Cambridge Neighbors (from Literary Friends and Acquaintance) , livre ebook

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. Being the wholly literary spirit I was when I went to make my home in Cambridge, I do not see how I could well have been more content if I had found myself in the Elysian Fields with an agreeable eternity before me. At twenty-nine, indeed, one is practically immortal, and at that age, time had for me the effect of an eternity in which I had nothing to do but to read books and dream of writing them, in the overflow of endless hours from my work with the manuscripts, critical notices, and proofs of the Atlantic Monthly. As for the social environment I should have been puzzled if given my choice among the elect of all the ages, to find poets and scholars more to my mind than those still in the flesh at Cambridge in the early afternoon of the nineteenth century. They are now nearly all dead, and I can speak of them in the freedom which is death's doubtful favor to the survivor; but if they were still alive I could say little to their offence, unless their modesty was hurt with my praise.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819948148
Langue	English

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CAMBRIDGE NEIGHBORS
Being the wholly literary spirit I was when I wentto make my home in Cambridge, I do not see how I could well havebeen more content if I had found myself in the Elysian Fields withan agreeable eternity before me. At twenty-nine, indeed, one ispractically immortal, and at that age, time had for me the effectof an eternity in which I had nothing to do but to read books anddream of writing them, in the overflow of endless hours from mywork with the manuscripts, critical notices, and proofs of theAtlantic Monthly. As for the social environment I should have beenpuzzled if given my choice among the elect of all the ages, to findpoets and scholars more to my mind than those still in the flesh atCambridge in the early afternoon of the nineteenth century. Theyare now nearly all dead, and I can speak of them in the freedomwhich is death's doubtful favor to the survivor; but if they werestill alive I could say little to their offence, unless theirmodesty was hurt with my praise.
I.
One of the first and truest of our Cambridge friendswas that exquisite intelligence, who, in a world where so manypeople are grotesquely miscalled, was most fitly named; for no manever kept here more perfectly and purely the heart of such as thekingdom of heaven is of than Francis J. Child. He was then in hisprime, and I like to recall the outward image which expressed theinner man as happily as his name. He was of low stature and of aninclination which never became stoutness; but what you most sawwhen you saw him was his face of consummate refinement: veryregular, with eyes always glassed by gold-rimmed spectacles, astraight, short, most sensitive nose, and a beautiful mouth withthe sweetest smile mouth ever wore, and that was as wise and shrewdas it was sweet. In a time when every other man was more or lessbearded he was clean shaven, and of a delightful freshness ofcoloring which his thick sunny hair, clustering upon his head inclose rings, admirably set off. I believe he never became gray, andthe last time I saw him, though he was broken then with years andpain, his face had still the brightness of his inextinguishableyouth.
It is well known how great was Professor Child'sscholarship in the branches of his Harvard work; and howespecially, how uniquely, effective it was in the study of Englishand Scottish balladry to which he gave so many years of his life.He was a poet in his nature, and he wrought with passion as well asknowledge in the achievement of as monumental a task as anyAmerican has performed. But he might have been indefinitely lessthan he was in any intellectual wise, and yet been precious tothose who knew him for the gentleness and the goodness which in himwere protected from misconception by a final dignity as delicateand as inviolable as that of Longfellow himself.
