"I ought to have acknowledged and thanked you for the plus-Arabian
hospitality which warms your note. It might tempt any one but a
galley-slave, or a scholar who is tied to his book-crib as the other
to his oar, to quit instantly all his dull surroundings, and fly to
this lighted, genial asylum with doors wide open and nailed back."
There is a brief glimpse of Emerson upon his return from California
which it is a pleasure to recall. He came at once, even before going
to Concord, to see Mr. Fields. "We must not visit San Francisco too
young," he said, "or we shall never wish to come away. It is called
the 'Golden Gate,' not because of its gold, but because of the lovely
golden flowers which at this season cover the whole face of the
country down to the edge of the great sea." He smiled at the namby-
pamby travelers who turned back because of the discomforts of the
trip into the valley of the Yosemite. It was a place full of marvel
and glory to him. The only regret attending the trip seems to have
been that he was obliged to miss the meetings of the Saturday Club,
which were always dear to him.
The following extract gives a picture of him about this time:--"A
call from Mr. Emerson, who talked of Lowell's 'joyous genius.' He
said: 'I have read what he has done of late with great interest, and
am sorry to have been so slow as not to have written him yet,
especially as I am to meet him at the club dinner to-day. How is
Pope?' he continued, crossing the room to look at an authentic
portrait by Richardson of that great master of verse. 'Such a face as
this should send us all to re-reading his works again.' Then turning
to the bust of Tennyson, by Woolner, which stood near, he said, 'The
more I think of this bust and the grand self-assertion in it, the more
I like it....' Emerson came in after the club dinner; Longfellow also.
Mrs. G---- was present, and bragged grandly, and was very smart in
talk. Afterward Emerson said he was reminded of Carlyle's expression
with regard to Lady Duff Gordon, whom he considered a female St. Peter
walking fearlessly over the waves of the sea of humbug."
Opportunities for social communication were sacred in his eyes, and
never to be lightly thrown aside. He wore an expectant look upon his
face in company, as if waiting for some new word from the last comer.
He was himself the stimulus, even when disguised as a listener, and
his additions to the evenings called Mr. Alcott's Conversations were
marked and eagerly expected. Upon the occasion of Longfellow's last
departure for Europe in 1869, a private farewell dinner took place,
where Emerson, Agassiz, Holmes, Lowell, Greene, Norton, Whipple, and
Dana all assembled in token of their regard. Emerson tried to persuade
Longfellow to go to Greece to look after the Klephs, the supposed
authors of Romaic poetry, so beautiful in both their poetic eyes.
Finding this idea unsuccessful, he next turned to the Nile, to those
vast statues which still stand awful and speechless witnesses of the
past. He was interesting and eloquent, but Longfellow was not to be
persuaded. It was an excellent picture of the two contrasting
characters,--Longfellow, serene, considerate, with his plans arranged
and his thought resting in his home and his children's requirements;
Emerson, with eager, unresting thought, excited by the very idea of
travel to plunge farther into the strange world where the thought of
mankind was born.
This lover of hospitalities was also king in his own domain. In the
winter of 1872 Mr. Fields was invited to read a lecture in Concord,
and an early invitation came bidding us to pass the time under his
roof-tree. A few days before, a note was received, saying that Emerson
himself was detained in Washington, and could not reach home for the
occasion. His absence, however, was to make no difference about our
visit. He should return at the earliest possible moment. The weather
turned bitterly cold before we left Boston. It was certainly no less
bleak when we reached Concord. Even the horse that carried us from the
station to the house had on his winter coat. Roaring fires were
blazing when we reached the house, which were only less warm than our
welcome.
After supper, just as the lecture hour was approaching, I suddenly
heard the front door open. In another moment there was the dear sage
himself ready with his welcome. He had lectured the previous evening
in Washington, and left in the earliest possible train, coming through
without pause to Concord. In spite of the snow and cold, he said he
should walk to the lecture-room as soon as he had taken a cup of tea,
and before the speaker had finished his opening sentence Mr. Emerson's
welcome face appeared at the door.
After the lecture the old house presented a cheerful countenance.
Again the fire blazed, friends sent flowers, and Mr. Alcott joined in
conversation. "Quite swayed out of his habit," said Emerson, "by the
good cheer." The spirit of hospitality led the master of the house to
be swayed also, for it was midnight before the talk was ended. It was
wonderful to see how strong and cheerful and unwearied he appeared
after his long journey. "I would not discourage this young acolyte,"
he said, turning to the lecturer of the evening and laughing, "by
showing any sense of discomfort."
When we arose the next morning the sun was just dawning over the level
fields of snow. The air was fresh, the sky cloudless, the glory of the
scene indescribable. The weight of weariness I had brought from the
city was lifted by the scene before me, and by the influence of the
great nature who was befriending us within the four walls. It was good
to look upon the same landscape which was the source of his own
inspirations.
Emerson was already in the breakfast-room at eight o'clock. There was
much talk about the lack of education in English literature among our
young people. Emerson said a Boston man who usually appeared
sufficiently well informed asked him if he had ever known Spinoza. He
talked also of Walt Whitman and Coventry Patmore, and asked the last
news of Allingham: when suddenly, as it seemed, the little horse came
again, in his winter coat, and carried us to the station, and that day
was done.
There is a bit of description of Emerson as he appeared at a political
meeting in his earlier years which I love to remember. The meeting was
called in opposition to Daniel Webster, and Emerson was to address the
people. It was in Cambridgeport. When he rose to speak he was greeted
by hisses, long and full of hate; but a friend said, who saw him
there, that he could think of nothing but dogs baying at the moon. He
was serene as moonlight itself.
The days came, alas! when desire must fail, and the end draw near. One
morning he wrote from Concord: "I am grown so old that, though I can
read from a paper, I am no longer fit for conversation, and dare not
make visits. So we send you our thanks, and you shall not expect us."
It has been a pleasure to rehearse in my memory these glimpses of
Emerson, and, covered with imperfections as they are, I have found
courage for welding them together in the thought that many minds must
know him through his work who long to ask what he was like in his
habit as he lived, and whose joy in their teacher can only be enhanced
by such pictures as they can obtain of the righteousness and beauty of
his personal behavior.