praise," he answered, "but you might commend the cover--no, that is an
affront to taste and intelligence,"--looking it over with an expression
of disgust--"but at any rate you can commend the publishers for _putting
it on well_."
With that--apparently dreading further questioning--he left the room. I
proceeded to review the book by saying simply that the cover was put on
so strongly that even the most persistent and long continued enjoyment
or critical study of the text was not likely to detach or loosen it.
I am disposed to think that Mr. Bryant's excessive tenderness toward
poets was lavished chiefly upon the weaklings of that order. For a
little while later a poet of genuine inspiration, who afterwards
did notable work, put forward his first volume of verse. I found an
abundance of good things to say about it, but there was one line in one
of his poems that was so ridiculously inconsequent and absurd, that I
could not refrain from poking fun at it. I am convinced that the poet in
question, with his larger experience and the development that afterward
came to his critical faculties, would not have permitted that line to
stand if it had occurred in a poem of a later period. It appealed to
him then by its musical quality, which was distinctly marked, but when
subjected to the simplest analysis it was obvious and arrant nonsense.
Mr. Bryant was interested in the review I wrote of the volume, and in
talking with me about it, he distinctly chuckled over my destructive
analysis of the offending line. There was no suggestion in what he said,
that he regarded the criticism as in the least a transgression of his
injunction to "deal gently with the poets."
Unfortunately, the poet criticised seemed less tolerant of the
criticism. He was a personal friend of my own, but when next I saw him
his mood was that of one cruelly injured, and for many years thereafter
he manifested this sense of injury whenever he and I met. I think he
afterward forgave me, for we later became the best of friends, and I am
glad to believe there was no rancor in his heart toward me when he died
a little while ago.
[Sidenote: Anonymous Criticism]
In these cases I was at a peculiar disadvantage--though I think it not
at all an unjust one--in every indulgence in anything like adverse
criticism. I may best explain this, perhaps, by telling of an incident
that happened soon after I assumed my position. I had been lucky enough
to secure from Richard Henry Stoddard a very brilliant review of a
certain book which he was peculiarly the fittest man in all the land to
write about. I had the review in type, when I mentioned to Mr. Bryant
my good fortune in securing it.
"Is it signed?" he asked in his gentlest manner.
I answered that it was not, for the reason that Stoddard was under a
certain assertion of obligation which he refused to recognize but which
I could not ask him to repudiate, not to write things of that character
for other than a particular publication.
"Then I request that you shall not use it," said Mr. Bryant.
"But really, Mr. Bryant, there is not the smallest obligation upon him
in the matter. He is perfectly free----"
"It is not of that that I was thinking," he interrupted. "That is a
matter between him and his own conscience, and you and I have nothing
whatever to do with it. My objection to your use of the article is
that _I regard an anonymous literary criticism as a thing quite as
despicable, unmanly, and cowardly as an anonymous letter_. It is
something that no honorable man should write, and no honorably conducted
newspaper should publish."
"But my own reviews in the _Evening Post_ are all of them anonymous,"
I suggested.
"Not at all," he answered. "When you were appointed literary editor the
fact was communicated to every publisher in the country. I directed
that and saw that it was done, so that every publisher and, through the
publishers, every author, should know that every literary criticism in
the _Evening Post_ was your utterance. In veritable effect, therefore,
everything you print in our literary columns is signed, just as every
critical article in the great British reviews is. When Jeffrey ridiculed
'Hours of Idleness,' and later, when he seriously criticised 'Cain,'
Byron had no need to inquire who his critic was. The work was responsibly
done, as such work should be in every case. The reasons seem to me
obvious enough. In the first place, anonymous literary criticism may
easily become a cowardly stabbing in the back under cover of darkness.
In the second place, the reader of such criticism has no means of
knowing what value to place upon it. He cannot know whether the critic
is a person competent or incompetent, one to whose opinions he should
defer or one whose known incapacity would prompt him to dismiss them as
unworthy of consideration because of their source. In the third place,
anonymous literary criticism opens wide the door of malice on the one
hand, and of undue favoritism on the other. It is altogether despicable,
and it is dangerous besides. I will have none of it on the _Evening
Post_."