We were still much less than a year from our life inVenice, when he came to see us in Cambridge, and in the Italianinterest which then commended us to so many fine spirits among ourneighbors we found ourselves at the beginning of a life-longfriendship with him. I was known to him only by my letters fromVenice, which afterwards became Venetian Life, and by a bit ofdevotional verse which he had asked to include in a collection hewas making, but he immediately gave us the freedom of his heart,which after wards was never withdrawn. In due time he imagined ahome-school, to which our little one was asked, and she had herfirst lessons with his own daughter under his roof. These thingsdrew us closer together, and he was willing to be still nearer tome in any time of trouble. At one such time when the shadow whichmust some time darken every door, hovered at ours, he had thestrength to make me face it and try to realize, while it was stillthere, that it was not cruel and not evil. It passed, for thattime, but the sense of his help remained; and in my own case I cantestify of the potent tenderness which all who knew him must haveknown in him. But in bearing my witness I feel accused, almost asif he were present; by his fastidious reluctance from anyrecognition of his helpfulness. When this came in the form ofgratitude taking credit to itself in a pose which reflected honorupon him as the architect of greatness, he was delightfullyimpatient of it, and he was most amusingly dramatic in reproducingthe consciousness of certain ineffectual alumni who used tooverwhelm him at Commencement solemnities with some such pompousacknowledgment as, “Professor Child, all that I have become, sir, Iowe to your influence in my college career. ” He did, withdelicious mockery, the old-fashioned intellectual poseurs among thestudents, who used to walk the groves of Harvard with bent head,and the left arm crossing the back, while the other lodged its handin the breast of the high buttoned frock-coat; and I could fancythat his classes in college did not form the sunniest exposure foryoung folly and vanity. I know that he was intolerant of any mannerof insincerity, and no flattery could take him off his guard. Ihave seen him meet this with a cutting phrase of rejection, and noman was more apt at snubbing the patronage that offers itself attimes to all men. But mostly he wished to do people pleasure, andhe seemed always to be studying how to do it; as for need, I amsure that worthy and unworthy want had alike the way to hisheart.
Children were always his friends, and they repaidwith adoration the affection which he divided with them and withhis flowers. I recall him in no moments so characteristic as thosehe spent in making the little ones laugh out of their hearts at hisdrolling, some festive evening in his house, and those he gave tosharing with you his joy in his gardening. This, I believe, beganwith violets, and it went on to roses, which he grew in a splendorand profusion impossible to any but a true lover with a genuinegift for them. Like Lowell, he spent his summers in Cambridge, andin the afternoon, you could find him digging or pruning among hisroses with an ardor which few caprices of the weather couldinterrupt. He would lift himself from their ranks, which hescarcely overtopped, as you came up the footway to his door, andpeer purblindly across at you. If he knew you at once, he traversedthe nodding and swaying bushes, to give you the hand free of thetrowel or knife; or if you got indoors unseen by him he would comein holding towards you some exquisite blossom that weighed down thetip of its long stem with a succession of hospitableobeisances.
He graced with unaffected poetry a life of as hardstudy, of as hard work, and as varied achievement as any I haveknown or read of; and he played with gifts and acquirements such asin no great measure have made reputations. He had a rare and lovelyhumor which could amuse itself both in English and Italian withsuch an airy burletta as “Il Pesceballo” (he wrote it inMetastasian Italian, and Lowell put it in libretto English); he hada critical sense as sound as it was subtle in all literature; andwhatever he wrote he imbued with the charm of a style finelypersonal to himself. His learning in the line of his Harvardteaching included an early English scholarship unrivalled in histime, and his researches in ballad literature left no corner of ituntouched. I fancy this part of his study was peculiarly pleasantto him; for he loved simple and natural things, and the beautywhich he found nearest life. At least he scorned the pedanticaffectations of literary superiority; and he used to quote withjoyous laughter the swelling exclamation of an Italian critic whoproposed to leave the summits of polite learning for a moment, withthe cry, “Scendiamo fra il popolo! ” (Let us go down among thepeople. )
II.
Of course it was only so hard worked a man who couldtake thought and trouble for another. He once took thought for meat a time when it was very important to me, and when he took thetrouble to secure for me an engagement to deliver that course ofLowell lectures in Boston, which I have said Lowell had the courageto go in town to hear. I do not remember whether Professor Childwas equal to so much, but he would have been if it were necessary;and I rather rejoice now in the belief that he did not seek quitethat martyrdom.
He had done more than enough for me, but he had doneonly what he was always willing to do for others. In the form of afavor to himself he brought into my fife the great happiness ofintimately knowing Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen, whom he had found onesummer day among the shelves in the Harvard library, and found tobe a poet and an intending novelist. I do not remember now just howthis fact imparted itself to the professor, but literature is ofeasily cultivated confidence in youth, and possibly the revelationwas spontaneous. At any rate, as a susceptible young editor, I wasasked to meet my potential contributor at the professor's twoo'clock dinner, and when we came to coffee in the study, Boyesentook from the pocket nearest his heart a chapter of 'Gunnar', andread it to us.