo! here +was Whitman.</p> + +<p>It may safely be said that the discovery of Whitman as a poet caused +many a hard-thinking Oxford man to sleep quietly at night. America was +solved.</p> + +<p>The Englishman travels, but he travels after his mind has been +burnished by the university, and at an age when the best he <a name='Page_114'></a>can do in +the line of thought is to make an intelligent manipulation of the few +notions he leaves home with. He departs an educated gentleman, taking +with him his portmanteau and his ideas. He returns a travelled +gentleman, bringing with him his ideas and his portmanteau. He would +as soon think of getting his coats from Kansas as his thoughts from +travel. And therefore every impression of America which the travelling +Englishman experienced confirmed his theory of Whitman. Even Rudyard +Kipling, who does not in any sense fall under the above description, +has enough Anglo-Saxon blood in him to see in this country only the +fulfilment of the fantastic notions of his childhood.</p> + +<p>But imagine an Oxford man who had eyes in his head, and who should +come to this country, never having heard of Whitman. He would see an +industrious and narrow-minded population, commonplace and monotonous, +so uniform that one man can hardly be distinguished from another, +law-abiding, timid, and traditional; a community where the individual +is suppressed by law, custom, and instinct, and in which, by +consequence, there are few or no great men, even counting those men +thrust by necessary operation <a name='Page_115'></a>of the laws of trade into commercial +prominence, and who claim scientific rather than personal notice.</p> + +<p>The culture of this people, its architecture, letters, drama, etc., he +would find were, of necessity, drawn from European models; and in its +poetry, so far as poetry existed, he would recognize a somewhat feeble +imitation of English poetry. The newspaper verses very fairly +represent the average talent for poetry and average appreciation of +it, and the newspaper verse of the United States is precisely what one +would expect from a decorous and unimaginative +population,—intelligent, conservative, and uninspired.</p> + +<p>Above the newspaper versifiers float the minor poets, and above these +soar the greater poets; and the characteristics of the whole hierarchy +are the same as those of the humblest acolyte,—intelligence, +conservatism, conventional morality.</p> + +<p>Above the atmosphere they live in, above the heads of all the American +poets, and between them and the sky, float the Constitution of the +United States and the traditions and forms of English literature.</p> + +<p>This whole culture is secondary and tertiary, and it truly represents +the respectable <a name='Page_116'></a>mediocrity from which it emanates. Whittier and +Longfellow have been much read in their day,—read by mill-hands and +clerks and school-teachers, by lawyers and doctors and divines, by the +reading classes of the republic, whose ideals they truly spoke for, +whose yearnings and spiritual life they truly expressed.</p> + +<p>Now, the Oxford traveller would not have found Whitman at all. He +would never have met a man who had heard of him, nor seen a man like +him.</p> + +<p>The traveller, as he opened his Saturday Review upon his return to +London, and read the current essay on Whitman, would have been faced +by a problem fit to puzzle Montesquieu, a problem to floor Goethe.</p> + +<p>And yet Whitman is representative. He is a real product, he has a real +and most interesting place in the history of literature, and he speaks +for a class and type of human nature whose interest is more than +local, whose prevalence is admitted,—a type which is one of the +products of the civilization of the century, perhaps of all centuries, +and which has a positively planetary significance.</p> + +<p>There are, in every country, individuals who, after a sincere attempt +to take a place in organized society, revolt from the drudgery <a name='Page_117'></a>of it, +content themselves with the simplest satisfactions of the grossest +need of nature, so far as subsistence is concerned, and rediscover the +infinite pleasures of life in the open air.</p> + +<p>If the roadside, the sky, the distant town, the soft buffeting of the +winds of heaven, are a joy to the aesthetic part of man, the freedom +from all responsibility and accountability is Nirvana to his moral +nature. A man who has once tasted these two joys together, the joy of +being in the open air and the joy of being disreputable and unashamed, +has touched an experience which the most close-knit and determined +nature might well dread. Life has no terrors for such a man. Society +has no hold on him. The trifling inconveniences of the mode of life +are as nothing compared with its satisfactions. The worm that never +dies is dead in him. The great mystery of consciousness and of effort +is quietly dissolved into the vacant happiness of sensation,—not base +sensation, but the sensation of the dawn and the sunset, of the mart +and the theatre, and the stars, the panorama of the universe.</p> + +<p>To the moral man, to the philosopher or the business man, to any one +who is a cog in the wheel of some republic, all these <a name='Page_118'></a>things exist +for the sake of something else. He must explain or make use of them, +or define his relation to them. He spends the whole agony of his +existence in an endeavor to docket them and deal with them. Hampered +as he is by all that has been said and done before, he yet feels +himself driven on to summarize, and wreak himself upon the impossible +task of grasping this cosmos with his mind, of holding it in his hand, +of subordinating it to his purpose.</p> + +<p>The tramp is freed from all this. By an act as simple as death, he has +put off effort and lives in peace.</p> + +<p>It is no wonder that every country in Europe shows myriads of these +men, as it shows myriads of suicides annually. It is no wonder, though +the sociologists have been late in noting it, that specimens of the +type are strikingly identical in feature in every country of the +globe.</p> + +<p>The habits, the physique, the tone of mind, even the sign-language and +some of the catch-words, of tramps are the same everywhere. The men +are not natally out-casts. They have always tried civilized life. +Their early training, at least their early attitude of mind towards +life, has generally been respectable. That they should be criminally +<a name='Page_119'></a>inclined goes without saying, because their minds have been freed +from the sanctions which enforce law. But their general innocence is, +under the circumstances, very remarkable, and distinguishes them from +the criminal classes.</p> + +<p>When we see one of these men sitting on a gate, or sauntering down a +city street, how often have we wondered how life appeared to him; what +solace and what problems it presented. How often have we longed to +know the history of such a soul, told, not by the police-blotter, but +by the poet or novelist in the heart of the man!</p> + +<p>Walt Whitman has given utterance to the soul of the tramp. A man of +genius has passed sincerely and normally through this entire +experience, himself unconscious of what he was, and has left a record +of it to enlighten and bewilder the literary world.</p> + +<p>In Whitman's works the elemental parts of a man's mind and the +fragments of imperfect education may be seen merging together, +floating and sinking in a sea of insensate egotism and rhapsody, +repellent, divine, disgusting, extraordinary.</p> + +<p>Our inability to place the man intellectually, and find a type and +reason for his <a name='Page_120'></a>intellectual state, comes from this: that the revolt +he represents is not an intellectual revolt. Ideas are not at the +bottom of it. It is a revolt from drudgery. It is the revolt of +laziness.</p> + +<p>There is no intellectual coherence in his talk, but merely +pathological coherence. Can the insulting jumble of ignorance and +effrontery, of scientific phrase and French paraphrase, of slang and +inspired adjective, which he puts forward with the pretence that it +represents thought, be regarded, from any possible point of view, as a +philosophy, or a system, or a belief? Is it individualism of any +statable kind? Do the thoughts and phrases which float about in it +have a meaning which bears any relation to the meaning they bear in +the language of thinkers? Certainly not. Does all the patriotic talk, +the talk about the United States and its future, have any significance +as patriotism? Does it poetically represent the state of feeling of +any class of American citizens towards their country? Or would you +find the nearest equivalent to this emotion in the breast of the +educated tramp of France, or Germany, or England? The speech of +Whitman is English, and his metaphors and catch-words are apparently +American, but the emotional <a name='Page_121'></a>content is cosmic. He put off patriotism +when he took to the road.</p> + +<p>The attraction exercised by his writings is due to their flashes of +reality. Of course the man was a poseur, a most horrid mountebank and +ego-maniac. His tawdry scraps of misused idea, of literary smartness, +of dog-eared and greasy reminiscence, repel us. The world of men +remained for him as his audience, and he did to civilized society the +continuous compliment of an insane self-consciousness in its presence.</p> + +<p>Perhaps this egotism and posturing is the revenge of a stilled +conscience, and we ought to read in it the inversion of the social +instincts. Perhaps all tramps are poseurs. But there is this to be +said for Whitman, that whether or not his posing was an accident of a +personal nature, or an organic result of his life, he was himself an +authentic creature. He did not sit in a study and throw off his saga +of balderdash, but he lived a life, and it is by his authenticity, and +not by his poses, that he has survived.</p> + +<p>The descriptions of nature, the visual observation of life, are +first-hand and wonderful. It was no false light that led the Oxonians +to call some of his phrases Homeric. The pundits were right in their +curiosity over <a name='Page_122'></a>him; they went astray only in their attempt at +classification.</p> + +<p>It is a pity that truth and beauty turn to cant on the second +delivery, for it makes poetry, as a profession, impossible. The lyric +poets have always spent most of their time in trying to write lyric +poetry, and the very attempt disqualifies them.</p> + +<p>A poet who discovers his mission is already half done for; and even +Wordsworth, great genius though he was, succeeded in half drowning his +talents in his parochial theories, in his own self-consciousness and +self-conceit.</p> + +<p>Walt Whitman thought he had a mission. He was a professional poet. He +had purposes and theories about poetry which he started out to enforce +and illustrate. He is as didactic as Wordsworth, and is thinking of +himself the whole time. He belonged, moreover, to that class of +professionals who are always particularly self-centred, autocratic, +vain, and florid,—the class of quacks. There are, throughout society, +men, and they are generally men of unusual natural powers, who, after +gaining a little unassimilated education, launch out for themselves +and set up as authorities on their own account. They are, perhaps, the +successors of the old <a name='Page_123'></a>astrologers, in that what they seek to +establish is some personal professorship or predominance. The old +occultism and mystery was resorted to as the most obvious device for +increasing the personal importance of the magician; and the chief +difference to-day between a regular physician and a quack is, that the +quack pretends to know it all.</p> + +<p>Brigham Young and Joseph Smith were men of phenomenal capacity, who +actually invented a religion and created a community by the apparent +establishment of supernatural and occult powers. The phrenologists, +the venders of patent medicine, the Christian Scientists, the +single-taxers, and all who proclaim panaceas and nostrums make the +same majestic and pontifical appeal to human nature. It is this +mystical power, this religious element, which floats them, sells the +drugs, cures the sick, and packs the meetings.</p> + +<p>By temperament and education Walt Whitman was fitted to be a prophet +of this kind. He became a quack poet, and hampered his talents by the +imposition of a monstrous parade of rattletrap theories and +professions. If he had not been endowed with a perfectly marvellous +capacity, a wealth of nature beyond the reach and plumb of his +rodomontade, <a name='Page_124'></a>he would have been ruined from the start. As it is, he +has filled his work with grimace and vulgarity. He writes a few lines +of epic directness and cyclopean vigor and naturalness, and then +obtrudes himself and his mission.</p> + +<p>He has the bad taste bred in the bone of all missionaries and +palmists, the sign-manual of a true quack. This bad taste is nothing +more than the offensive intrusion of himself and his mission into the +matter in hand. As for his real merits and his true mission, too much +can hardly be said in his favor. The field of his experience was +narrow, and not in the least intellectual. It was narrow because of +his isolation from human life. A poet like Browning, or Heine, or +Alfred de Musset deals constantly with the problems and struggles that +arise in civilized life out of the close relationships, the ties, the +duties and desires of the human heart. He explains life on its social +side. He gives us some more or less coherent view of an infinitely +complicated matter. He is a guide-book or a note-book, a highly +trained and intelligent companion.</p> + +<p>Walt Whitman has no interest in any of these things. He was +fortunately so very ignorant and untrained that his mind was <a name='Page_125'></a>utterly +incoherent and unintellectual. His mind seems to be submerged and to +have become almost a part of his body. The utter lack of concentration +which resulted from living his whole life in the open air has left him +spontaneous and unaccountable. And the great value of his work is, +that it represents the spontaneous and unaccountable functioning of +the mind and body in health.</p> + +<p>It is doubtful whether a man ever enjoyed life more intensely than +Walt Whitman, or expressed the physical joy of mere living more +completely. He is robust, all tingling with health and the sensations +of health. All that is best in his poetry is the expression of bodily +well-being.</p> + +<p>A man who leaves his office and gets into a canoe on a Canadian river, +sure of ten days' release from the cares of business and housekeeping, +has a thrill of joy such as Walt Whitman has here and there thrown +into his poetry. One might say that to have done this is the greatest +accomplishment in literature. Walt Whitman, in some of his lines, +breaks the frame of poetry and gives us life in the throb.</p> + +<p>It is the throb of the whole physical system of a man who breathes the +open air and feels the sky over him. "When lilacs last <a name='Page_126'></a>in the +dooryard bloomed" is a great lyric. Here is a whole poem without a +trace of self-consciousness. It is little more than a description of +nature. The allusions to Lincoln and to the funeral are but a word or +two—merest suggestions of the tragedy. But grief, overwhelming grief, +is in every line of it, the grief which has been transmuted into this +sensitiveness to the landscape, to the song of the thrush, to the +lilac's bloom, and the sunset.</p> + +<p>Here is truth to life of the kind to be found in King Lear or Guy +Mannering, in Æschylus or Burns.</p> + +<p>Walt Whitman himself could not have told you why the poem was good. +Had he had any intimation of the true reason, he would have spoiled +the poem. The recurrence and antiphony of the thrush, the lilac, the +thought of death, the beauty of nature, are in a balance and dream of +natural symmetry such as no cunning could come at, no conscious art +could do other than spoil.</p> + +<p>It is ungrateful to note Whitman's limitations, his lack of human +passion, the falseness of many of his notions about the American +people. The man knew the world merely as an observer, he was never a +living part of it, and no mere observer can understand <a name='Page_127'></a>the life about +him. Even his work during the war was mainly the work of an observer, +and his poems and notes upon the period are picturesque. As to his +talk about comrades and Manhattanese car-drivers, and brass-founders +displaying their brawny arms round each other's brawny necks, all this +gush and sentiment in Whitman's poetry is false to life. It has a +lyrical value, as representing Whitman's personal feelings, but no one +else in the country was ever found who felt or acted like this.</p> + +<p>In fact, in all that concerns the human relations Walt Whitman is as +unreal as, let us say, William Morris, and the American mechanic would +probably prefer Sigurd the Volsung, and understand it better than +Whitman's poetry.</p> + +<p>This falseness to the sentiment of the American is interwoven with +such wonderful descriptions of American sights and scenery, of +ferryboats, thoroughfares, cataracts, and machine-shops that it is not +strange the foreigners should have accepted the gospel.</p> + +<p>On the whole, Whitman, though he solves none of the problems of life +and throws no light on American civilization, is a delightful +appearance, and a strange creature to <a name='Page_128'></a>come out of our beehive. This +man committed every unpardonable sin against our conventions, and his +whole life was an outrage. He was neither chaste, nor industrious, nor +religious. He patiently lived upon cold pie and tramped the earth in +triumph.</p> + +<p>He did really live the life he liked to live, in defiance of all men, +and this is a great desert, a most stirring merit. And he gave, in his +writings, a true picture of himself and of that life,—a picture which +the world had never seen before, and which it is probable the world +will not soon cease to wonder at.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<a name='Page_131'></a><h2>A STUDY OF ROMEO</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The plays of Shakespeare marshal themselves in the beyond. They stand +in a place outside of our deduction. Their cosmos is greater than our +philosophy. They are like the forces of nature and the operations of +life in the vivid world about us. We may measure our intellectual +growth by the new horizons we see opening within them. So long as they +continue to live and change, to expand and deepen, to be filled with +new harmony and new suggestion, we may rest content; we are still +growing. At the moment we think we have comprehended them, at the +moment we see them as stationary things, we may be sure something is +wrong; we are beginning to petrify. Our fresh interest in life has +been arrested. There is, therefore, danger in an attempt to "size up" +Shakespeare. We cannot help setting down as a coxcomb any man who has +done it to his own satisfaction. He has pigeon-holed himself. He will +not get lost. If <a name='Page_132'></a>you want him, you can lay your hand on him. He has +written an autobiography. He has "sized up" himself.