I suggested that I had myself read the book that Stoddard had reviewed,
and that I was ready to accept his criticism as my own and to hold
myself responsible for it.
"Very well," he replied. "In that case you may print it as your own, but
I had much rather you had written it yourself."
I have often meditated upon these things since, and I have found
abundant reason to adopt Mr. Bryant's view that an anonymous literary
criticism is as despicable as an anonymous letter. About a year ago I
was startled by the utterance of precisely the same thought in nearly
identical words, by Professor Brander Matthews. I was sitting between
him and Mr. Howells at a banquet given by Colonel William C. Church
to the surviving writers for that best and most literary of American
magazines, _The Galaxy_, and when Matthews uttered the thought I turned
to Mr. Howells and asked him what his opinion was.
"I have never formulated my thought on that question, even in my own
mind," he replied. "I don't know how far it would be just to judge
others in the matter, but for myself, I think I never wrote a literary
criticism that was not avowedly or ascertainably my own. Without having
thought of the ethical question involved, my own impulse is to shrink
from the idea of striking in the dark or from behind a mask."
LI
[Sidenote: A Thrifty Poet's Plan]
On one occasion Mr. Bryant's desire to "deal gently with the poets" led
to an amusing embarrassment. Concerning a certain volume of verse "made
in Ohio" and published by its author, I had written that "this is the
work of a man who seems to have an alert appreciation of the poetic side
of things, but whose gift of poetic interpretation and literary
expression is distinctly a minus quantity."
Soon afterward Mr. Bryant entered my den with an open letter in his hand
and a look of pained perplexity on his face.
"What am I to do with that?" he asked, handing me the letter to read.
I read it. The poet, knowing Mr. Bryant to be the editor of the _Evening
Post_, evidently supposed that he wrote everything that appeared in
the columns of that newspaper. Assuming that Mr. Bryant had written the
review of his book, he wrote asking that he might be permitted to use
the first half of my sentence as an advertisement, with Mr. Bryant's
name signed to it. To facilitate matters he had prepared, on a separate
sheet, a transcript of the words:
"This is the work of a man who seems to have an alert appreciation of
the poetic side of things."
This he asked Mr. Bryant to sign and return to him for use as an
advertisement, explaining that "Your great name will help me to sell
my book, and I need the money. It cost me nearly two hundred dollars
to get the book out, and so far I haven't been able to sell more than
twenty-seven copies of it, though I have canvassed three counties at
considerable expense for food, lodging, and horse-feed."
I saw how seriously distressed Mr. Bryant was by this appeal, and
volunteered to answer the letter myself, by way of relieving him. I
answered it, but I did not report the nature of my answer to Mr. Bryant,
for the reason that in my personal letter I dealt by no means "gently"
with this particular poet.
For the further distraction of Mr. Bryant's mind from a matter that
distressed him sorely, I told him of the case in which a thrifty and
shifty London publisher turned to good advertising account one of the
_Saturday Review's_ most murderous criticisms. The _Review_ had written:
"There is much that is good in this book, and much that is new. But that
which is good is not new, and that which is new is not good."
The publisher, in his advertisements, made display of the sentence:
"There is much that is good in this book, and much that is
new.--_Saturday Review_."
One thing leads to another in conversation and I went on--by way of the
further diversion of Mr. Bryant's mind--to illustrate the way in which
the _Saturday Review_, like many other publications, sometimes ruined
its richest utterances by dilution. I cited a case in which that
periodical had begun a column review of a wishy-washy book by saying:
"This is milk for babes, with water superadded. The milk is pure and the
water is pure, but the diet is not invigorating."
As a bit of destructive criticism, this was complete and perfect. But
the writer spoiled it by going on to write a column of less trenchant
matter, trampling, as it were, and quite needlessly, upon the corpse of
the already slain offender.
The habit of assuming that the distinguished editor of a newspaper
writes everything of consequence that appears in its columns, is not
confined to rural poets in Ohio, as three occurrences during my service
on the _Evening Post_ revealed to me.