</p> + +<p>In writing about Shakespeare, it is excusable to put off the armor of +criticism, and speak in a fragmentary and inconclusive manner, lest by +giving way to conviction, by encouraging ourselves into positive +beliefs, we hasten the inevitable and grow old before our time.</p> + +<p>Perhaps some such apology is needed to introduce the observations on +the character of Romeo which are here thrown together, and the remarks +about the play itself, the acting, and the text.</p> + +<p>It is believed by some scholars that in the second quarto edition of +Romeo and Juliet, published in 1599, Shakespeare's revising hand can +be seen, and that the differences between the first and second +editions show the amendments, additions, and corrections with which +Shakespeare saw fit to embellish his work in preparing it for the +press. If this were actually the case; if we could lay the two texts +on the table before us, convinced that one of them was Shakespeare's +draft or acting copy, and the other Shakespeare's finished work; and +if, by comparing <a name='Page_133'></a>the two, we could enter into the workshop and forge +of his mind,—it would seem as if we had at last found an avenue of +approach towards this great personality, this intellect the most +powerful that has ever illumined human life. No other literary inquiry +could compare in interest with such a study as this; for the relation +which Shakespeare himself bore to the plays he created is one of the +mysteries and blank places in history, a gap that staggers the mind +and which imagination cannot overleap.</p> + +<p>The student who examines both texts will be apt to conclude that the +second is by no means a revised edition of the first, but that +(according to another theory) the first is a pirated edition of the +play, stolen by the printer, and probably obtained by means of a +reporter who took down the lines as they were spoken on the stage. The +stage directions in the first edition are not properly the stage +directions of a dramatist as to what should be done on the stage, but +seem rather the records of an eye-witness as to what he saw happen on +the stage. The mistakes of the reporter (or the perversions of the +actors) as seen in the first edition generally injure the play; and it +was from this circumstance—the frequency of blotches in the first +edition—that <a name='Page_134'></a>the idea gained currency that the second edition was an +example of Shakespeare's never-failing tact in bettering his own +lines.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, after all, it would little advance our understanding of the +plays, or solve the essential puzzle,—that they actually had an +author,—if we could follow every stroke of his revising pen. We +should observe, no doubt, refinement of characterization, changes of +stage effect, the addition of flourishes and beauties; but their +origin and true meaning, the secret of their life, would be as safe as +it is at present, as securely lost in the midst of all this +demonstration as the manuscripts themselves were in the destruction of +the Globe Theatre.</p> + +<p>If we must then abandon the hope of seeing Shakespeare in his +workshop, we may, nevertheless, obtain from the pirated text some +notion of the manner in which Shakespeare was staged in his own day, +and of how he fared at the hands of the early actors. Romeo and Juliet +is an exceptionally difficult play to act, and the difficulties seem +to have been about the same in Shakespeare's time as they are to-day. +They are, in fact, inherent in the structure of the work itself.</p> + +<p>As artists advance in life, they develop, <a name='Page_135'></a>by growing familiar with +the conditions of their art, the power of concealing its +limitations,—a faculty in which even the greatest artists are often +deficient in their early years. There is an anecdote of Schumann which +somewhat crudely illustrates this. It is said that in one of his early +symphonies he introduced a passage leading up to a climax, at which +the horns were to take up the aria in triumph. At the rehearsal, when +the moment came for the horns to trumpet forth their message of +victory, there was heard a sort of smothered braying which made +everybody laugh. The composer had arranged his climax so that it fell +upon a note which the horns could not sound except with closed stops. +The passage had to be rewritten. The young painter is frequently found +struggling with subjects, with effects of light, which are almost +impossible to render, and which perhaps an older man would not +attempt. It is not surprising to find among the early works of +Shakespeare that some of the characters, however true to life,—nay, +because true to life,—are almost impossible to be represented on the +stage. Certainly Romeo presents us with a character of the kind.</p> + +<p>Shakespeare's knowledge of human nature <a name='Page_136'></a>seems to have antedated his +knowledge of the stage. In imagining the character of Romeo, a +character to fit the plot of the old story, he took little thought for +his actors. In conjuring up the probabilities which would lead a man +into such a course of conduct as Romeo's, Shakespeare had in his mind +the probabilities and facts in real life rather than the probabilities +demanded by the stage.</p> + +<p>Romeo must be a man almost wholly made up of emotion, a creature very +young, a lyric poet in the intensity of his sensations, a child in his +helplessness beneath the ever-varying currents and whirlpools of his +feeling. He lives in a walking and frenzied dream, comes in contact +with real life only to injure himself and others, and finally drives +with the collected energy of his being into voluntary shipwreck upon +the rocks of the world.</p> + +<p>This man must fall in love at first sight. He must marry +clandestinely. He must be banished for having taken part in a street +fight, and must return to slay himself upon the tomb of his beloved.</p> + +<p>Shakespeare, with his passion for realism, devotes several scenes at +the opening of the play to the explanation of Romeo's state of mind. +He will give us a rationalistic account <a name='Page_137'></a>of love at first sight by +bringing on this young poet in a blind chaos of emotion owing to his +rejection by a woman not otherwise connected with the story. It is +perfectly true that this is the best and perhaps the only explanation +of love at first sight. The effect upon Romeo's very boyish, unreal, +and almost unpleasant lovesickness of the rejection (for which we must +always respect Rosaline) is to throw him, and all the unstable +elements of which he is made, into a giddy whirl, which, after a day +or two, it will require only the glance of a pair of eyes to +precipitate into the very elixir of true love.</p> + +<p>All this is true, but no audience cares about the episode or requires +the explanation. Indeed, it jars upon the sentimental notion of many +persons to this day, and in many stage versions it is avoided.</p> + +<p>These preparatory scenes bring out in a most subtle way the egoism at +the basis of Romeo's character,—the same lyrical egoism that is in +all his language and in all his conduct. When we first see Romeo, he +is already in an uneasy dream. He is wandering, aloof from his friends +and absorbed in himself. On meeting Juliet he passes from his first +dream into a second dream. On <a name='Page_138'></a>learning of the death of Juliet he +passes into still a third and quite different dream,—or stage of +dream,—a stage in which action is necessary, and in which he displays +the calculating intellect of a maniac. The mental abstraction of Romeo +continues even after he has met Juliet. In Capulet's garden, despite +the directness of Juliet, he is still in his reveries. The sacred +wonder of the hour turns all his thoughts, not into love, but into +poetry. Juliet's anxieties are practical. She asks him about his +safety, how he came there, how he expects to escape. He answers in +madrigals. His musings are almost impersonal. The power of the +moonlight is over him, and the power of the scene, of which Juliet is +only a part.</p> + +<p class="poem">"With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;<br /> +For stony limits cannot hold love out,<br /> +And what love can do that dares love attempt;<br /> +Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="poem">Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear<br /> +That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="poem">It is my soul that calls upon my name:<br /> +How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,<br /> +Like softest music to attending ears."</p> +<br /><br /> + +<p>These reflections are almost "asides." They ought hardly to be spoken +aloud. They <a name='Page_139'></a>denote that Romeo is still in his trance. They have, +however, another and unfortunate influence: they retard the action of +the play. As we read the play to ourselves, this accompaniment of +lyrical feeling on Romeo's part does not interfere with our enjoyment. +It seems to accentuate the more direct and human strain of Juliet's +love.</p> + +<p>But on the stage the actor who plays Romeo requires the very highest +powers. While speaking at a distance from Juliet, and in a constrained +position, he must by his voice and gestures convey these subtlest +shades of feeling, throw these garlands of verse into his talk without +interrupting its naturalness, give all the "asides" in such a manner +that the audience feels they are in place, even as the reader does. It +is no wonder that the rôle of Romeo is one of the most difficult in +all Shakespeare. The demands made upon the stage are almost more than +the stage can meet. The truth to nature is of a kind that the stage is +almost powerless to render.</p> + +<p>The character of Romeo cannot hope to be popular. Such pure passion, +such unreasonable giving way, is not easily forgiven in a man. He must +roll on the floor and <a name='Page_140'></a>blubber and kick. There is no getting away from +this. He is not Romeo unless he cries like a baby or a Greek hero. +This is the penalty for being a lyric poet. Had he used his mind more +upon the problems of his love, and less upon its celebration in +petalled phrases, his mind would not have deserted him so lamentably +in the hour of his need. In fact, throughout the play, Romeo, by the +exigencies of the plot, is in fair danger of becoming contemptible. +For one instant only does he rise into respectability,—at the moment +of his quarrel with Tybalt. At this crisis he is stung into life by +the death of Mercutio, and acts like a man. The ranting manner in +which it is customary to give Romeo's words in this passage of the +play shows how far most actors are from understanding the true purport +of the lines; how far from realizing that these few lines are the only +opportunity the actor has of establishing the character of Romeo as a +gentleman, a man of sense and courage, a formidable fellow, not unfit +to be the hero of a play:—</p> + +<p class="poem">"Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!<br /> +Away to heaven, respective lenity,<br /> +And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!<br /> +Now, Tybalt, take the 'villain' back again<br /> +That late thou gay'st me;—for Mercutio's soul<br /><a name='Page_141'></a> +Is but a little way above our heads,<br /> +Staying for thine to keep him company:<br /> +Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him."<br /></p> + +<p>The first three lines are spoken by Romeo to himself. They are a +reflection, not a declamation,—a reflection upon which he instantly +acts. He assumes the calmness of a man of his rank who is about to +fight. More than this, Romeo, the man of words and moods, when once +roused, as we shall see later, in a worser cause,—when once pledged +to action,—Romeo shines with a sort of fatalistic spiritual power. He +is now visibly dedicated to this quarrel. We feel sure that he will +kill Tybalt in the encounter. The appeal to the supernatural is in his +very gesture. The audience—nay, Tybalt himself—gazes with awe on +this sudden apparition of Romeo as a man of action.</p> + +<p>This highly satisfactory conduct is soon swept away by his behavior on +hearing the news of his banishment. The boy seems to be without much +stamina, after all. He is a pitiable object, and does not deserve the +love of fair lady.</p> + +<p>At Mantua the tide of his feelings has turned again, and by one of +those natural <a name='Page_142'></a>reactions which he himself takes note of he wakes up +unaccountably happy, "and all this day an unaccustom'd spirit lifts +him above the ground with cheerful thoughts." It is the lightning +before the thunderbolt.</p> + +<p class="poem">"Her body sleeps to Capel's monument,<br /> +And her immortal part with angels lives.<br /> +I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,<br /> +And presently took post to tell it you."<br /></p> + +<p>Balthasar makes no attempt to break the news gently. The blow descends +on Romeo when he least expects it. He is not spared. The conduct of +Romeo on hearing of Juliet's death is so close to nature as to be +nature itself, yet it happens to be conduct almost impossible to be +given on the stage. <i>He does nothing.</i> He is stunned. He collapses. +For fully five minutes he does not speak, and yet in these five +minutes he must show to the audience that his nature has been shaken +to its foundations. The delirium of miraculously beautiful poetry is +broken. His words are gone. His emotion is paralyzed, but his mind is +alert. He seems suddenly to be grown up,—a man, and not a boy,—and a +man of action. "Is it even so?" is all he says. He orders post-horses, +ink and paper, in a few rapid sentences; it <a name='Page_143'></a>is evident that before +speaking at all he has determined what he will do, and from now on to +the end of the play Romeo is different from his old self, for a new +Romeo has appeared. He is in a state of intense and calm exultation. +All his fluctuating emotions have been stilled or stunned. He gives +his orders in staccato. We feel that he knows what he is going to do, +and will certainly accomplish it. Meanwhile his mind is dominant. It +is preternaturally active. His "asides," which before were lyrical, +now become the comments of an acute intellect. His vivid and +microscopic recollection of the apothecary shop, his philosophical +bantering with the apothecary, his sudden violence to Balthasar at the +entrance to the tomb, and his as sudden friendliness, his words and +conflict with Paris, whom he kills incidentally, absent-mindedly, and, +as it were, with his left hand, without malice and without +remorse,—all these things show an intellect working at high pressure, +while the spirit of the man is absorbed in another and more important +matter.</p> + +<p>There is a certain state of mind in which the will to do is so soon +followed by the act itself that one may say the act is automatic. The +thought has already begun to be executed <a name='Page_144'></a>even while it is being +formed. This occurs especially where the intent is to do some horrid +deed which requires preparation, firmness of purpose, ingenuity, and, +above all, external calmness.</p> + +<p class="poem">"Between the acting of a dreadful thing<br /> +And the first motion, all the interim is<br /> +Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream.<br /> +The genius and the mortal instruments<br /> +Are then in council; and the state of man,<br /> +Like to a little kingdom, suffers then<br /> +The nature of an insurrection."<br /></p> + +<p>This is the phase through which Romeo is passing on the way from +Mantua to Verona. His own words give us a picture of him during that +ride:—</p> + +<p class="poem">"What said my man when my betossed soul<br /> +Did not attend him as we rode?"<br /></p> + +<p>He has come like an arrow, his mind closed to the external world, +himself in the blind clutch of his own deadly purpose, driving on +towards its fulfilment. Only at the end, when he stands before the +bier of Juliet, sure of his will, beyond the reach of hindrance, alone +for the first time,—only then is his spirit released in floods of +eloquence; then does his triumphant purpose break into speech, and his +words soar up like the flames <a name='Page_145'></a>of a great bonfire of precious incense +streaming upward in exultation and in happiness.</p> + +<p>The whole course of these last scenes of Romeo's life, which are +scarcely longer than this description of them, is in the highest +degree naturalistic; but the scenes are in the nature of things so +difficult to present on the stage as to be fairly impossible. The very +long, the very minute description of the apothecary's shop, given by a +man whose heart has stopped beating, but whose mind is at work more +actively and more accurately than it has ever worked before, is a +thing highly sane as to its words. It must be done quietly, rapidly, +and yet the impression must be created, which is created upon +Balthasar, that Romeo is not in his right mind. A friend seeing him +would cross the street to ask what was the matter.</p> + +<p>The whole character of Romeo, from the beginning, has been imagined +with reference to this self-destroying consummation. From his first +speech we might have suspected that something destructive would come +out of this man.</p> + +<p>There is a type of highly organized being, not well fitted for this +world, whose practical activities are drowned in a sea of feeling. +Egoists by their constitution, they become <a name='Page_146'></a>dangerous beings when +vexed, cornered, or thwarted by society. Their fine energies have had +no training in the painful constructive processes of civilization. +Their first instincts, when goaded into activity, are instincts of +destruction. They know no compromise. If they are not to have all, +then no one shall possess anything. Romeo is not suffering in this +final scene. He is experiencing the greatest pleasure of his life. He +glories in his deed. It satisfies his soul. It gives him supreme +spiritual activity. The deed brings widespread desolation, but to this +he is indifferent, for it means the destruction of the prison against +which his desires have always beaten their wings, the destruction of a +material and social universe from which he has always longed to be +free.</p> + +<p class="poem"><span class="i4">"O, here</span> +Will I set up my everlasting rest,<br /> +And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars<br /> +From this world-wearied flesh."</p> + +<p>How much of all this psychology may we suppose was rendered apparent +to the motley collection of excitable people who flocked to see the +play—which appears to have been a popular one—in the years 1591-97? +Probably as much as may be gathered by an audience <a name='Page_147'></a>to-day from a +tolerable representation of the piece. The subtler truths of +Shakespeare have always been lost upon the stage. In turning over the +first quarto of Romeo and Juliet, we may see that many such matters +were pruned ruggedly off by the actors. The early audiences, like the +popular audiences of to-day, doubtless regarded action as the first +merit of a play, and the stage managers must have understood this. It +is noticeable that, in the authentic text, the street fight with which +this play opens is a carefully-worked-up scene, which comes to a +climax in the entry of the prince. The reporter gives a few words only +to a description of the scene. No doubt, in Shakespeare's time, the +characters spoke very rapidly or all at once. It is impossible that +the longer plays, like King Lear, should have been finished in an +evening, unless the scenes moved with a hurry of life very different +from the declamatory leisure with which our actors move from scene to +scene. To make plain the course of the story was evidently the chief +aim of the stage managers. The choruses are finger-posts. It is true +that the choruses in Shakespeare are generally so overloaded with +curious ornament as to be incomprehensible except as <a name='Page_148'></a>explanations of +things already understood. The prologue to Romeo and Juliet is a +riddle to which the play is the answer. One might at first suppose +that the need of such finger-posts betrayed a dull audience, but no +dull person was ever enlightened by Shakespeare's choruses. They play +variations on the theme. They instruct only the instructed.</p> + +<p>If interest in the course of the story be the first excitement to the +theatre-goer, interest in seeing a picture of contemporary manners is +probably the second. Our chief loss in reading Shakespeare is the loss +of the society he depicts, and which we know only through him. In +every line and scene there must be meanings which have vanished +forever with the conditions on which they comment. A character on the +stage has need, at the feeblest, of only just so much vitality as will +remind us of something we know in real life. The types of Shakespeare +which have been found substantial enough to survive the loss of their +originals must have had an interest for the first audiences, both in +nature and in intensity, very different from their interest to us. The +high life depicted by Shakespeare has disappeared. No one of us has +ever known a Mercutio. Fortunately, the types of society seem to +change less in the lower <a name='Page_149'></a>orders than in the upper classes. England +swarms with old women like Juliet's nurse; and as to these characters +in Shakespeare whose originals still survive, and as to them only, we +may feel that we are near the Elizabethans.</p> + +<p>We should undoubtedly suffer some disenchantment by coming in contact +with these coarse and violent people. How much do the pictures of +contemporary England given us by the novelists stand in need of +correction by a visit to the land! How different is the thing from the +abstract! Or, to put the same thought in a more obvious light, how +fantastic are the ideas of the Germans about Shakespeare! How +Germanized does he come forth from their libraries and from their +green-rooms!</p> + +<p>We in America, with our formal manners, our bloodless complexions, our +perpetual decorum and self-suppression, are about as much in sympathy +with the real element of Shakespeare's plays as a Baptist parson is +with a fox-hunt. Our blood is stirred by the narration, but our +constitution could never stand the reality. As we read we translate +all things into the dialect of our province; or if we must mouth, let +us say that we translate the dialect of the English <a name='Page_150'></a>province into the +language of our empire; but we still translate. Mercutio, on +inspection, would turn out to be not a gentleman,—and indeed he is +not; Juliet, to be a most extraordinary young person; Tybalt, a brute +and ruffian, a type from the plantation; and the only man with whom we +should feel at all at ease would be the County Paris, in whom we +should all recognize a perfectly bred man. "What a man!" we should +cry. "Why, he's a man of wax!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<a name='Page_153'></a><h2>MICHAEL ANGELO´S SONNETS</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Michael Angelo is revealed by his sonnets. He wears the triple crown +of painter, poet, and sculptor, and his genius was worshipped with a +kind of awe even while he lived, yet we know the man best through +these little pieces of himself which he broke off and gave to his +friends. The fragments vibrated with the life of the man, and were +recognized as wonderful things. Even in his lifetime they were +treasured and collected in manuscript, and at a later day they were +seized upon by the world at large.</p> + +<p>The first published edition of the sonnets was prepared for the press +many years after the death of the author by his grandnephew, who +edited them to suit the taste of the seventeenth century. The extent +and atrocity of his emendations can be realized by a comparison of +texts. But the sonnets survived the improvements, and even made +headway under them; and when, in 1863, Guasti gave the original +readings to <a name='Page_154'></a>the public, the world was prepared for them. The +bibliography of editions and translations which Guasti gives is enough +to show the popularity of the sonnets, their universal character, +their international currency.</p> + +<p>There are upward of one hundred sonnets in every stage of perfection, +and they have given rise not only to a literature of translations, but +to a literature of comment. Some years ago Mrs. Ednah Cheney published +a selection of the sonnets, giving the Italian text, together with +English translations by various hands. This little volume has earned +the gratitude of many to whom it made known the sonnets. The Italians +themselves have gone on printing the corrupt text in contempt of +Guasti's labors. But it has not been left to the Italians to protect +the treasures of their land. The barbarians have been the devoutest +worshippers at all times. The last tribute has come from Mr. John +Addington Symonds, who has done the sonnets into the English of the +pre-Raphaelites, and done them, on the whole, amazingly well. His +translations of the more graceful sonnets are facile, apt, and +charming, and rise at times into beauty. He has, however, insisted on +polishing the rugged ones. Moreover, being deficient in reverence, Mr. +<a name='Page_155'></a>Symonds fails to convey reverence. Nevertheless, to have boldly +planned and carried out the task of translating them all was an +undertaking of so much courage, and has been done with so much +success, that every rival must give in his admiration.</p> + +<p>The poems are exceedingly various, some being rough and some elegant, +some obvious and some obscure, some humorous, some religious. Yet they +have this in common, that each seems to be the bearer of some deep +harmony, whose vibrations we feel and whose truth we recognize. From +the very beginning they seem to have had a provocative and stimulating +effect upon others; ever since they were written, cultivated people +have been writing essays about them. One of them has been the subject +of repeated academical disquisition. They absorb and reflect the +spirit of the times; they appeal to and express the individual; they +have done this through three centuries and throughout who shall say +how many different educational conditions. Place them in what light +you will, they gleam with new meanings. This is their quality. It is +hard to say whence the vitality comes. They have often a brilliancy +that springs from the juxtaposition of two thoughts,—a brilliancy +like that produced <a name='Page_156'></a>by unblended colors roughly but well laid on. They +have, as it were, an organic force which nothing can render. The best +of them have the reflective power which gives back light from the mind +of the reader. The profounder ones appear to change and glow under +contemplation; they re-echo syllables from forgotten voices; they +suggest unfathomable depths of meaning. These sonnets are protean in +character; they represent different things to different +people,—religion to one, love to another, philosophy to a third.</p> + +<p>It is easy to guess what must be the fate of such poems in +translation. The translator inevitably puts more of himself than of +Michael Angelo into his version. Even the first Italian editor could +not let them alone. He felt he must dose them with elegance. This +itching to amend the sonnets results largely from the obscurity of the +text. A translator is required to be, above all things, +comprehensible, and, therefore, he must interpret, he must paraphrase. +He is not at liberty to retain the equivocal suggestiveness of the +original. The language of a translation must be chastened, or, at +least, grammatical, and Michael Angelo's verse is very often neither +the one nor the other.</p> + +<p>The selections which follow are not given <a name='Page_157'></a>as representative of the +different styles in the original. They have been chosen from among +those sonnets which seemed most capable of being rendered into +English.</p> + +<p>The essential nature of the sonnet is replete with difficulty, and +special embarrassments are encountered in the Italian sonnet. The +Italian sonnet is, both in its form and spirit, a thing so foreign to +the English idea of what poetry should be, that no cultivation can +ever domesticate it into the tongue. The seeds of flowers from the +Alps may be planted in our gardens, but a new kind of flower will come +up; and this is what has happened over and over again to the skilled +gardeners of English literature in their struggles with the Italian +sonnet. In Italy, for six hundred years, the sonnet has been the +authorized form for a disconnected remark of any kind. Its chief aim +is not so much to express a feeling as an idea—a witticism—a +conceit—a shrewd saying—a clever analogy—a graceful simile—a +beautiful thought. Moreover, it is not primarily intended for the +public; it has a social rather than a literary function.</p> + +<p>The English with their lyrical genius have impressed the form, as they +have impressed every other form, into lyrical service, and <a name='Page_158'></a>with some +success, it must be admitted. But the Italian sonnet is not lyrical. +It is conversational and intellectual, and many things which English +instinct declares poetry ought not to be. We feel throughout the +poetry of the Latin races a certain domination of the intelligence +which is foreign to our own poetry. But in the sonnet form at least we +may sympathize with this domination. Let us read the Italian sonnets, +then, as if they were prose; let us seek first the thought and hold to +that, and leave the eloquence to take care of itself. It is the +thought, after all, which Michael Angelo himself cared about. He is +willing to sacrifice elegance, to truncate words, to wreck rhyme, +prosody, and grammar, if he can only hurl through the verse these +thoughts which were his convictions.</p> + +<p>The platonic ideas about life and love and art, which lie at the +bottom of most of these sonnets, are familiar to us all. They have +been the reigning commonplace ideas of educated people for the last +two thousand years. But in these sonnets they are touched with new +power; they become exalted into mystical importance. We feel almost as +if it were Plato himself that is talking, and the interest is not +lessened when we remember <a name='Page_159'></a>that it is Michael Angelo. It is necessary +to touch on this element in the sonnets, for it exists in them; and +because while some will feel chiefly the fiery soul of the man, others +will be most struck by his great speculative intellect.</p> + +<p>It is certain that the sonnets date from various times in Michael +Angelo's life; and, except in a few cases, it must be left to the +instinct of the reader to place them. Those which were called forth by +the poet's friendship for Vittoria Colonna were undoubtedly written +towards the close of his life. While he seems to have known Vittoria +Colonna and to have been greatly attached to her for many years, it is +certain that in his old age he fell in love with her. The library of +romance that has been written about this attachment has added nothing +to Condivi's simple words:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"He greatly loved the Marchesana of Pescara, with whose divine spirit + he fell in love, and was in return passionately beloved of her; and + he still keeps many of her letters, which are full of most honest and + tenderest love, such as used to issue from a heart like hers; and he + himself had written her many and many a sonnet full of wit and + tenderness. She often left Viterbo and other <a name='Page_160'></a>places, where she had + gone for pleasure, and to pass the summer, and came to Rome for no + other reason than to see Michael Angelo. And in return he bore her so + much love that I remember hearing him say that he regretted nothing + except that when he went to see her on her death-bed he had not + kissed her brow and her cheek as he had kissed her hand. He was many + times overwhelmed at the thought of her death, and used to be as one + out of his mind."</p></div> + +<p>It seems, from reading the sonnets, that some of those which are +addressed to women must belong to a period anterior to his friendship +with Vittoria. This appears from the internal evidence of style and +feeling, as well as by references in the later sonnets.</p> + +<p>One other fact must be mentioned,—both Vittoria and Michael Angelo +belonged to, or at least sympathized with, the Piagnoni, and were in a +sense disciples of Savonarola. Now, it is this religious element which +makes Michael Angelo seem to step out of his country and out of his +century and across time and space into our own. This religious feeling +is of a kind perfectly familiar to us; indeed, of a kind inborn and +native to us. Whether we be reading the English prayer-book or +listening to the old German <a name='Page_161'></a>Passion Music, there is a certain note of +the spirit which, when we hear it, we perfectly recognize as a part of +ourselves. What we recognize is, in fact, the Protestantism which +swept over Europe during the century of Michael Angelo's existence; +which conquered Teutonic Europe, and was conquered, but not +extinguished, in Latin Europe; and a part of which survives in +ourselves. If one wishes to feel the power of Savonarola, one may do +so in these sonnets. We had connected Michael Angelo with the +Renaissance, but we are here face to face with the Reformation. We +cannot help being a little surprised at this. We cannot help being +surprised at finding how well we know this man.</p> + +<p>Few of us are familiar enough with the language of the plastic arts to +have seen without prompting this same modern element in Michael +Angelo's painting and sculpture. We might, perhaps, have recognized it +in the Pieta in St. Peter's. We may safely say, however, that it +exists in all his works. It is in the Medicean statues; it is in the +Julian marbles; it is in the Sistine ceiling. What is there in these +figures that they leave us so awestruck, that they seem so like the +sound of trumpets <a name='Page_162'></a>blowing from a spiritual world? The intelligence +that could call them forth, the craft that could draw them, have long +since perished. But the meaning survives the craft. The lost arts +retain their power over us. We understand but vaguely, yet we are +thrilled. We cannot decipher the signs, yet we subscribe to their +import. The world from which Michael Angelo's figures speak is our own +world, after all. That is the reason they are so potent, so intimate, +so inimitably significant. We may be sure that the affinity which we +feel with Michael Angelo, and do not feel with any other artist of +that age, springs from experiences and beliefs in him which are +similar to our own.</p> + +<p>His work speaks to the moral sense more directly and more powerfully +than that of any one,—so directly and so powerfully, indeed, that we +whose physical senses are dull, and whose moral sense is acute, are +moved by Michael Angelo, although the rest of the <i>cinque cento</i> +culture remain a closed book to us.</p> + +<p>It is difficult, this conjuring with the unrecoverable past, so rashly +done by us all. Yet we must use what light we have. Remembering, then, +that painting is not the <a name='Page_163'></a>reigning mode of expression in recent times, +and that in dealing with it we are dealing with a vehicle of +expression with which we are not spontaneously familiar, we may yet +draw conclusions which are not fantastic, if we base them upon the +identity of one man's nature some part of which we are sure we +understand. We may throw a bridge from the ground in the sonnets, upon +which we are sure we stand firmly, to the ground in the frescos, +which, by reason of our own ignorance, is less certain ground to us, +and we may walk from one side to the other amid the elemental forces +of this same man's mind.</p> + +<br /> +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 6em;"><b>XXXVIII</b></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Give me again, ye fountains and ye streams,<br /> +<span class="i2">That flood of life, not yours, that swells your front</span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the natural fulness of your wont.</span> +I gave, and I take back as it beseems.<br /> +And thou dense choking atmosphere on high<br /> +<span class="i2">Disperse thy fog of sighs—for it is mine,</span> +<span class="i2">And make the glory of the sun to shine</span> +Again on my dim eyes.—O, Earth and Sky<br /> +Give me again the footsteps I have trod.<br /> +<span class="i2">Let the paths grow where I walked them bare,</span> +<span class="i2">The echoes where I waked them with my prayer</span> +Be deaf—and let those eyes—those eyes, O God,<br /> +Give me the light I lent them.—That some soul<br /> +May take my love. Thou hadst no need of it.<br /></p> + +<p><a name='Page_164'></a>This rough and exceedingly obscure sonnet, in which strong feeling +has condensed and distorted the language, seems to have been written +by a man who has been in love and has been repulsed. The shock has +restored him to a momentary realization of the whole experience. He +looks at the landscape, and lo! the beauty has dropped out of it. The +stream has lost its power, and the meadow its meaning. Summer has +stopped. His next thought is: "But it is I who had lent the landscape +this beauty. That landscape was myself, my dower, my glory, my +birthright," and so he breaks out with "Give me back the light I threw +upon you," and so on till the bitter word flung to the woman in the +last line. The same clearness of thought and obscurity of expression +and the same passion is to be found in the famous sonnet—"<i>Non ha l' +ottimo artista alcun concetto</i>,"—where he blames himself for not +being able to obtain her good-will—as a bad sculptor who cannot hew +out the beauty from the rock, although he feels it to be there; and in +that heart-breaking one where he says that people may only draw from +life what they give to it, and says no good can come to a man who, +looking on such great beauty, feels such pain.