[Sidenote: Mr. Bryant and My Poe Article]
When a great Poe celebration was to be held in Baltimore, on the
occasion of the unveiling of a monument or something of that kind, Mr.
Bryant was earnestly urged to send something to be read on the occasion
and published as a part of the proceedings. He had no stomach for the
undertaking. It was said among those who knew him best that his personal
feelings toward Poe's memory were of a bitterly antagonistic kind.
However that may be--and I do not know whether it was true or not--he
was resolute in his determination to have no part or lot in this Poe
celebration. In reply to the urgent invitations sent him, he wrote a
carefully colorless note, excusing himself on the plea of "advancing
age."
When the day of the celebration came, however, I wrote a long, critical
appreciation of Poe, with an analysis of his character, borrowed mainly
from what Charles F. Briggs had said to me. My article was published
as an editorial in the _Evening Post_, and straightway half a dozen
prominent newspapers in different cities reprinted it under the headline
of "William Cullen Bryant's Estimate of Poe."
Fearing that Mr. Bryant might be seriously annoyed at being thus made
responsible for an "estimate of Poe" which he had been at pains not
to write, I went to his room to speak with him about the matter.
"Don't let it trouble you, my dear boy," he said in his most patient
manner. "We are both paying the penalty of journalistic anonymity. I am
held responsible for utterances not my own, and you are robbed of the
credit due you for a very carefully written article."
Again, on the occasion of Longfellow's seventieth birthday, Mr. Bryant
resisted all entreaties for any utterance--even the briefest--from him.
I was assigned to write the necessary editorial article, and when it
appeared, one of the foremost newspapers in the country reprinted it as
"One Great Poet's Tribute to Another," and in an introductory paragraph
explained that, while the article was not signed, it was obviously from
Mr. Bryant's pen.
During the brief time that I remained on the _Evening Post's_ staff after
Mr. Carl Schurz became its editor, I wrote a rather elaborate review of
Colonel Theodore Dodge's book, "The Campaign of Chancellorsville." The
_Springfield Republican_ reprinted it prominently, saying that it had
special importance as "the comment of General Schurz on a campaign in
which he had borne a conspicuous part."
[Sidenote: A Tupper Trepidation]
When it was given out that Martin Farquhar Tupper intended to visit
America during the Centennial Exposition of 1876, I wrote a playful
article about the "Proverbial Philosophy" man and handed it to the
managing editor for publication as a humorous editorial. Mr. Sperry was
amused by the article, but distressingly perplexed by apprehensions
concerning it. He told me of the difficulty. It seems that some years
before that time, during a visit to England, Mr. Bryant had been very
hospitably entertained by Tupper, wherefore Sperry feared that Mr.
Bryant might dislike the publication of the article. At the same time
he was reluctant to lose the fun of it.
"Why not submit the question to Mr. Bryant himself?" I suggested, and
as Mr. Bryant entered at that moment Sperry acted upon the suggestion.
Mr. Bryant read the article with many manifestations of amusement, but
when he had finished he said:
"I heartily wish, Mr. Sperry, you had printed this without saying a word
to me about it, for then, when Mr. Tupper becomes my guest, as he will
if he comes to America, I could have explained to him that the thing was
done without my knowledge by one of the flippant young men of my staff.
Now that you have brought the matter to my attention, I can make no
excuse."
Sperry pleaded that Tupper's coming was not at all a certainty, adding:
"And at any rate, he will not be here for several months to come, and
he'll never know that the article was published or written."
"Oh, yes he will," responded Mr. Bryant. "Some damned, good-natured
friend will be sure to bring it to his attention."
As Mr. Bryant never swore, the phrase was of course a quotation.
LII
There has been a deal of nonsense written and published with respect to
Mr. Bryant's _Index Expurgatorius_, a deal of arrogance, and much cheap
and ill-informed wit of a certain "superior" sort expended upon it.
So far as I have seen these comments, they have all been founded upon
ignorance of the facts and misconception of Mr. Bryant's purpose.
In the first place, Mr. Bryant never published the index and never
intended it to be an expression of his views with respect to linguistic
usage. He prepared it solely for office use, and it was meant only to
check certain tendencies of the time so far as the _Evening Post_ was
concerned. The reporters on more sensational newspapers had come to call
every big fire a "carnival of flame," every formal dinner a "banquet,"
and to indulge in other verbal exaggerations and extravagances of like
sort. Mr. Bryant catalogued these atrocities in his _Index_ and forbade
their use on the _Evening Post_.
He was an intense conservative as to the English language, and his
conscience was exceedingly alert to preserve it in its purity, so far as
it was within his power to do so. Accordingly he ruled out of _Evening
Post_ usage a number of things that were creeping into the language to
its corruption, as he thought. Among these were the use of "numerous"
where "many" was meant, the use of "people" for "persons," "monthly" for
"monthly magazine," "paper" for "newspaper," and the like. He objected
to the phrase "those who," meaning "those persons who," and above all
his soul revolted against the use of "such" as an adverb--as in the
phrase "such ripe strawberries" which, he contended, should be "so ripe
strawberries" or "strawberries so ripe." The fact that Webster's and
Worcester's dictionaries recognized many of the condemned usages, made
not the smallest impression on his mind.
"He must be a poor scholar," he once said in my hearing, "who cannot go
behind the dictionaries for his authority."
We had a copy of Johnson's dictionary in the office, and it was the
only authority of that kind I ever knew Mr. Bryant to consult. Even in
consulting that he gave small attention to the formal definitions. He
searched at once the passages quoted from classic English literature
as illustrations of usage, and if these did not justify the particular
locution under consideration, he rejected and condemned it.
[Sidenote: Mr. Bryant's "Index"]
For another thing, the _Index_ as it has been quoted for purposes of
cheap ridicule, held much that Mr. Bryant did not put into it, and for
which he was in no way responsible. The staff of the _Evening Post_ was
composed mainly of educated men, and each of them was free to add to
the _Index_ such prohibitions as seemed to him desirable. Some of these
represented mere crotchets, but they were all intended to aid in that
conservation of English undefiled which was so dear a purpose to Mr.
Bryant.
In the main the usages condemned by the _Index_ were deserving of
condemnation, but in some respects the prohibitions were too strait-laced,
too negligent of the fact that a living language grows and that usages
unknown to one generation may become altogether good in another. Again
some of the prohibitions were founded upon a too strict regard for
etymology, in forgetfulness of the fact that words often change or
modify and sometimes even reverse their original significance. As an
example, Shakespeare uses the expression "fearful adversaries," meaning
badly scared adversaries, and that is, of course, the etymological
significance of the word. Yet we now universally use it in a precisely
opposite sense, meaning that the things called "fearful" are such as
fill us with fear.
Finally, it is to be said that Mr. Bryant neither intended nor attempted
to enforce the _Index_ arbitrarily, or even to impose its restrictions
upon any but the least educated and least experienced of the writers who
served his newspaper. I used to violate it freely, and one day I mentioned
the fact to Mr. Bryant. He replied:
"My dear Mr. Eggleston, the _Index_ was never intended to interfere with
scholarly men who know how to write good English. It is meant only to
restrain the inconsiderate youngsters and start them in right paths."
His subordinates were less liberal in their interpretation of the matter.
The man whose duty it was to make clippings from other newspapers to
be reprinted in the _Evening Post_, was expected so to edit and alter
them as to bring them within _Index_ requirements, and sometimes the
alterations were so considerable as to make of the extracts positive
misquotations. I have often wondered that none of the newspapers whose
utterances were thus "edited" out of their original forms and still
credited to them ever complained of the liberties taken with the text.
But so far as I know none of them ever did.
When Mr. Bryant and I were talking of the _Index_ and of the license
I had to violate it judiciously, he smilingly said to me:
"After all a misuse of words is sometimes strangely effective. In the
old days when I wrote more for the editorial columns than I do now, I
had a friend who was deeply interested in all matters of public concern,
and whose counsel I valued very highly because of the abounding common
sense that always inspired it. His knowledge of our language was
defective, but he was unconscious of the fact, and he boldly used words
as he understood them, without the smallest fear of criticism before
his eyes. Once when some subject of unusual public importance was
under popular consideration, I wrote a long and very careful article
concerning it. I did my best to set forth every consideration that in
any wise bore upon it, and to make clear and emphatic what I regarded
as the marrow of the matter. My friend was deeply interested, and came
to talk with me on the subject.