</p> + +<p>It is not profitable, nor is it necessary for <a name='Page_165'></a>the comprehension of +the poems, to decide to whom or at what period each one was written. +There is dispute about some of them as to whether they were addressed +to men or women. There is question as to others whether they are +prayers addressed to Christ or love poems addressed to Vittoria. In +this latter case, perhaps, Michael Angelo did not himself know which +they were.</p> + +<p>Vittoria used to instruct him in religion, and he seems to have felt +for her a love so deep, so reverent, so passionate, and so touching +that the words are alive in which he mentions her.</p> + +<p>"I wished," he writes beneath a sonnet which he sent her, evidently in +return for some of her own religious poems, "I wished, before taking +the things that you had many times deigned to give me, in order that I +might receive them the less unworthily, to make something for you from +my own hand. But then, remembering and knowing that the grace of God +may not be bought, and that to accept it reluctantly is the greatest +sin, I confess my fault, and willingly receive the said things, and +when they shall arrive, not because they are in my house, but I myself +as being in a house of theirs, shall deem myself in Paradise."</p> + +<p><a name='Page_166'></a>We must not forget that at this time Michael Angelo was an old man, +that he carried about with him a freshness and vigor of feeling that +most people lose with their youth. A reservoir of emotion broke loose +within him at a time when it caused his hale old frame suffering to +undergo it, and reillumined his undimmed intellect to cope with it. A +mystery play was enacted in him,—each sonnet is a scene. There is the +whole of a man in each of many of these sonnets. They do not seem so +much like poems as like microcosms. They are elementally complete. The +soul of man could be evolved again from them if the formula were lost.</p> + + +<br /> +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 6em;"><b>XL</b></span></p> + +<p class="poem">I know not if it be the longed for light<br /> +<span class="i2">Of its creator which the soul perceives,</span> +<span class="i2">Or if in people's memory there lives</span> +A touch of early grace that keeps them bright<br /> +Or else ambition,—or some dream whose might<br /> +<span class="i2">Brings to the eyes the hope the heart conceives</span> +<span class="i2">And leaves a burning feeling when it leaves—</span> +That tears are welling in me as I write.<br /> +<br /> +The things I feel, the things I follow and the things<br /> +<span class="i2">I seek—are not in me,—I hardly know the place</span> +<span class="i4">To find them. It is others make them mine.</span> +It happens when I see thee—and it brings<br /> +<span class="i2">Sweet pain—a yes,—a no,—sorrow and grace</span> +<span class="i4">Surely it must have been those eyes of thine.</span></p> + +<p><a name='Page_167'></a>There are others which give a most touching picture of extreme piety +in extreme old age. And there are still others which are both love +poems and religious poems at the same time.</p> + + +<br /> +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 6em;"><b>LV</b></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Thou knowest that I know that thou dost know<br /> +<span class="i2">How, to enjoy thee, I did come more near.</span> +<span class="i2">Thou knowest, I know thou knowest—I am here.</span> +Would we had given our greetings long ago.<br /> +If true the hope thou hast to me revealed,<br /> +<span class="i2">If true the plighting of a sacred troth,</span> +<span class="i2">Let the wall fall that stands between us both,</span> +For griefs are doubled when they are concealed.<br /> +If, loved one,—if I only loved in thee<br /> +<span class="i2">What thou thyself dost love,—'tis to this end</span> +<span class="i4">The spirit with his belovéd is allied.</span> +The things thy face inspires and teaches me<br /> +<span class="i2">Mortality doth little comprehend.</span> +<span class="i4">Before we understand we must have died.</span></p> + + +<br /> +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 6em;"><b>LI</b></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Give me the time when loose the reins I flung<br /> +<span class="i2">Upon the neck of galloping desire.</span> +Give me the angel face that now among<br /> +<span class="i2">The angels,—tempers Heaven with its fire.</span> +Give the quick step that now is grown so old,<br /> +<span class="i2">The ready tears—the blaze at thy behest,</span> +If thou dost seek indeed, O Love! to hold<br /> +<span class="i2">Again thy reign of terror in my breast.</span> +If it be true that thou dost only live<br /> +<span class="i2">Upon the sweet and bitter pains of man</span> +Surely a weak old man small food can give<br /><a name='Page_168'></a> +<span class="i2">Whose years strike deeper than thine arrows can.</span> +Upon life's farthest limit I have stood—<br /> +What folly to make fire of burnt wood.<br /></p> + +<p>The occasion of the following was probably some more than wonted favor +shown to him by Vittoria.</p> + +<br /> +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 6em;"><b>XXVI.</b></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Great joy no less than grief doth murder men.<br /> +<span class="i2">The thief, even at the gallows, may be killed</span> +<span class="i2">If, while through every vein with fear he's chilled,</span> +Sudden reprieve do set him free again.<br /> +<br /> +Thus hath this bounty from you in my pain<br /> +<span class="i2">Through all my griefs and sufferings fiercely thrilled,</span> +<span class="i2">Coming from a breast with sovereign mercy filled,</span> +And more than weeping, cleft my heart in twain.<br /> +<br /> +Good news, like bad, may bring the taker death.<br /> +<span class="i2">The heart is rent as with the sharpest knife,</span> +<span class="i4">Be it pressure or expansion cause the rift.</span> +Let thy great beauty which God cherisheth<br /> +<span class="i2">Limit my joy if it desire my life—</span> +<span class="i4">The unworthy dies beneath so great a gift.</span></p> + +<br /> +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 6em;"><b>XXVIII</b></span></p> + +<p class="poem">The heart is not the life of love like mine.<br /> +The love I love thee with has none of it.<br /> +For hearts to sin and mortal thought incline<br /> +And for love's habitation are unfit.<br /> +God, when our souls were parted from Him, made<br /> +Of me an eye—of thee, splendor and light.<br /> +Even in the parts of thee which are to fade<br /><a name='Page_169'></a> +Thou hast the glory; I have only sight.<br /> +Fire from its heat you may not analyze,<br /> +Nor worship from eternal beauty take,<br /> +Which deifies the lover as he bows.<br /> +Thou hast that Paradise all within thine eyes<br /> +Where first I loved thee. 'T is for that love's sake<br /> +My soul's on fire with thine, beneath thy brows.</p> + +<p>The German musicians of the seventeenth century used to write +voluntaries for the organ, using the shorthand of the older notation; +they jotted down the formulas of the successive harmonies expressed in +terms of the chords merely. The transitions and the musical +explanation were left to the individual performer. And Michael Angelo +has left behind him, as it were, the poetical equivalents of such +shorthand musical formulas. The harmonies are wonderful. The +successions show a great grasp of comprehension, but you cannot play +them without filling them out.</p> + +<p>"Is that music, after all," one may ask, "which leaves so much to the +performer, and is that poetry, after all, which leaves so much to the +reader?" It seems you must be a Kapellmeister or a student, or +dilettante of some sort, before you can transpose and illustrate these +hieroglyphics. There is some truth in this criticism, and the modesty +of <a name='Page_170'></a>purpose in the poems is the only answer to it. They claim no +comment. Comment claims them. Call them not poetry if you will. They +are a window which looks in upon the most extraordinary nature of +modern times,—a nature whose susceptibility to impressions of form +through the eye allies it to classical times; a nature which on the +emotional side belongs to our own day.</p> + +<p>Is it a wonder that this man was venerated with an almost +superstitious regard in Italy, and in the sixteenth century? His +creations were touched with a superhuman beauty which his +contemporaries felt, yet charged with a profoundly human meaning which +they could not fathom. No one epoch has held the key to him. There +lives not a man and there never has lived a man who could say, "I +fully understand Michael Angelo's works." It will be said that the +same is true of all the very greatest artists, and so it is in a +measure. But as to the others, that truth comes as an afterthought and +an admission. As to Michael Angelo, it is primary and overwhelming +impression. "We are not sure that we comprehend him," say the +centuries as they pass, "but of this we are sure: <i>Simil ne maggior +uom non nacque mai</i>."</p> + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<a name='Page_173'></a><h2>THE FOURTH CANTO OF THE INFERNO</h2> +<br /> + +<p>There are many great works of fiction where the interest lies in the +situation and development of the characters or in the wrought-up +climax of the action, and where it is necessary to read the whole work +before one can feel the force of the catastrophe. But Dante's poem is +a series of disconnected scenes, held together only by the slender +thread of the itinerary. The scenes vary in length from a line or two +to a page or two; and the power of them comes, one may say, not at all +from their connection with each other, but entirely from the language +in which they are given.</p> + +<p>A work of this kind is hard to translate because verbal felicities, to +use a mild term, are untranslatable. What English words can render the +mystery of that unknown voice that calls out of the deep,—</p> + +<p class="poem"><span class="i4">"Onorate 'l altissimo poeta,<br /> +Torna sua ombra che era dipartita"?</span></p> + +<p>The cry breaks upon the night, full of awful greeting, proclamation, +prophecy, and leaves <a name='Page_174'></a>the reader standing next to Virgil, afraid now +to lift up his eyes to the poet. Awe breathes in the cadence of the +words themselves. And so with many of the most splendid lines in +Dante, the meaning inheres in the very Italian words. They alone shine +with the idea. They alone satisfy the spiritual vision.</p> + +<p>Of all the greatest poets, Dante is most foreign to the genius of the +English race. From the point of view of English-speaking people, he is +lacking in humor. It might seem at first blush as if the argument of +his poem were a sufficient warrant for seriousness; but his +seriousness is of a nature strange to northern nations. There is in it +a gaunt and sallow earnestness which appears to us inhuman.</p> + +<p>In the treatment of the supernatural the Teutonic nations have +generally preserved a touch of humor. This is so intrinsically true to +the Teutonic way of feeling that the humor seems to go with and to +heighten the terror of the supernatural. When Hamlet, in the scene on +the midnight terrace, addresses the ghost as "old mole," "old +truepenny," etc., we may be sure that he is in a frenzy of excitement +and apprehension. Perhaps the explanation of this mixture of humor and +terror, is that when the mind feels itself shaken to its <a name='Page_175'></a>foundations +by the immediate presence of the supernatural,—palsied, as it were, +with fear,—there comes to its rescue, and as an antidote to the fear +itself, a reserve of humor, almost of levity. Staggered by the +unknown, the mind opposes it with the homely and the familiar. The +northern nations were too much afraid of ghosts to take them +seriously. The sight of one made a man afraid he should lose his wits +if he gave way to his fright. Thus it has come about that in the +sincerest terror of the north there is a touch of grotesque humor; and +this touch we miss in Dante. The hundred cantos of his poem are +unrelieved by a single scene of comedy. The strain of exalted tragedy +is maintained throughout. His jests and wit are not of the laughing +kind. Sometimes they are grim and terrible, sometimes playful, but +always serious and full of meaning. This lack of humor becomes very +palpable in a translation, where it is not disguised by the +transcendent beauty of Dante's style.</p> + +<p>There is another difficulty peculiar to the translating of Dante into +English. English is essentially a diffuse and prodigal language. The +great English writers have written with a free hand, prolific, +excursive, diffuse. Shakespeare, Sir Thomas Browne, Sir Walter Scott, +Robert Browning, all the typical writers of <a name='Page_176'></a>English, have been +many-worded. They have been men who said everything that came into +their heads, and trusted to their genius to make their writings +readable. The eighteenth century in England, with all its striving +after classical precision, has left behind it no great laconic English +classic who stands in the first rank. Our own Emerson is concise +enough, but he is disconnected and prophetic. Dante is not only +concise, but logical, deductive, prone to ratiocination. He set down +nothing that he had not thought of a thousand times, and conned over, +arranged, and digested. We have in English no prototype for such +condensation. There is no native work in the language written in +anything which approaches the style of Dante.</p> + +<p class="poem">My heavy sleep a sullen thunder broke,<br /> +So that I shook myself, springing upright,<br /> +Like one awakened by a sudden stroke,<br /> +And gazed with fixed eyes and new-rested sight<br /> +Slowly about me,—awful privilege,—<br /> +To know the place that held me, if I might.<br /> +In truth I found myself upon the edge<br /> +That girds the valley of the dreadful pit,<br /> +Circling the infinite wailing with its ledge.<br /> +Dark, deep, and cloudy, to the depths of it<br /> +Eye could not probe, and though I bent mine low,<br /> +It helped my vain conjecture not a whit.<br /> +"Let us go down to the blind world below,"<br /> +Began the poet, with a face like death,<br /> +"I shall go first, thou second." "Say not so,"<br /><a name='Page_177'></a> +Cried I when I again could find my breath,<br /> +For I had seen the whiteness of his face,<br /> +"How shall I come if thee it frighteneth?"<br /> +And he replied: "The anguish of the place<br /> +And those that dwell there thus hath painted me<br /> +With pity, not with fear. But come apace;<br /> +The spur of the journey pricks us." Thus did he<br /> +Enter himself, and take me in with him,<br /> +Into the first great circle's mystery<br /> +That winds the deep abyss about the brim.<br /> +<br /> +Here there came borne upon the winds to us,<br /> +Not cries, but sighs that filled the concave dim,<br /> +And kept the eternal breezes tremulous.<br /> +The cause is grief, but grief unlinked to pain,<br /> +That makes the unnumbered peoples suffer thus.<br /> +I saw great crowds of children, women, men,<br /> +Wheeling below. "Thou dost not seek to know<br /> +What spirits are these thou seest?" Thus again<br /> +My master spoke. "But ere we further go,<br /> +Thou must be sure that these feel not the weight<br /> +Of sin. They well deserved,—and yet not so.—<br /> +They had not baptism, which is the gate<br /> +Of Faith,—thou holdest. If they lived before<br /> +The days of Christ, though sinless, in that state<br /> +God they might never worthily adore.<br /> +And I myself am such an one as these.<br /> +For this shortcoming—on no other score—<br /> +We are lost, and most of all our torment is<br /> +That lost to hope we live in strong desire."<br /> +Grief seized my heart to hear these words of his,<br /> +Because most splendid souls and hearts of fire<br /> +I recognized, hung in that Limbo there.<br /> +"Tell me, my master dear, tell me, my sire,"<br /><a name='Page_178'></a> +Cried I at last, with eager hope to share<br /> +That all-convincing faith,—"but went there not<br /> +One,—once,—from hence,—made happy though it were<br /> +Through his own merit or another's lot?"<br /> +"I was new come into this place," said he,<br /> +Who seemed to guess the purport of my thought,<br /> +"When Him whose brows were bound with Victory<br /> +I saw come conquering through this prison dark.<br /> +He set the shade of our first parent free,<br /> +With Abel, and the builder of the ark,<br /> +And him that gave the laws immutable,<br /> +And Abraham, obedient patriarch,<br /> +David the king, and ancient Israel,<br /> +His father and his children at his side,<br /> +And the wife Rachel that he loved so well,<br /> +And gave them Paradise,—and before these men<br /> +None tasted of salvation that have died."<br /> +<br /> +We did not pause while he was talking then,<br /> +But held our constant course along the track,<br /> +Where spirits thickly thronged the wooded glen.<br /> +And we had reached a point whence to turn back<br /> +Had not been far, when I, still touched with fear,<br /> +Perceived a fire, that, struggling with the black,<br /> +Made conquest of a luminous hemisphere.<br /> +The place was distant still, but I could see<br /> +Clustered about the fire, as we drew near,<br /> +Figures of an austere nobility.<br /> +"Thou who dost honor science and love art,<br /> +Pray who are these, whose potent dignity<br /> +Doth eminently set them thus apart?"<br /> +The poet answered me, "The honored fame<br /> +That made their lives illustrious touched the heart<br /><a name='Page_179'></a> +Of God to advance them." Then a voice there came,<br /> +"Honor the mighty poet;" and again,<br /> +"His shade returns,—do honor to his name."<br /> +And when the voice had finished its refrain,<br /> +I saw four giant shadows coming on.<br /> +They seemed nor sad nor joyous in their mien.<br /> +And my good master said: "See him, my son,<br /> +That bears the sword and walks before the rest,<br /> +And seems the father of the three,—that one<br /> +Is Homer, sovran poet. The satirist<br /> +Horace comes next; third, Ovid; and the last<br /> +Is Lucan. The lone voice that name expressed<br /> +That each doth share with me; therefore they haste<br /> +To greet and do me honor;—nor do they wrong."<br /> +<br /> +Thus did I see the assembled school who graced<br /> +The master of the most exalted song,<br /> +That like an eagle soars above the rest.<br /> +When they had talked together, though not long,<br /> +They turned to me, nodding as to a guest.<br /> +At which my master smiled, but yet more high<br /> +They lifted me in honor. At their behest<br /> +I went with them as of their company,<br /> +And made the sixth among those mighty wits.<br /> +<br /> +Thus towards the light we walked in colloquy<br /> +Of things my silence wisely here omits,<br /> +As there 'twas sweet to speak them, till we came<br /> +To where a seven times circled castle sits,<br /> +Whose walls are watered by a lovely stream.<br /> +This we crossed over as it had been dry,<br /> +Passing the seven gates that guard the same,<br /> +And reached a meadow, green as Arcady.<br /> +People were there with deep, slow-moving eyes<br /><a name='Page_180'></a> +Whose looks were weighted with authority.<br /> +Scant was their speech, but rich in melodies.<br /> +The walls receding left a pasture fair,<br /> +A place all full of light and of great size,<br /> +So we could see each spirit that was there.<br /> +And straight before my eyes upon the green<br /> +Were shown to me the souls of those that were,<br /> +Great spirits it exalts me to have seen.<br /> +Electra with her comrades I descried,<br /> +I saw Æneas, and knew Hector keen,<br /> +And in full armor Cæsar, falcon-eyed,<br /> +Camilla and the Amazonian queen,<br /> +King Latin with Lavinia at his side,<br /> +Brutus that did avenge the Tarquin's sin,<br /> +Lucrece, Cornelia, Martia Julia,<br /> +And by himself the lonely Saladin.<br /> +<br /> +The Master of all thinkers next I saw<br /> +Amid the philosophic family.<br /> +All eyes were turned on him with reverent awe;<br /> +Plato and Socrates were next his knee,<br /> +Then Heraclitus and Empedocles,<br /> +Thales and Anaxagoras, and he<br /> +That based the world on chance; and next to these,<br /> +Zeno, Diogenes, and that good leech<br /> +The herb-collector, Dioscorides.<br /> +Orpheus I saw, Livy and Tully, each<br /> +Flanked by old Seneca's deep moral lore,<br /> +Euclid and Ptolemy, and within their reach<br /> +Hippocrates and Avicenna's store,<br /> +The sage that wrote the master commentary,<br /> +Averois, with Galen and a score<br /> +Of great physicians. But my pen were weary<br /> +Depicting all of that majestic plain<br /> +Splendid with many an antique dignitary.<br /> +My theme doth drive me on, and words are vain<br /><a name='Page_181'></a> +To give the thought the thing itself conveys.<br /> +The six of us were now cut down to twain.<br /> +My guardian led me forth by other ways,<br /> +Far from the quiet of that trembling wind,<br /> +And from the gentle shining of those rays,<br /> +To places where all light was left behind.<br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 100%;"> + +<a name='Page_185'></a><h2>ROBERT BROWNING</h2> + +<p>There is a period in the advance of any great man's influence between +the moment when he appears and the moment when he has become +historical, during which it is difficult to give any succinct account +of him. We are ourselves a part of the thing we would describe. The +element which we attempt to isolate for purposes of study is still +living within us. Our science becomes tinged with autobiography. Such +must be the fate of any essay on Browning written at the present time.</p> + +<p>The generation to whom his works were unmeaning has hardly passed +away. The generation he spoke for still lives. His influence seems +still to be expanding. The literature of Browning dictionaries, +phrase-books, treatises, and philosophical studies grows daily. Mr. +Cooke in his Guide to Browning (1893) gives a condensed catalogue of +the best books and essays on Browning, which covers many finely +printed pages. This class of book—the text-book—is not <a name='Page_186'></a>the product of impulse. The text-book is a commercial article and follows the +demand as closely as the reaper follows the crop. We can tell the +acreage under cultivation by looking over the account books of the +makers of farm implements. Thousands of people are now studying +Browning, following in his footsteps, reading lives of his heroes, and +hunting up the subjects he treated.</p> + +<p>This Browningism which we are disposed to laugh at is a most +interesting secondary outcome of his influence. It has its roots in +natural piety, and the educational value of it is very great.</p> + +<p>Browning's individuality created for him a personal following, and he +was able to respond to the call to leadership. Unlike Carlyle, he had +something to give his disciples beside the immediate satisfaction of a +spiritual need. He gave them not only meal but seed. In this he was +like Emerson; but Emerson's little store of finest grain is of a +different soil. Emerson lived in a cottage and saw the stars over his +head through his skylight. Browning, on the other hand, loved +pictures, places, music, men and women, and his works are like the +house of a rich man,—a treasury of plunder from many provinces and +many ages, whose manners <a name='Page_187'></a>and passions are vividly recalled to us. In +Emerson's house there was not a peg to hang a note upon,—"this is his +bookshelf, this his bed." But Browning's palace craves a catalogue. +And a proper catalogue to such a palace becomes a liberal education.</p> + +<p>Robert Browning was a strong, glowing, whole-souled human being, who +enjoyed life more intensely than any Englishman since Walter Scott. He +was born among books; and circumstances enabled him to follow his +inclinations and become a writer,—a poet by profession. He was, from +early youth to venerable age, a centre of bounding vitality, the very +embodiment of spontaneous life; and the forms of poetry in which he so +fully and so accurately expressed himself enable us to know him well. +Indeed, only great poets are known so intimately as we know Robert +Browning.</p> + +<p>Religion was at the basis of his character, and it was the function of +religious poetry that his work fulfilled. Inasmuch as no man invents +his own theology, but takes it from the current world and moulds it to +his needs, it was inevitable that Robert Browning should find and +seize upon as his own all that was optimistic in Christian theology. +Everything that was hopeful his spirit accepted; everything <a name='Page_188'></a>that was +sunny and joyful and good for the brave soul he embraced. What was +distressing he rejected or explained away. In the world of Robert +Browning <i>everything</i> was right.</p> + +<p>The range of subject covered by his poems is wider than that of any +other poet that ever lived; but the range of his ideas is exceedingly +small. We need not apologize for treating Browning as a theologian and +a doctor of philosophy, for he spent a long life in trying to show +that a poet is always really both—'and he has almost convinced us. +The expositors and writers of text-books have had no difficulty in +formulating his theology, for it is of the simplest kind; and his +views on morality and art are logically a part of it. The "message" +which poets are conventionally presumed to deliver, was, in Browning's +case, a very definite creed, which may be found fully set forth in any +one of twenty poems. Every line of his poetry is logically dedicated +to it.</p> + +<p>He believes that the development of the individual soul is the main +end of existence. The strain and stress of life are incidental to +growth, and therefore desirable. Development and growth mean a closer +union with God. In fact, God is of not so much import<a name='Page_189'></a>ance in Himself, +but as the end towards which man tends. That irreverent person who +said that Browning uses "God" as a pigment made an accurate criticism +of his theology. In Browning, God is adjective to man. Browning +believes that all conventional morality must be reviewed from the +standpoint of how conduct affects the actor himself, and what effect +it has on his individual growth. The province of art and of all +thinking and working is to make these truths clear and to grapple with +the problems they give rise to.</p> + +<p>The first two fundamental beliefs of Browning—namely: (1) that, +ultimately speaking, the most important matter in the world is the +soul of a man; and (2) that a sense of effort is coincident with +development—are probably true. We instinctively feel them to be true, +and they seem to be receiving support from those quarters of research +to which we look for light, however dim. In the application of his +dogmas to specific cases in the field of ethics, Browning often +reaches conclusions which are fair subjects for disagreement. Since +most of our conventional morality is framed to repress the individual, +he finds himself at war with it—in revolt against it. He is +habitually pitted against it, and thus acquires <a name='Page_190'></a>modes of thought +which sometimes lead him into paradox—at least, to conclusions at +odds with his premises. It is in the course of exposition, and +incidentally to his main purpose as a teacher of a few fundamental +ideas, that Browning has created his masterpieces of poetry.</p> + +<p>Never was there a man who in the course of a long life changed less. +What as a boy he dreamed of doing, that he did. The thoughts of his +earliest poems are the thoughts of his latest. His tales, his songs, +his monologues, his dramas, his jests, his sermons, his rage, his +prayer, are all upon the same theme: whatever fed his mind nourished +these beliefs. His interest in the world was solely an interest in +them. He saw them in history and in music; his travels and studies +brought him back nothing else but proofs of them; the universe in each +of its manifestations was a commentary upon them. His nature was the +simplest, the most positive, the least given to abstract speculation, +which England can show in his time. He was not a thinker, for he was +never in doubt. He had recourse to disputation as a means of +inculcating truth, but he used it like a lawyer arguing a case. His +conclusions are fixed from the start. Standing, from his infancy, upon +a faith as <a name='Page_191'></a>absolute as that of a martyr, he has never for one instant +undergone the experience of doubt, and only knows that there is such a +thing because he has met with it in other people. The force of his +feelings is so much greater than his intellect that his mind serves +his soul like a valet. Out of the whole cosmos he takes what belongs +to him and sustains him, leaving the rest, or not noting it.</p> + +<p>There never was a great poet whose scope was so definite. That is the +reason why the world is so cleanly divided into people who do and who +do not care for Browning. One real glimpse into him gives you the +whole of him. The public which loves him is made up of people who have +been through certain spiritual experiences to which he is the +antidote. The public which loves him not consists of people who have +escaped these experiences. To some he is a strong, rare, and precious +elixir, which nothing else will replace. To others, who do not need +him, he is a boisterous and eccentric person,—a Heracles in the house +of mourning.</p> + +<p>Let us remember his main belief,—the value of the individual. The +needs of society constantly require that the individual be suppressed. +They hold him down and punish him at every point. The tyranny of order +<a name='Page_192'></a>and organization—of monarch or public opinion—weights him and +presses him down. This is the inevitable tendency of all stable social +arrangements. Now and again there arises some strong nature that +revolts against the influence of conformity which is becoming +intolerable,—against the atmosphere of caste or theory; of Egyptian +priest or Manchester economist; of absolutism or of democracy.</p> + +<p>And this strong nature cries out that the souls of men are being +injured, and that they are important; that your soul and my soul are +more important than Cæsar—or than the survival of the fittest. Such a +voice was the voice of Christ, and the lesser saviors of the world +bring always a like message of revolt: they arise to fulfil the same +fundamental need of the world.</p> + +<p>Carlyle, Emerson, Victor Hugo, Browning, were prophets to a generation +oppressed in spirit, whose education had oppressed them with a Jewish +law of Adam Smith and Jeremy Bentham and Malthus, of Clarkson and +Cobden,—of thought for the million, and for man in the aggregate. "To +what end is all this beneficence, all this conscience, all this +theory?" some one at length cries out. "For whom is it in the last +analysis that you legislate? You talk <i>of man</i>, I see only <i>men</i>." <a name='Page_193'></a>To +men suffering from an age of devotion to humanity came Robert Browning +as a liberator. Like Carlyle, he was understood first in this country +because we had begun earlier with our theoretical and practical +philanthropies, and had taken them more seriously. We had suffered +more. We needed to be told that it was right to love, hate, and be +angry, to sin and repent. It was a revelation to us to think that we +had some inheritance in the joys and passions of mankind. We needed to +be told these things as a tired child needs to be comforted. Browning +gave them to us in the form of a religion. There was no one else sane +or deep or wise or strong enough to know what we lacked.</p> + +<p>If ever a generation had need of a poet,—of some one to tell them +they might cry and not be ashamed, rejoice and not find the reason in +John Stuart Mill; some one who should justify the claims of the spirit +which was starving on the religion of humanity,—it was the generation +for whom Browning wrote.</p> + +<p>Carlyle had seized upon the French Revolution, which served his ends +because it was filled with striking, with powerful, with grotesque +examples of individual force. In his Hero Worship he gives his +countrymen a philosophy of history based on nothing but <a name='Page_194'></a>worship of +the individual. Browning with the same end in view gave us pictures of +the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in France and Italy. He +glorified what we had thought crime and error, and made men of us. He +was the apostle to the educated of a most complex period, but such as +he was, he was complete. Those people to whom he has been a poet know +what it is for the heart to receive full expression from the lips of +another.</p> + +<p>The second thesis which Browning insists on—the identity of spiritual +suffering with spiritual growth—is the one balm of the world. It is +said that recent physiological experiment shows that muscles do not +develop unless exercised up to what is called the "distress point." If +this shall prove to be an instance of a general law,—if the struggles +and agony of the spirit are really signs of an increase of that +spiritual life which is the only sort of life we can conceive of now +or hereafter,—then the truth-to-feeling of much of Browning's poetry +has a scientific basis. It cannot be denied that Browning held firmly +two of the most moving and far-reaching ideas of the world, and he +expanded them in the root, leaf, flower, and fruit of a whole world of +poetic disquisition.</p> + +<p><a name='Page_195'></a>It is unnecessary at this day to point out the beauties of Browning +or the sagacity with which he chose his effects. He gives us the +sallow wife of James Lee, whose soul is known to him, Pippa the +silk-spinning girl, two men found in the morgue, persons lost, +forgotten, or misunderstood. He searches the world till he finds the +man whom everybody will concur in despising, the mediaeval grammarian, +and he writes to him the most powerful ode in English, the mightiest +tribute ever paid to a man. His culture and his learning are all +subdued to what he works in; they are all in harness to draw his +thought. He mines in antiquity or drags his net over German philosophy +or modern drawing-rooms,—all to the same end.</p> + +<p>In that miracle of power and beauty—The Flight of the Duchess—he has +improvised a whole civilization in order to make the setting of +contrast which shall cause the soul of the little duchess to shine +clearly. In Childe Roland he creates a cycle, an epoch of romance and +mysticism, because he requires it as a stage property. In A Death in +the Desert you have the East in the first century—so vividly given +that you wish instantly to travel there, Bible in hand, to feel the +atmosphere with which your Bible ought <a name='Page_196'></a>always to have been filled. +His reading brings him to Euripides. He sees that Alcestis can be set +to his theme; and with a week or two of labor, while staying in a +country house, he draws out of the Greek fable the world of his own +meaning and shows it shining forth in a living picture of the Greek +theatre which has no counterpart for vitality in any modern tongue.</p> + +<p>The descriptive and narrative powers of Browning are above, beyond, +and outside of all that has been done in English in our time, as the +odd moments prove which he gave to the Pied Piper, The Ride from Ghent +to Aix, Incident in the French Camp. These chips from his workshop +passed instantly into popular favor because they were written in +familiar forms.</p> + +<p>How powerfully his gifts of utterance were brought to bear upon the +souls of men will be recorded, even if never understood, by literary +historians. It is idle to look to the present generation for an +intelligible account of One Word More, Rabbi Ben Ezra, Prospice, Saul, +The Blot on the 'Scutcheon. They must be judged by the future and by +men who can speak of them with a steady lip.</p> + +<p>It must be conceded that the conventional <a name='Page_197'></a>judgments of society are +sometimes right, and Browning's mission led him occasionally into +paradox and <i>jeux d'esprit</i>. Bishop Blougram is an attempt to discover +whether a good case cannot be made out for the individual hypocrite. +The Statue and the Bust is frankly a <i>reductio ad absurdum</i>, and ends +with a query.</p> + +<p>There is more serious trouble with others. The Grammarian's Funeral is +false to fact, and will appear so to posterity. The grammarian was not +a hero, and our calmer moments show us that the poem is not a great +ode. It gave certain people the glow of a great truth, but it remains +a paradox and a piece of exaggeration. The same must be said of a +large part of Browning. The New Testament is full of such paradoxes of +exaggeration, like the parable of the unjust steward, the rich man's +chance for heaven, the wedding garment; but in these, the truth is +apparent,—we are not betrayed. In Browning's paradoxes we are often +led on and involved in an emotion over some situation which does not +honestly call for the emotion.</p> + +<p>The most noble quality in Browning is his temper. He does not proceed, +as liberators generally do, by railing and pulling down. He builds up; +he is positive, not <a name='Page_198'></a>negative. He is less bitter than Christianity +itself.</p> + +<p>While there is no more doubt as to the permanent value of the content +of Browning than of the value of the spiritual truths of the New +Testament, there is very little likelihood that his poems will be +understood in the remote future. At present, they are following the +waves of influence of the education which they correct. They are built +like Palladio's Theatre at Vicenza, where the perspective converges +toward a single seat. In order to be subject to the illusion, the +spectator must occupy the duke's place. The colors are dropping from +the poems already. The feeblest of them lose it first. There was a +steady falling off in power accompanied by a constant increase in his +peculiarities during the last twenty years of his life, and we may +make some surmise as to how Balaustion's Adventure will strike +posterity by reading Parleyings with Certain People.