[Sidenote: An Effective Blunder in English]
"'That is a superb article of yours, Mr. Bryant,' he said, 'but it will
do no manner of good.' I asked him why, and he answered: 'Because you
have exhausted the subject, and won't come back to it. That never
accomplishes anything. If you want to produce an effect you must keep
hammering at the thing. I tell you, Mr. Bryant, it is _reirritation_
that does the business.'
"I thought the matter over and saw that he was right, not only in
his idea but still more in the word he had mistakenly chosen for its
expression. In such cases it is not only reiteration, but _reirritation_
that is effective."
There are other indexes in other newspaper offices. Those of them that
I have seen represent crass ignorance quite as often as scholarship. One
of them absolutely forbids the use of the pronoun "which." Another which
I saw some years ago, put a ban on the conjunctions "and" and "but."
This prohibition, I am informed, was designed to compel the use of short
sentences--a very desirable thing, of course, but one which may easily
be pushed to extremes. Imagine a reporter having to state that "X and Y
were caught in the act of firing a tenement house, and arrested by
two policemen, officers A and B, but that X escaped on the way to the
station-house after knocking policeman B down and seriously if not
fatally injuring him." If the reader will try to make that simple
statement without the use of the four "ands" and the one "but" in the
sentence, he will have a realizing sense of the difficulty the writers
on that newspaper must have had in their efforts to comply with the
requirements of the index.
In still another case the unscholarly maker of the index, having learned
that it is incorrect to say "on to-day," "on yesterday," and "on
to-morrow," has made a blanket application of what he has mistaken for a
principle, and has decreed that his writers shall not say "on the fourth
of March" or "on Wednesday of next week," or anything else of the kind.
The ignorance shown in that case is not merely a manifestation of a
deficient scholarship; it means that the maker of the index knew so
little of grammar as not to know the difference between an adverb and
a noun. Yet every one of the newspapers enforcing these ignorant index
requirements has made fun of Mr. Bryant's scholarly prohibitions.
Reserved, dignified, self-conscious as he was, Mr. Bryant was always a
democrat of the proud old conservative sort. He never descended to undue
familiarity with anybody. He patted nobody on the back, and I have never
been able to imagine what would have happened if anybody had taken
familiar liberties of that kind with him. Certainly nobody ever ventured
to find out by practical experiment. He never called even the youngest
man on his staff by his given name or by his surname without the prefix
"Mr."
In that respect he differed radically and, to my mind, pleasingly from
another distinguished democrat.
When Mr. Cleveland was for the third time a candidate for the
Presidency, I called on him by Mr. Pulitzer's request just before
sailing for Paris, where Mr. Pulitzer was then living. I entered the
reception room at his hotel quarters and sent in my card. Mr. Cleveland
came out promptly and greeted me with the exclamation:
"Why, hello, Eggleston! How are you? I'm glad to see you."
There was no harm in it, I suppose, but it disagreeably impressed me
as the greeting of a politician rather than that of a distinguished
statesman who had been President of the United States and hoped to be
so again. Had I been an intimate personal friend who could say "Hello,
Cleveland!" in response, I should have accepted his greeting as a
manifestation of cordiality and good-fellowship. I was in fact only
slightly acquainted with him, and in view of all the circumstances
his familiarity of address impressed me as boorish. Years afterwards I
learned how easy it was for him to do boorish things--how much restraint,
indeed, he found it necessary to impose upon himself in order to avoid
the doing of boorish things.
[Sidenote: Mr. Bryant on British Snobbishness]
But while Mr. Bryant never indulged in undue familiarity with anybody,
he never lost sight of the dignity of those with whom he conversed,
and above all, he never suffered shams to obscure his perception of
realities. One Sunday at his home in Roslyn he told me the story of his
abrupt leaving of England during a journey to Europe. I will tell it
here as nearly as possible in his own words.