</p> + +<p>The distinctions between Browning's characters—which to us are so +vivid—will to others seem less so. Paracelsus and Rabbi Ben Ezra, +Lippo Lippi, Karshish, Caponsacchi, and Ferishtah will all appear to +be run in the same mould. They will seem to be the thinnest disguises +which a poet ever assumed. <a name='Page_199'></a>The lack of the dramatic element in +Browning—a lack which is concealed from us by our intense sympathy +for him and by his fondness for the trappings of the drama—will be +apparent to the after-comers. They will say that all the characters in +The Blot on the 'Scutcheon take essentially the same view of the +catastrophe of the play; that Pippa and Pompilia and Phene are the +same person in the same state of mind. In fact, the family likeness is +great. They will say that the philosophic monologues are repetitions +of each other. It cannot be denied that there is much +repetition,—much threshing out of old straw. Those who have read +Browning for years and are used to the monologues are better pleased +to find the old ideas than new ones, which they could not understand +so readily. When the later Browning takes us on one of those long +afternoon rambles through his mind,—over moor and fen, through +jungle, down precipice, past cataract,—we know just where we are +coming out in the end. We know the place better than he did himself. +Nor will posterity like Browning's manners,—the dig in the ribs, the +personal application, and <i>de te fabula</i> of most of his talking. These +unpleasant things are part of his success with <a name='Page_200'></a>us to whom he means +life, not art. Posterity will want only art. We needed doctrine. If he +had not preached, we would not have listened to him. But posterity +evades the preachers and accepts only singers. Posterity is so dainty +that it lives on nothing but choice morsels. It will cull such out of +the body of Browning as the anthologists are beginning to do already, +and will leave the great mass of him to be rediscovered from time to +time by belated sufferers from the philosophy of the nineteenth +century.</p> + +<p>There is a class of persons who claim for Browning that his verse is +really good verse, and that he was a master of euphony. This cannot be +admitted except as to particular instances in which his success is due +to his conformity to law, not to his violation of it.</p> + +<p>The rules of verse in English are merely a body of custom which has +grown up unconsciously, and most of which rests upon some simple +requirement of the ear.</p> + +<p>In speaking of the power of poetry we are dealing with what is +essentially a mystery, the outcome of infinitely subtle, numerous, and +complex forces.</p> + +<p>The rhythm of versification seems to serve the purpose of a prompter. +It lets us know in <a name='Page_201'></a>advance just what syllables are to receive the +emphasis which shall make the sense clear. There are many lines in +poetry which become obscure the instant they are written in prose, and +probably the advantages of poetry over prose, or, to express it +modestly, the excuse for poetry at all, is that the form facilitates +the comprehension of the matter. Rhyme is itself an indication that a +turning-point has been reached. It punctuates and sets off the sense, +and relieves our attention from the strain of suspended interest. All +of the artifices of poetical form seem designed to a like end. +Naturalness of speech is somewhat sacrificed, but we gain by the +sacrifice a certain uniformity of speech which rests and exhilarates. +We need not, for the present, examine the question of euphony any +further, nor ask whether euphony be not a positive element in +verse,—an element which belongs to music.</p> + +<p>The negative advantages of poetry over prose are probably sufficient +to account for most of its power. A few more considerations of the +same negative nature, and which affect the vividness of either prose +or verse, may be touched upon by way of preface to the inquiry, why +Browning is hard to understand and why his verse is bad.</p> + +<p><a name='Page_202'></a>Every one is more at ease in his mind when he reads a language which +observes the ordinary rules of grammar, proceeds by means of sentences +having subjects and predicates, and of which the adjectives and +adverbs fall easily into place. A doubt about the grammar is a doubt +about the sense. And this is so true that sometimes when our fears are +allayed by faultless grammar we may read absolute nonsense with +satisfaction. We sometimes hear it stated as a bitter epigram, that +poetry is likely to endure just in proportion as the form of it is +superior to the content. As to the "inferiority" of the content, a +moment's reflection shows that the ideas and feelings which prevail +from age to age, and in which we may expect posterity to delight, are +in their nature, and of necessity, commonplace. And if by "superiority +of form" it is meant that these ideas shall be conveyed in flowing +metres,—in words which are easy to pronounce, put together according +to the rules of grammar, and largely drawn from the vulgar tongue,—we +need not wonder that posterity should enjoy it. In fact, it is just +such verse as this which survives from age to age.</p> + +<p>Browning possesses one superlative excellence, and it is upon this +that he relies. It is upon this that he has emerged and attacked <a name='Page_203'></a>the +heart of man. It is upon this that he may possibly fight his way down +to posterity and live like a fire forever in the bosom of mankind.</p> + +<p>His language is the language of common speech; his force, the +immediate force of life. His language makes no compromises of any +sort. It is not subdued to form. The emphasis demanded by the sense is +very often not the emphasis demanded by the metre. He cuts off his +words and forces them ruthlessly into lines as a giant might force his +limbs into the armor of a mortal. The joints and members of the speech +fall in the wrong places and have no relation to the joints and +members of the metre.</p> + +<p>He writes like a lion devouring an antelope. He rends his subject, +breaks its bones, and tears out the heart of it. He is not made more, +but less, comprehensible by the verse-forms in which he writes. The +sign-posts of the metre lead us astray. He would be easier to +understand if his poems were printed in the form of prose. That is the +reason why Browning becomes easy when read aloud; for in reading aloud +we give the emphasis of speech, and throw over all effort to follow +the emphasis of the metre. This is also the reason why Browning is so +unquotable—why he has <a name='Page_204'></a>made so little effect upon the language—why +so few of the phrases and turns of thought and metaphor with which +poets enrich a language have been thrown into English by him. Let a +man who does not read poetry take up a volume of Familiar Quotations, +and he will find page after page of lines and phrases which he knows +by heart—from Tennyson, Milton, Wordsworth—things made familiar to +him not by the poets, but by the men whom the poets educated, and who +adopted their speech. Of Browning he will know not a word. And yet +Browning's poetry is full of words that glow and smite, and which have +been burnt into and struck into the most influential minds of the last +fifty years.</p> + +<p>But Browning's phrases are almost impossible to remember, because they +are speech not reduced to poetry. They do not sing, they do not carry. +They have no artificial buoys to float them in our memories.</p> + +<p>It follows from this uncompromising nature of Browning that when, by +the grace of inspiration, the accents of his speech do fall into +rhythm, his words will have unimaginable sweetness. The music is so +much a part of the words—so truly spontaneous—that other verse seems +tame and manufactured beside his.</p> + +<p>Rhyme is generally so used by Browning <a name='Page_205'></a>as not to subserve the true +function of rhyme. It is forced into a sort of superficial conformity, +but marks no epoch in the verse. The clusters of rhymes are clusters +only to the eye and not to the ear. The necessity of rhyming leads +Browning into inversions,—into expansions of sentences beyond the +natural close of the form,—into every sort of contortion. The rhymes +clog and distress the sentences.</p> + +<p>As to grammar, Browning is negligent. Some of his most eloquent and +wonderful passages have no grammar whatever. In Sordello grammar does +not exist; and the want of it, the strain upon the mind caused by an +effort to make coherent sentences out of a fleeting, ever-changing, +iridescent maze of talk, wearies and exasperates the reader. Of course +no one but a school-master desires that poetry shall be capable of +being parsed; but every one has a right to expect that he shall be +left without a sense of grammatical deficiency.</p> + +<p>The Invocation in The Ring and the Book is one of the most beautiful +openings that can be imagined.</p> + +<p class="poem">"O lyric love, half angel and half bird,<br /> +And all a wonder and a wild desire—Boldest<br /> +of hearts that ever braved the sun,<br /> +Took sanctuary within the holier blue,<br /> +And sang a kindred soul out to his face—<br /><a name='Page_206'></a> +Yet human at the red-ripe of the heart—<br /> +When the first summons from the darkling earth<br /> +Reached thee amid thy chambers, blanched their blue,<br /> +And bared them of the glory—to drop down,<br /> +To toil for man, to suffer or to die—<br /> +This is the same voice: can thy soul know change?<br /> +Hail then, and hearken from the realms of help!<br /> +Never may I commence my song, my due<br /> +To God who best taught song by gift of thee,<br /> +Except with bent head and beseeching hand—<br /> +That still, despite the distance and the dark<br /> +What was, again may be; some interchange<br /> +Of grace, some splendor once thy very thought,<br /> +Some benediction anciently thy smile;—<br /> +Never conclude, but raising hand and head<br /> +Thither where eyes, that cannot reach, yet yearn<br /> +For all hope, all sustainment, all reward,<br /> +Their utmost up and on—so blessing back<br /> +In those thy realms of help, that heaven thy home,<br /> +Some whiteness, which, I judge, thy face makes proud,<br /> +Some wanness where, I think, thy foot may fall."<br /></p> + +<p>These sublime lines are marred by apparent grammatical obscurity. The +face of beauty is marred when one of the eyes seems sightless. We +re-read the lines to see if we are mistaken. If they were in a foreign +language, we should say we did not fully understand them.</p> + +<p>In the dramatic monologues, as, for instance, in The Ring and the Book +and in the <a name='Page_207'></a>innumerable other narratives and contemplations where a +single speaker holds forth, we are especially called upon to forget +grammar. The speaker relates and reflects,—pours out his ideas in the +order in which they occur to him,—pursues two or three trains of +thought at the same time, claims every license which either poetry or +conversation could accord him. The effect of this method is so +startling, that when we are vigorous enough to follow the sense, we +forgive all faults of metre and grammar, and feel that this natural +Niagara of speech is the only way for the turbulent mind of man to get +complete utterance. We forget that it is possible for the same thing +to be done, and yet to be subdued, and stilled, and charmed into +music.</p> + +<p>Prospero is as natural and as individual as Bishop Blougram. His +grammar is as incomplete, yet we do not note it. He talks to himself, +to Miranda, to Ariel, all at once, weaving all together his passions, +his philosophy, his narrative, and his commands. His reflections are +as profuse and as metaphysical as anything in Browning, and yet all is +clear,—all is so managed that it lends magic. The characteristic and +unfathomable significance of this particular character Prospero comes +out of it.</p> + +<a name='Page_208'></a> +<p class="poem"><span class="i2">"<i>Prospero</i>. My brother and thy uncle, called Antonio—</span> +I pray thee mark me,—that a brother should<br /> +Be so perfidious!—he whom next thyself,<br /> +Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put<br /> +The manage of my state; as at that time<br /> +Through all the seignories it was the first,<br /> +And Prospero, the Prime Duke, being so reputed<br /> +In dignity and for the liberal arts,<br /> +Without a parallel: those being all my study,<br /> +The government I cast upon my brother,<br /> +And to my state grew stranger, being transported<br /> +And wrapped in secret studies. Thy false uncle—<br /> +Dost thou attend me?"<br /></p> + +<p>It is unnecessary to give examples from Browning of defective verse, +of passages which cannot be understood, which cannot be construed, +which cannot be parodied, and which can scarcely be pronounced. They +are mentioned only as throwing light on Browning's cast of mind and +methods of work. His inability to recast and correct his work cost the +world a master. He seems to have been condemned to create at white +heat and to stand before the astonishing draft, which his energy had +flung out, powerless to complete it.</p> + +<p>We have a few examples of things which came forth perfect, but many of +even the most beautiful and most original of the shorter poems are +marred by some blotches that hurt <a name='Page_209'></a>us and which one feels might have +been struck out or corrected in half an hour. How many of the poems +are too long! It is not that Browning went on writing after he had +completed his thought,—for the burst of beauty is as likely to come +at the end as at the beginning,—but that his thought had to unwind +itself like web from a spider. He could not command it. He could only +unwind and unwind.</p> + +<p>Pan and Luna is a sketch, as luminous as a Correggio, but not +finished. Caliban upon Setebos, on the other hand, shows creative +genius, beyond all modern reach, but flounders and drags on too long. +In the poems which he revised, as, for instance, Hervé Riel, which +exists in two or more forms, the corrections are verbal, and were +evidently done with the same fierce haste with which the poems were +written.</p> + +<p>We must not for an instant imagine that Browning was indolent or +indifferent; it is known that he was a taskmaster to himself. But he +<i>could</i> not write other than he did. When the music came and the verse +caught the flame, and his words became sweeter, and his thought +clearer, then he could sweep down like an archangel bringing new +strains of beauty to the earth. But the occasions <a name='Page_210'></a>when he did this +are a handful of passages in a body of writing as large as the Bible.</p> + +<p>Just as Browning could not stop, so he found it hard to begin. His way +of beginning is to seize the end of the thread just where he can, and +write down the first sentence.</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p>"She should never have looked at me,<br /> +If she meant I should not love her!"</p> +<p>"Water your damned flowerpots, do—"</p> +<p>"No! for I'll save it! Seven years since."</p> +<p>"But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow!"</p> + +<p>"Fear Death? to feel the fog in my throat."</p></div> +<br /> + +<p>Sometimes his verse fell into coils as it came, but he himself, as he +wrote the first line of a poem, never knew in what form of verse the +poem would come forth. Hence the novel figures and strange +counterpoint. Having evolved the first group of lines at haphazard, he +will sometimes repeat the form (a very complex form, perhaps, which, +in order to have any organic effect, would have to be tuned to the ear +most nicely), and repeat it clumsily. Individual taste must be judge +of his success in these experiments. Sometimes the ear is worried by +an attempt to trace the logic of the rhymes which are <a name='Page_211'></a>concealed by +the rough jolting of the metre. Sometimes he makes no attempt to +repeat the first verse, but continues in irregular improvisation.</p> + +<p>Browning never really stoops to literature; he makes perfunctory +obeisance to it. The truth is that Browning is expressed by his +defects. He would not be Robert Browning without them. In the +technical part of his art, as well as in his spirit, Browning +represents a reaction of a violent sort. He was too great an artist +not to feel that his violations of form helped him. The blemishes in +The Grammarian's Funeral—<i>hoti's business, the enclitic de</i>—were +stimulants; they heightened his effects. They helped him make clear +his meaning, that life is greater than art. These savageries spoke to +the hearts of men tired of smoothness and platitude, and who were +relieved by just such a breaking up of the ice. Men loved Browning not +only for what he was, but also for what he was not.</p> + +<p>These blemishes were, under the circumstances, and for a limited +audience, strokes of art. It is not to be pretended that, even from +this point of view, they were always successful, only that they are +organic. The nineteenth century would have to be lived over <a name='Page_212'></a>again to +wipe these passages out of Browning's poetry.</p> + +<p>In that century he stands as one of the great men of England. His +doctrines are the mere effulgence of his personality. He himself was +the truth which he taught. His life was the life of one of his own +heroes; and in the close of his life—by a coincidence which is not +sad, but full of meaning—may be seen one of those apparent paradoxes +in which he himself delighted.</p> + +<p>Through youth and manhood Browning rose like a planet calmly following +the laws of his own being. From time to time he put forth his volumes +which the world did not understand. Neglect caused him to suffer, but +not to change. It was not until his work was all but finished, not +till after the publication of The Ring and the Book, that complete +recognition came to him. It was given him by men and women who had +been in the nursery when he began writing, who had passed their youth +with his minor poems, and who understood him.</p> + +<p>In later life Browning's powers declined. The torrent of feeling could +no longer float the raft of doctrine, as it had done so lightly and +for so long. His poems, always difficult, grew dry as well.</p> + +<p><a name='Page_213'></a>But Browning was true to himself. He had all his life loved converse +with men and women, and still enjoyed it. He wrote constantly and to +his uttermost. It was not for him to know that his work was done. He +wrote on manfully to the end, showing, occasionally, his old power, +and always his old spirit. And on his death-bed it was not only his +doctrine, but his life that blazed out in the words:—</p> + +<p class="poem">"One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward,<br /> +Never doubted clouds would break,<br /> +Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph.<br /> +Held, we fall to rise—are baffled to fight better—<br /> +<span class="i2">Sleep to wake."</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 100%;"> + +<a name='Page_217'></a><h2>ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</h2> + + +<p>In the early eighties, and in an epoch when the ideals of George Eliot +were still controlling, the figure of Stevenson rose with a sort of +radiance as a writer whose sole object was to entertain. Most of the +great novelists were then dead, and the scientific school was in the +ascendant. Fiction was entering upon its death grapple with sociology. +Stevenson came, with his tales of adventure and intrigue, out-of-door +life and old-time romance, and he recalled to every reader his boyhood +and the delights of his earliest reading. We had forgotten that novels +could be amusing.</p> + +<p>Hence it is that the great public not only loves Stevenson as a +writer, but regards him with a certain personal gratitude. There was, +moreover, in everything he wrote an engaging humorous touch which made +friends for him everywhere, and excited an interest in his fragile and +somewhat elusive personality supplementary to the appreciation of his +books as literature. Toward the end of his life <a name='Page_218'></a>both he and the +public discovered this, and his railleries or sermons took on the form +of personal talk.</p> + +<p>Beneath these matters lay the fact, known to all, that the man was +fighting a losing battle against mortal sickness, and that practically +the whole of his work was done under conditions which made any +productivity seem a miracle. The heroic invalid was seen through all +his books, still sitting before his desk or on his bed, turning out +with unabated courage, with increasing ability, volume after volume of +gayety, of boys' story-book, and of tragic romance.</p> + +<p>There is enough in this record to explain the popularity, running at +times into hero-worship and at times into drawing-room fatuity, which +makes Stevenson and his work a fair subject for study. It is not +impossible that a man who met certain needs of the times so fully, and +whom large classes of people sprang forward to welcome, may in some +particulars give a clew to the age.</p> + +<p>Any description of Stevenson's books is unnecessary. We have all read +them too recently to need a prompter. The high spirits and elfin humor +which play about and support every work justifies them all.</p> + +<p>One of his books, The Child's Garden of <a name='Page_219'></a>Verses, is different in kind +from the rest. It has no prototype, and is by far the most original +thing that he did. The unsophisticated and gay little volume is a work +of the greatest value. Stevenson seems to have remembered the +impressions of his childhood with accuracy, and he has recorded them +without affectation, without sentimentality, without exaggeration. In +depicting children he draws from life. He is at home in the mysteries +of their play and in the inconsequent operations of their minds, in +the golden haze of impressions in which they live. The references to +children in his essays and books show the same understanding and +sympathy. There is more than mere literary charm in what he says here. +In the matter of childhood we must study him with respect. He is an +authority.</p> + +<p>The slight but serious studies in biography—alas! too few—which +Stevenson published, ought also to be mentioned, because their merit +is apt to be overlooked by the admirers of his more ambitious works. +His understanding of two such opposite types of men as Burns and +Thoreau is notable, and no less notable are the courage, truth, and +penetration with which he dealt with them. His essay on Burns is the +most comprehensible <a name='Page_220'></a>word ever said of Burns. It makes us love Burns +less, but understand him more.</p> + +<p>The problems suggested by Stevenson are more important than his work +itself. We have in him that rare combination,—a man whose theories +and whose practice are of a piece. His doctrines are the mere +description of his own state of mind while at work.</p> + +<p>The quality which every one will agree in conceding to Stevenson is +lightness of touch. This quality is a result of his extreme lucidity, +not only of thought, but of intention. We know what he means, and we +are sure that we grasp his whole meaning at the first reading. Whether +he be writing a tale of travel or humorous essay, a novel of +adventure, a story of horror, a morality, or a fable; in whatever key +he plays,—and he seems to have taken delight in showing mastery in +many,—the reader feels safe in his hands, and knows that no false +note will be struck. His work makes no demands upon the attention. It +is food so thoroughly peptonized that it is digested as soon as +swallowed and leaves us exhilarated rather than fed.</p> + +<p>Writing was to him an art, and almost everything that he has written +has a little the air of being a <i>tour de force</i>. Stevenson's <a name='Page_221'></a>books +and essays were generally brilliant imitations of established things, +done somewhat in the spirit of an expert in billiards. In short, +Stevenson is the most extraordinary mimic that has ever appeared in +literature.</p> + +<p>That is the reason why he has been so much praised for his style. When +we say of a new thing that it "has style," we mean that it is done as +we have seen things done before. Bunyan, De Foe, or Charles Lamb were +to their contemporaries men without style. The English, to this day, +complain of Emerson that he has no style.</p> + +<p>If a man writes as he talks, he will be thought to have no style, +until people get used to him, for literature means <i>what has been +written</i>. As soon as a writer is established, his manner of writing is +adopted by the literary conscience of the times, and you may follow +him and still have "style." You may to-day imitate George Meredith, +and people, without knowing exactly why they do it, will concede you +"style." Style means tradition.</p> + +<p>When Stevenson, writing from Samoa in the agony of his South Seas (a +book he could not write because he had no paradigm and original to +copy from), says that he longs for <a name='Page_222'></a>a "moment of style," he means that +he wishes there would come floating through his head a memory of some +other man's way of writing to which he could modulate his sentences.</p> + +<p>It is no secret that Stevenson in early life spent much time in +imitating the styles of various authors, for he has himself described +the manner in which he went to work to fit himself for his career as a +writer. His boyish ambition led him to employ perfectly phenomenal +diligence in cultivating a perfectly phenomenal talent for imitation.</p> + +<p>There was probably no fault in Stevenson's theory as to how a man +should learn to write, and as to the discipline he must undergo. +Almost all the greatest artists have shown, in their early work, +traces of their early masters. These they outgrow. "For as this temple +waxes, the inward service of the mind and soul grows wide withal;" and +an author's own style breaks through the coverings of his education, +as a hyacinth breaks from the bulb. It is noticeable, too, that the +early and imitative work of great men generally belongs to a +particular school to which their maturity bears a logical relation. +They do not cruise about in search of a style or vehicle, trying all +and picking up hints here and there, but <a name='Page_223'></a>they fall incidentally and +genuinely under influences which move them and afterwards qualify +their original work.</p> + +<p>With Stevenson it was different; for he went in search of a style as +Coelebs in search of a wife. He was an eclectic by nature. He became a +remarkable, if not a unique phenomenon,—for he never grew up. Whether +or not there was some obscure connection between his bodily troubles +and the arrest of his intellectual development, it is certain that +Stevenson remained a boy till the day of his death.</p> + +<p>The boy was the creature in the universe whom Stevenson best +understood. Let us remember how a boy feels about art, and why he +feels so. The intellect is developed in the child with such +astonishing rapidity that long before physical maturity its head is +filled with ten thousand things learned from books and not drawn +directly from real life.</p> + +<p>The form and setting in which the boy learns of matters sticks in the +mind as a part of the matters themselves. He cannot disentangle what +is conventional from what is original, because he has not yet a +first-hand acquaintance with life by which to interpret.</p> + +<p>Every schoolboy of talent writes essays in the style of Addison, +because he is taught <a name='Page_224'></a>that this is the correct way of writing. He has +no means of knowing that in writing in this manner he is using his +mind in a very peculiar and artificial way,—a way entirely foreign to +Addison himself; and that he is really striving not so much to say +something himself as to reproduce an effect.</p> + +<p>There is one thing which young people do not know, and which they find +out during the process of growing up,—and that is that good things in +art have been done by men whose entire attention was absorbed in an +attempt to tell the truth, and who have been chiefly marked by a deep +unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>To a boy, the great artists of the world are a lot of necromancers, +whose enchantments can perhaps be stolen and used again. To a man, +they are a lot of human beings, and their works are parts of them. +Their works are their hands and their feet, their organs, dimensions, +senses, affections, passions. To a man, it is as absurd to imitate the +manner of Dean Swift in writing as it would be to imitate the manner +of Dr. Johnson in eating. But Stevenson was not a man, he was a boy; +or, to speak more accurately, the attitude of his mind towards his +work remained unaltered from boyhood till death, though <a name='Page_225'></a>his practice +and experiment gave him, as he grew older, a greater mastery over his +materials. It is in this attitude of Stevenson's mind toward his own +work that we must search for the heart of his mystery.</p> + +<p>He conceived of himself as "an artist," and of his writings as +performances. As a consequence, there is an undertone of insincerity +in almost everything which he has written. His attention is never +wholly absorbed in his work, but is greatly taken up with the notion +of how each stroke of it is going to appear.</p> + +<p>We have all experienced, while reading his books, a certain +undefinable suspicion which interferes with the enjoyment of some +people, and enhances that of others. It is not so much the cream-tarts +themselves that we suspect, as the motive of the giver.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"I am in the habit," said Prince Florizel, "of looking not so much to + the nature of the gift as to the spirit in which it is offered."</p> + +<p> "The spirit, sir," returned the young man, with another bow, "is one + of mockery."</p></div> + +<p>This doubt about Stevenson's truth and candor is one of the results of +the artistic doctrines which he professed and practised. He himself +regards his work as a toy; and how can we do otherwise?</p> + +<p><a name='Page_226'></a>It seems to be a law of psychology that the only way in which the +truth can be strongly told is in the course of a search for truth. The +moment a man strives after some "effect," he disqualifies himself from +making that effect; for he draws the interest of his audience to the +same matters that occupy his own mind; namely, upon his experiment and +his efforts. It is only when a man is saying something that he +believes is obviously and eternally true, that he can communicate +spiritual things.</p> + +<p>Ultimately speaking, the vice of Stevenson's theories about art is +that they call for a self-surrender by the artist of his own mind to +the pleasure of others, for a subordination of himself to the +production of this "effect" in the mind of another. They degrade and +belittle him. Let Stevenson speak for himself; the thought contained +in the following passage is found in a hundred places in his writings +and dominated his artistic life.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"The French have a romantic evasion for one employment, and call its + practitioners the Daughters of Joy. The artist is of the same family, + he is of the Sons of Joy, chose his trade to please himself, gains + his livelihood by pleasing others, and has parted with <a name='Page_227'></a>something of + the sterner dignity of men. The poor Daughter of Joy carrying her + smiles and her finery quite unregarded through the crowd, makes a + figure which it is impossible to recall without a wounding pity. She + is the type of the unsuccessful artist."</p></div> + +<p>These are the doctrines and beliefs which, time out of mind, have +brought the arts into contempt. They are as injurious as they are +false, and they will checkmate the progress of any man or of any +people that believes them. They corrupt and menace not merely the fine +arts, but every other form of human expression in an equal degree. +They are as insulting to the comic actor as they are to Michael +Angelo, for the truth and beauty of low comedy are as dignified, and +require of the artist the same primary passion for life for its own +sake, as the truth and beauty of The Divine Comedy. The doctrines are +the outcome of an Alexandrine age. After art has once learnt to draw +its inspiration directly from life and has produced some +masterpieces, then imitations begin to creep in. That Stevenson's +doctrines tend to produce imitative work is obvious. If the artist is +a fisher of men, then we must examine the works of those who have +known how to bait <a name='Page_228'></a>their hooks: in fiction,—De Foe, Fielding, Walter +Scott, Dumas, Balzac.</p> + +<p>To a study of these men, Stevenson had, as we have seen, devoted the +most plastic years of his life. The style and even the mannerisms of +each of them, he had trained himself to reproduce. One can almost +write their names across his pages and assign each as a presiding +genius over a share of his work. Not that Stevenson purloined or +adopted in a mean spirit, and out of vanity. His enthusiasm was at the +bottom of all he did. He was well read in the belles lettres of +England and the romanticists of France. These books were his bible. He +was steeped in the stage-land and cloud-land of sentimental +literature. From time to time, he emerged, trailing clouds of glory +and showering sparkles from his hands.</p> + +<p>A close inspection shows his clouds and sparkles to be stage +properties; but Stevenson did not know it. The public not only does +not know it, but does not care whether it be so or not. The doughty +old novel readers who knew their Scott and Ainsworth and Wilkie +Collins and Charles Reade, their Dumas and their Cooper, were the very +people whose hearts were warmed by Stevenson. If you cross-question +one of these, <a name='Page_229'></a>he will admit that Stevenson is after all a revival, an +echo, an after-glow of the romantic movement, and that he brought +nothing new. He will scout any comparison between Stevenson and his +old favorites, but he is ready enough to take Stevenson for what he is +worth. The most casual reader recognizes a whole department of +Stevenson's work as competing in a general way with Walter Scott.</p> + +<p>Kidnapped is a romantic fragment whose original is to be found in the +Scotch scenes of the Waverley Novels. An incident near the beginning +of it, the curse of Jennet Clouston upon the House of Shaws, is +transferred from Guy Mannering almost literally. But the curse of Meg +Merrilies in Guy Mannering—which is one of the most surprising and +powerful scenes Scott ever wrote—is an organic part of the story, +whereas the transcript is a thing stuck in for effect, and the curse +is put in the mouth of an old woman whose connection with the plot is +apocryphal, and who never appears again.</p> + +<p>Treasure Island is a piece of astounding ingenuity, in which the +manner is taken from Robinson Crusoe, and the plot belongs to the era +of the detective story. The Treasure of Franchard is a French farce or +light <a name='Page_230'></a>comedy of bourgeois life, of a type already a little +old-fashioned, but perfectly authentic. The tone, the <i>mise-en-scène</i>, +the wit, the character-drawing, the very language, are all so +marvellously reproduced from the French, that we almost see the +footlights while we read it.</p> + +<p>The Sieur de Maletroit's Door embodies the same idea as a well-known +French play in verse and in one act. The version of Stevenson is like +an exquisite water-color copy, almost as good as the original.</p> + +<p>The Isle of Voices is the production of a man of genius. No one can +too much admire the legerdemain of the magician who could produce this +thing; for it is a story out of the Arabian Nights, told with a +perfection of mannerism, a reproduction of the English in which the +later translators of the Arabian Nights have seen fit to deal, a +simulation of the movement and detail of the Eastern stories which +fairly takes our breath away.</p> + +<p>It is "ask and have" with this man. Like Mephistopheles in the +Raths-Keller, he gives us what vintage we call for. Olalla is an +instance in point. Any one familiar with Mérimée's stories will smile +at the naïveté with which Stevenson has taken the leading idea of +Lokis, and surrounded it with <a name='Page_231'></a>the Spanish sunshine of Carmen. But we +have "fables," moralities, and psychology, Jekyl and Hyde, Markheim, +and Will O' the Mill. We have the pasteboard feudal style, in which +people say, "Ye can go, boy; for I will keep your good friend and my +good gossip company till curfew—aye, and by St. Mary till the Sun get +up again." We must have opera bouffe, as in Prince Otto; melodrama, as +in The Pavilion on the Links; the essay of almost biblical solemnity +in the manner of Sir Thomas Browne, the essay of charming humor in the +style of Charles Lamb, the essay of introspection and egotism in the +style of Montaigne.</p> + +<p>Let us not for a moment imagine that Stevenson has stolen these things +and is trying to palm them off on us as his own. He has absorbed them. +He does not know their origin. He gives them out again in joy and in +good faith with zest and amusement and in the excitement of a new +discovery.</p> + +<p>If all these many echoing voices do not always ring accurately true, +yet their number is inordinate and remarkable. They will not bear an +immediate comparison with their originals; but we may be sure that the +vintages of Mephistopheles would not have stood a comparison with real +wine.</p> + +<p><a name='Page_232'></a>One of the books which established Stevenson's fame was the New +Arabian Nights. The series of tales about Prince Florizel of Bohemia +was a brilliant, original, and altogether delightful departure in +light literature. The stories are a frank and wholesome caricature of +the French detective story. They are legitimate pieces of literature +because they are burlesque, and because the smiling Mephistopheles who +lurks everywhere in the pages of Stevenson is for this time the +acknowledged showman of the piece.</p> + +<p>A burlesque is always an imitation shown off by the foil of some +incongruous setting. The setting in this case Stevenson found about +him in the omnibuses, the clubs, and the railways of sordid and +complicated London.</p> + +<p>In this early book Stevenson seems to have stumbled upon the true +employment of his powers without realizing the treasure trove, for he +hardly returned to the field of humor, for which his gifts most +happily fitted him. As a writer of burlesque he truly expresses +himself. He is full of genuine fun.</p> + +<p>The fantastic is half brother to the burlesque. Each implies some +original as a point of departure, and as a scheme for treatment some +framework upon which the author's wit and fancy shall be lavished.</p> + +<p><a name='Page_233'></a>It is in the region of the fantastic that Stevenson loved to wander, +and it is in this direction that he expended his marvellous ingenuity. +His fairy tales and arabesques must be read as they were written, in +the humor of forty fancies and without any heavy-fisted intention of +getting new ideas about life. It will be said that the defect of +Stevenson is expressed by these very qualities, fancy and ingenuity, +because they are contradictory, and the second destroys the first. Be +this as it may, there are many people whose pleasure is not spoiled by +elaboration and filigree work.</p> + +<p>Our ability to follow Stevenson in his fantasias depends very largely +upon how far our imaginations and our sentimental interests are +dissociated from our interest in real life. Commonplace and +common-sense people, whose emotional natures are not strongly at play +in the conduct of their daily lives, have a fund of unexpended mental +activity, of a very low degree of energy, which delights to be +occupied with the unreal and the impossible. More than this, any mind +which is daily occupied in an attempt to grasp some of the true +relations governing things as they are, finds its natural relaxation +in the contemplation of things as they are not,—things as <a name='Page_234'></a>they +cannot be. There is probably no one who will not find himself +thoroughly enjoying the fantastic, if he be mentally fatigued enough. +Hence the justification of a whole branch of Stevenson's work.</p> + +<p>After every detraction has been allowed for, there remain certain +books of Stevenson's of an extraordinary and peculiar merit, books +which can hardly be classed as imitations or arabesques,—Kidnapped, +Weir of Hermiston, The Merry Men. These books seem at first blush to +have every element of greatness, except spontaneity. The only trouble +is, they are too perfect.</p> + +<p>If, after finishing Kidnapped, or The Merry Men, we take up Guy +Mannering, or The Antiquary, or any of Scott's books which treat of +the peasantry, the first impression we gain is, that we are happy. The +tension is gone; we are in contact with a great, sunny, benign human +being who pours a flood of life out before us and floats us as the sea +floats a chip. He is full of old-fashioned and absurd passages. +Sometimes he proses, and sometimes he runs to seed. He is so careless +of his English that his sentences are not always grammatical; but we +get a total impression of glorious and wholesome life.</p> + +<p><a name='Page_235'></a>It is the man Walter Scott who thus excites us. This heather, these +hills, these peasants, this prodigality and vigor and broad humor, +enlarge and strengthen us. If we return now to Weir of Hermiston, we +seem to be entering the cell of an alchemist. All is intention, all +calculation. The very style of Weir of Hermiston is English ten times +distilled.</p> + +<p>Let us imagine that directness and unconsciousness are the great +qualities of style, and that Stevenson believes this. The greatest +directness and unconsciousness of which Stevenson himself was capable +are to be found in some of his early writings. Across the Plains, for +instance, represents his most straightforward and natural style. But +it happens that certain great writers who lived some time ago, and +were famous examples of "directness," have expressed themselves in the +speech of their own period. Stevenson rejects his own style as not +good enough for him, not direct enough, not unconscious enough; he +will have theirs. And so he goes out in quest of purity and truth, and +brings home an elaborate archaism.</p> + +<p>Although we think of Stevenson as a writer of fiction, his extreme +popularity is due in great measure to his innumerable <a name='Page_236'></a>essays and bits +of biography and autobiography, his letters, his journals, and travels +and miscellaneous reminiscences.</p> + +<p>It was his own belief that he was a very painstaking and conscientious +artist, and this is true to a great extent. On the day of his death he +was engaged upon the most highly organized and ambitious thing he ever +attempted, and every line of it shows the hand of an engraver on +steel. But it is also true that during the last years of his life he +lived under the pressure of photographers and newspaper syndicates, +who came to him with great sums of money in their hands. He was +exploited by the press of the United States, and this is the severest +ordeal which a writer of English can pass through. There was one year +in which he earned four thousand pounds. His immeasurable generosity +kept him forever under the harrow in money matters, and added another +burden to the weight carried by this dying and indomitable man. It is +no wonder that some of his work is trivial. The wonder is that he +should have produced it at all.</p> + +<p>The journalistic work of Stevenson, beginning with his Inland Voyage, +and the letters afterwards published as Across the Plains, is valuable +in the inverse ratio to its embellishment. Sidney Colvin suggested to +him that <a name='Page_237'></a>in the letters Across the Plains the lights were turned +down. But, in truth, the light is daylight. The letters have a +freshness that midnight oil could not have improved, and this fugitive +sketch is of more permanent interest than all the polite essays he +ever wrote.</p> + +<p>If we compare the earlier with the later work of Stevenson as a +magazine writer, we are struck with the accentuation of his +mannerisms. It is not a single style which grows more intense, but his +amazing skill in many which has increased.</p> + +<p>The following is a specimen of Stevenson's natural style, and it would +be hard to find a better:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"The day faded; the lamps were lit; a party of wild young men, who + got off next evening at North Platte, stood together on the stern + platform singing The Sweet By-and-By with very tuneful voices; the + chums began to put up their beds; and it seemed as if the business of + the day were at an end. But it was not so; for the train stopping at + some station, the cars were instantly thronged with the natives, + wives and fathers, young men and maidens, some of them in little more + than night-gear, some with stable lanterns, and all offering beds for + sale."</p></div> + +<p><a name='Page_238'></a>The following is from an essay written by Stevenson while under the +influence of the author of Rab and his Friends.</p> + +<p>"One such face I now remember; one such blank some half a dozen of us +labor to dissemble. In his youth he was a most beautiful person, most +serene and genial by disposition, full of racy words and quaint +thoughts. Laughter attended on his coming.... From this disaster like +a spent swimmer he came desperately ashore, bankrupt of money and +consideration; creeping to the family he had deserted; with broken +wing never more to rise. But in his face there was the light of +knowledge that was new to it. Of the wounds of his body he was never +healed; died of them gradually, with clear-eyed resignation. Of his +wounded pride we knew only by his silence."</p> + +<p>The following is in the sprightly style of the eighteenth century:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Cockshot is a different article, but vastly entertaining, and has + been meat and drink to me for many a long evening. His manner is dry, + brisk, and pertinacious, and the choice of words not much. The point + about him is his extraordinary readiness and spirit. You can propound + nothing but he has either a theory about it ready made or will have + one <a name='Page_239'></a>instantly on the stocks, and proceed to lay its timbers and + launch it on the minute. 'Let me see,' he will say, 'give me a + moment, I should have some theory for that.'"</p></div> + +<p>But for serious matters this manner would never do, and accordingly we +find that, when the subject invites him, Stevenson falls into English +as early as the time of James I.</p> + +<p>Let us imagine Bacon dedicating one of his smaller works to his +physicians:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"There are men and classes of men that stand above the common herd: + the soldier, the sailor, and the shepherd not unfrequently; the + artist rarely; rarelier still the clergyman; the physician almost as + a rule.... I forget as many as I remember and I ask both to pardon + me, these for silence, those for inadequate speech."</p></div> + +<p>After finishing off this dedication to his satisfaction, Stevenson +turns over the page and writes a NOTE in the language of two and +one-half centuries later. He is now the elegant <i>littérateur</i> of the +last generation—one would say James Russell Lowell:—</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"The human conscience has fled of late the troublesome domain of + conduct for what I should have supposed to be the less congenial + field of art: there she may now be said to rage, and with special + severity in all <a name='Page_240'></a>that touches dialect, so that in every novel the + letters of the alphabet are tortured, and the reader wearied, to + commemorate shades of mispronunciation."</p></div> + +<p>But in this last extract we are still three degrees away from what can +be done in the line of gentility and delicate effeteness of style. +Take the following, which is the very peach-blow of courtesy:—</p> + +<p>"But upon one point there should be no dubiety: if a man be not frugal +he has no business in the arts. If he be not frugal he steers directly +for that last tragic scene of <i>le vieux saltimbanque</i>; if he be not +frugal he will find it hard to continue to be honest. Some day when +the butcher is knocking at the door he may be tempted, he may be +obliged to turn out and sell a slovenly piece of work. If the +obligation shall have arisen through no wantonness of his own, he is +even to be commended, for words cannot describe how far more necessary +it is that a man should support his family than that he should attain +to—or preserve—distinction in the arts," etc.</p> + +<p>Now the very next essay to this is a sort of intoned voluntary played +upon the more sombre emotions.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"What a monstrous spectre is this man, the disease of the<a name='Page_241'></a> + agglutinated dust, lifting alternate feet or lying drugged in + slumber; killing, feeding, growing, bringing forth small copies of + himself; grown upon with hair like grass, fitted with eyes that move + and glitter in his face; a thing to set children screaming;—and yet + looked at nearlier, known as his fellows know him, how surprising are + his attributes."</p></div> + +<p>There is a tincture of Carlyle in this mixture. There are a good many +pages of Gothic type in the later essays, for Stevenson thought it the +proper tone in which to speak of death, duty, immortality, and such +subjects as that. He derived this impression from the works of Sir +Thomas Browne. But the solemnity of Sir Thomas Browne is like a +melodious thunder, deep, sweet, unconscious, ravishing.</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Time sadly overcometh all things and is now dominant and sitteth + upon a sphinx and looketh upon Memphis and old Thebes, while his + sister Oblivion reclineth semi-somnous upon a pyramid, gloriously + triumphing, making puzzles of Titanian erections, and turning old + glories into dreams. History sinketh beneath her cloud. The traveller + as he passeth through these deserts asketh of her 'who builded them?' + And she mumbleth something, but what it is he heareth not."</p></div> + +<p><a name='Page_242'></a>The frenzy to produce something like this sadly overcomes Stevenson, +in his later essays. But perhaps it were to reason too curiously to +pin Stevenson down to Browne. All the old masters stalk like spectres +through his pages, and among them are the shades of the moderns, even +men that we have dined with.</p> + +<p>According to Stevenson, a certain kind of subject requires a certain +"treatment," and the choice of his tone follows his title. These +"treatments" are always traditional, and even his titles tread closely +on the heels of former titles. He can write the style of Charles Lamb +better than Lamb could do it himself, and his Hazlitt is very nearly +as good. He fences with his left hand as well as with his right, and +can manage two styles at once like Franz Liszt playing the allegretto +from the 7th symphony with an air of Offenbach twined about it.</p> + +<p>It is with a pang of disappointment that we now and then come across a +style which we recognize, yet cannot place.</p> + +<p>People who take enjoyment in the reminiscences awakened by conjuring +of this kind can nowhere in the world find a master like Stevenson. +Those persons belong to the bookish classes. Their numbers are +insignificant, <a name='Page_243'></a>but they are important because they give countenance +to the admiration of others who love Stevenson with their hearts and +souls.</p> + +<p>The reason why Stevenson represents a backward movement in literature, +is that literature lives by the pouring into it of new words from +speech, and new thoughts from life, and Stevenson used all his powers +to exclude both from his work. He lived and wrote in the past. That +this Scotchman should appear at the end of what has been a very great +period of English literature, and summarize the whole of it in his two +hours' traffic on the stage, gives him a strange place in the history +of that literature. He is the Improvisatore, and nothing more. It is +impossible to assign him rank in any line of writing. If you shut your +eyes to try and place him, you find that you cannot do it. The effect +he produces while we are reading him vanishes as we lay down the book, +and we can recall nothing but a succession of flavors. It is not to be +expected that posterity will take much interest in him, for his point +and meaning are impressional. He is ephemeral, a shadow, a reflection. +He is the mistletoe of English literature whose roots are not in the +soil but in the tree.</p> + +<p><a name='Page_244'></a>But enough of the nature and training of Stevenson which fitted him +to play the part he did. The cyclonic force which turned him from a +secondary London novelist into something of importance and enabled him +to give full play to his really unprecedented talents will be +recognized on glancing about us.</p> + +<p>We are now passing through the age of the Distribution of Knowledge. +The spread of the English-speaking race since 1850, and the cheapness +of printing, have brought in primers and handbooks by the million. All +the books of the older literatures are being abstracted and sown +abroad in popular editions. The magazines fulfil the same function; +every one of them is a penny cyclopedia. Andrew Lang heads an army of +organized workers who mine in the old literature and coin it into +booklets and cash.</p> + +<p>The American market rules the supply of light literature in Great +Britain. While Lang culls us tales and legends and lyrics from the +Norse or Provensal, Stevenson will engage to supply us with tales and +legends of his own—something just as good. The two men serve the same +public.</p> + +<p>Stevenson's reputation in England was that of a comparatively light +weight, but his success here was immediate. We hailed him <a name='Page_245'></a>as a +classic—or something just as good. Everything he did had the very +stamp and trademark of Letters, and he was as strong in one department +as another. We loved this man; and thenceforward he purveyed +"literature" to us at a rate to feed sixty millions of people and keep +them clamoring for more.</p> + +<p>Does any one believe that the passion of the American people for +learning and for antiquity is a slight and accidental thing? Does any +one believe that the taste for imitation old furniture is a pose? It +creates an eddy in the Maelstrom of Commerce. It is a power like +Niagara, and represents the sincere appreciation of half educated +people for second rate things. There is here nothing to be ashamed of. +In fact there is everything to be proud of in this progress of the +arts, this importation of culture by the carload. The state of mind it +shows is a definite and typical state of mind which each individual +passes through, and which precedes the discovery that real things are +better than sham. When the latest Palace Hotel orders a hundred +thousand dollars' worth of Louis XV. furniture to be made—and most +well made—in Buffalo, and when the American public gives Stevenson an +order for Pulvis et Umbra —<a name='Page_246'></a>the same forces are at work in each case. +It is Chicago making culture hum.</p> + +<p>And what kind of a man was Stevenson? Whatever may be said about his +imitativeness, his good spirits were real. They are at the bottom of +his success, the strong note in his work. They account for all that is +paradoxical in his effect. He often displays a sentimentalism which +has not the ring of reality. And yet we do not reproach him. He has by +stating his artistic doctrines in their frankest form revealed the +scepticism inherent in them. And yet we know that he was not a +sceptic; on the contrary, we like him, and he was regarded by his +friends as little lower than the angels.</p> + +<p>Why is it that we refuse to judge him by his own utterances? The +reason is that all of his writing is playful, and we know it. The +instinct at the bottom of all mimicry is self-concealment. Hence the +illusive and questionable personality of Stevenson. Hence our blind +struggle to bind this Proteus who turns into bright fire and then into +running water under our hands. The truth is that as a literary force, +there was no such man as Stevenson; and after we have racked our +brains to find out the mechanism which has been vanquishing the chess +players of Europe, <a name='Page_247'></a>there emerges out of the Box of Maelzel a pale +boy.</p> + +<p>But the courage of this boy, the heroism of his life, illumine all his +works with a personal interest. The last ten years of his life present +a long battle with death.</p> + +<p>We read of his illnesses, his spirit; we hear how he never gave up, +but continued his works by dictation and in dumb show when he was too +weak to hold the pen, too weak to speak. This courage and the lovable +nature of Stevenson won the world's heart. He was regarded with a +peculiar tenderness such as is usually given only to the young. Honor, +and admiration mingled with affection followed him to his grave. +Whatever his artistic doctrines, he revealed his spiritual nature in +his work. It was this nature which made him thus beloved.</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13088 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |