large collection of the various scientific, economic, and technical
bureaus of the government. The best known of these is the unique medical
library of the War Department. Then there is the Library of Congress,
with many more than a million volumes, which to-day has an official
right to one copy of every book published in the United States, and so
may claim to be a national library. It is still not comparable to the
many-sided and complete collection of the British Museum; the national
library is one-sided, or at least shows striking gaps. Having started as
the Library of Congress, it has, aside from its one copy of every
American book and the books on natural science belonging to the
Smithsonian Institution, few books except those on politics, history,
political economy, and law. The lack of space for books, which existed
until a few years ago, made it seem inexpedient to spend money for
purposes other than the convenience of Congressmen. But the American
people, in its love for books, has now erected such a building as the
world had never before seen devoted to the storing of books. The new
Congressional Library was opened in 1897, and since the stacks have
still room for several million volumes, the library will soon grow to an
all-round completeness like that at London. This library has a specially
valuable collection of manuscripts and correspondences.
All the collections of books which we have so far mentioned are
virtually like those of Germany. But since they mostly date from the
nineteenth century, the American libraries are more modern, and contain
less dead weight in the way of unused folios. Much more important is
their greatly superior accessibility. Their reading-rooms are more
comfortable and better lighted, their catalogues more convenient,
library hours longer, and, above all, books are much more easily and
quickly delivered. Brooks Adams said recently, about the library at
Washington as a place for work, that this building is well-nigh perfect;
it is large, light, convenient, and well provided with attendants. In
Paris and London, one works in dusty, forbidding, and overcrowded rooms,
while here the reading-rooms are numerous, attractive, and comfortable.
In the National Library at Paris, one has to wait an hour for a book; in
the British Museum, half an hour; and in Washington, five minutes. This
rapid service, which makes such a great difference to the student, is
found everywhere in America; and everywhere the books are housed in
buildings which are palatial, although perhaps not so beautiful as the
Washington Library.
Still, all these differences are unessential; in principle the academic
libraries are alike in the New and Old Worlds. The great difference
between Europe and America begins with the libraries which are not
learned, but which are designed to serve popular education. The American
public library which is not for science, but for education, is to the
European counterpart as the Pullman express train to the village
post-chaise.
The scientific libraries of Boston, including that of Harvard
University, contain nearly two million printed works; but the largest
library of all is distinct from these. It is housed on Copley Square, in
a renaissance palace by the side of the Art Museum, and opposite the
most beautiful church in America. The staircase of yellow marble, the
wonderful wall-paintings, the fascinating arcade on the inner court, and
the sunlit halls are indeed beautiful. And in and out, from early
morning till late evening, weekday and Sunday, move the people of
Boston. The stream of men divides in the lower vestibule. Some go to the
newspaper room, where several hundred daily newspapers, a dozen of them
German, hang on racks. Others wander to the magazine rooms, where the
weekly and monthly papers of the world are waiting to be read. Others
ascend to the upper stories, where Sargent’s famous pictures of the
Prophets allure the lover of art, in order to look over more valuable
special editions and the art magazines, geographical charts, and musical
works. The largest stream of all goes to the second floor, partly into
the huge quiet reading-room, partly into the rotunda, which contains the
catalogue, partly into the hall containing the famous frescoes of the
Holy Grail, where the books are given out. Here a million and a half
books are delivered every year to be taken home and read. And no one has
to wait; an apparatus carries the applicant’s card with wonderful speed
to the stacks, and the desired book is sent back in automatic cars.
Little children meanwhile wander into the juvenile room, where they find
the best books for children. And everything invites even the least
patient reader to sit down quietly with some sort of a volume—everything
is so tempting, so convenient and comfortable, and so surpassingly
beautiful. And all this is free to the humblest working-man.
And still, if the citizen of Massachusetts were to be asked of what
feature of the public libraries he is most proud, he would probably not
mention this magnificent palace in Boston, the capital of the state, but
rather the 350 free public libraries scattered through the smaller
cities and towns of this state, which is after all only one-third as
large as Bavaria. It is these many libraries which do the broadest work
for the people. Each little collection, wherever it is, is the centre of
intellectual and moral enlightenment, and plants and nourishes the
desire for self-perfection. Of course, Massachusetts has done more in
this respect than any other part of the country—especially more than the
South, which is backward in this respect. But there is no longer any
city of moderate size which has not a large public library, and there is
no state which does not encourage in every possible way the
establishment of public libraries in every small community, giving
financial aid if it is necessary.
Public libraries have become the favourite Christmas present of
philanthropists, and while the hospitals, universities, and museums have
still no reason for complaint, the churches now find that superfluous
millions are less apt to go to gay church windows than to well-chosen
book collections. In the year 1900 there existed more than 5,383 public
libraries having over a thousand volumes; of these 144 had more than
fifty thousand, and 54 had more than a hundred thousand volumes. All
together contained, according to the statistics of 1900, more than
forty-four million volumes and more than seven million pamphlets; and
the average growth was over 8 per cent. There are probably to-day,
therefore, fifteen million volumes more on the shelves. The many
thousand libraries which have fewer than 999 books are over and above
all this.
The make-up of such public libraries may be seen from the sample
catalogue gotten out by the Library Association a few years since, as a
typical collection of five thousand books. This catalogue which, with
the exception of the most important foreign classics, contains only
books in English, including, however, many translations, contains 227
general reference books, 756 books on history, 635 on biography, 413 on
travel, 355 on natural science, 694 in belles-lettres, 809 novels, 225
on art, 220 on religion, 424 on social science, 268 on technical
subjects, etc. The cost of this sample collection is $12,000. The
proportions between the several divisions are about the same in larger
collections. In smaller collections, belles-lettres have a somewhat
greater share. The general interest taken by the nation in this matter
is shown by the fact that the first edition of twenty thousand copies of
this sample catalogue, of six hundred pages, was soon exhausted.
The many-sidedness of this catalogue points also to the manifold
functions of the public library. It is meant to raise the educational
level of the people, and this can be done in three ways: first, interest
may be stimulated along new lines; second, those who wish to perfect
themselves in their own subjects or in whatsoever special topics, may be
provided with technical literature; and third, the general desire for
literary entertainment may be satisfied by books of the best or at least
not of the worst sort. The directors of libraries see their duties to
lie in all three directions. The libraries guide the tastes and
interests of the general public, and try to replace the ordinary
servant-girl’s novel with the best romances of the day and shallow
literature with works which are truly instructive. And no community is
quite content until its public library has become a sort of general
meeting-place and substitute for the saloon and the club. America is the
working-man’s paradise, and attractive enough to the rich man; but the
ordinary man of the middle classes, who in Germany finds his chief
comfort in the Bierhalle, would find little comfort in America if it
were not for the public library, which offers him a home. Thus the
public library has come to be a recognized instrument of culture along
with the public school; and in all American outposts the school teacher
and librarian are among the pioneers.
The learned library cannot do this. To be sure, the university library
can help to spread information, and conversely the public library makes
room for thousands of volumes on all sorts of scientific topics. But the
emphasis is laid very differently in the two cases, and if it were not
so neither library would best fulfil its purpose. The extreme quiet of
the reference library and the bustle and stir of the public library do
not go together. In the one direction America has followed the dignified
traditions of Europe; in the other, it has opened new paths and
travelled on at a rapid pace. Every year discovers new ideas and plans,
new schemes for equipment and the selection of books, for cataloguing,
and for otherwise gaining in utility. When, for instance, the library in
Providence commenced to post a complete list of books and writings
pertaining to the subject of every lecture which was given in the city,
it was the initiation of a great movement. The juvenile departments are
the product of recent years, and are constantly increasing in
popularity. There are even, in some cases, departments for blind
readers. The state commissions are new, and so also the travelling
libraries, which are carried from one village to another.
The great schools for librarians are also new. The German librarian is
mostly a scholar; but the American believes that he has improved on the
European library systems, not so much by his ample financial resources
as by having broken with the academic custom, and having secured
librarians with a special library training. And since there are such
officials in many thousand libraries, and the great institutions create
a constant demand for such persons, the library schools, which offer
generally a three years’ course, have been found very successful.
Admittedly, all this technical apparatus is expensive; the Boston
library expends every year a quarter of a million dollars for
administrative expenses. But the American taxpayer supports this more
gladly than any other burden, knowing that the public library is the
best weapon against alcoholism and crime, against corruption and
discontent, and that the democratic country can flourish only when the
instinct of self-perfection as it exists in every American is thoroughly
satisfied.
The reading of the American nation is not to be estimated wholly by the
books in public libraries, since it also includes a tremendous quantity
of printed material that goes to the home of every citizen. Three
hundred and forty American publishers place their wares every year on
the market, and the part bought by the public libraries is a very small
proportion. A successful novel generally reaches its third hundred
thousand; of course, such gigantic editions are limited to novels and
school-books. The number of annual book publications is much smaller
than in Germany; but it must be considered that, first, the American
electrotype process does not lend itself to new and revised editions;
and that small brochures are replaced in America by the magazine
articles. On the other hand, the number of copies published is perhaps
larger than in Germany. And then, too, among the upper classes, a great
many German, French, and Italian books are purchased from Europe.
The great feature for all classes of the population is the tremendous
production of periodical literature. Statistics show that in the United
States in the year 1903, there were published 2,300 daily papers, more
than 15,000 weeklies, 2,800 monthlies, and 200 quarterlies—in all,
21,000 periodicals. These are more periodicals than are published in all
Europe; in Germany alone there are 7,500. The tremendous significance of
these figures, particularly as compared with the European, becomes clear
only when one considers the number of copies which these periodicals
circulate. Not merely the newspapers of the three cities having over a
million inhabitants, but also those of the larger provincial towns,
reach a circulation of hundreds of thousands; and more surprising still
is the unparalleled circulation of the weekly and monthly papers. Huge
piles of magazines, containing the most serious sort of essays, are sold
from every news-stand in a few hours. And anybody who knows New England
is not surprised at the statement which T. W. Higginson makes in his
recollections, that he came once to a small Massachusetts village of
only twenty-four homes, nineteen of which subscribed to the _Atlantic
Monthly_, a publication which is most nearly comparable to the _Deutsche
Rundschau_.
The surprisingly large sales of expensive books among rich families is
quite as gratifying as the huge consumption of magazines among the
middle classes. Editions de luxe are often sold entire at fabulous
prices before the edition is out, and illustrated scientific works
costing hundreds of dollars always find a ready sale. These are merely
the symptoms of the fact that every American home has its bookcases
proportionate to its resources, and large private libraries are found
not merely in the homes of scholars and specialists. In the palaces of
merchant princes, the library is often the handsomest room, although it
is sometimes so papered with books that it looks as if the architect had
supplied them along with the rugs and chandeliers. One more commonly
finds that the library is the real living-room of the house. If one
looks about in such treasure apartments, one soon loses the sense of
wonder completely; rare editions and valuable curiosities are there
brought together with the greatest care and intelligence into an
appropriate home. There are probably very few German private houses with
collections of books and paintings comparable, for instance, to that of
J. Montgomery Sears in Boston. The whole interior is so wonderfully
harmonious that even the autograph poems and letters of Goethe and
Schiller seem a matter of course. But from the book-shelves of the
millionaire to the carefully selected little shelf of the poor
school-ma’am, from the monumental home of the national library to the
modest little library building of every small village, from the nervous
and rapid perusal of the scholar to the slow making-out of the
working-man who pores over his newspaper on the street corner, or of the
shop-girl with the latest novel in the elevated train, there is
everywhere life and activity centring around the world of print, and
this popularity of books is growing day by day.
By far the most of what the American reads is written by Americans. This
does not mean that any important book which appears in other parts of
the world escapes him; on the contrary just as the American everywhere
wants only the best, uses the latest machines and listens to the most
famous musicians, so in the matter of literature he is observant of
every new tendency in poetry, whether from Norway or Italy, and the
great works of the world’s literature have their thoughtful readers.
There are probably more persons who read Dante in Boston than in Berlin.
Of German intellectual productions, the scientific books are most read,
and if strictly scientific they are read in the original by the best
educated Americans; the popular books are mostly read in translation. Of
the belles-lettres, Schiller and Lessing are generally put aside with
the school-books, while Goethe and Heine remain welcome; and beside them
are translations of modern story-writers from Freytag and Spielhagen
down to Sudermann. French literature is more apt to be read in the
original than German, but with increasing distaste. The moral feeling of
the American is separated by such a chasm from the atmosphere of the
Parisian romance that modern French literature has never become so
popular in America as it has in Germany.
As a matter of course, English literature of every sort has by far the
greatest influence; English magazines are little read or appreciated,
while English poetry, novels, dramas, and works of general interest are
as much read in America as in England. Books so unlike as the novels of
Mrs. Ward, of Du Maurier, and of Kipling have about the same very large
circulation; and all the standard literature of England, from Chaucer to
Browning, forms the educational background of every American, especially
of every American woman. In spite of all this, it remains true that the
most of that which is read in the United States is written by Americans.
How and what does the American write?
Europe has a ready answer, and pieces together a mental picture of “echt
amerikanische” literature out of its unfriendly prejudices, mostly
reminiscent of Buffalo Bill and Barnum’s circus. It is still not
forgotten how England suddenly celebrated Joaquin Miller’s freakish and
inartistic poems of the Western prairie as the great American
achievement, and called this tasteless versifier, who was wholly
unrecognized in his own country, the American Byron. He was not only
unimportant, but he was not typically American. And of American humour
the European observer has about as just an opinion. Nothing but
ridiculous caricatures are considered. Mark Twain’s first writings,
whose sole secret was their wild exaggeration, were more popular in
Germany than in America; while the truly American humour of Lowell or
Holmes has lain unnoticed. The American is supposed to be quite
destitute of any sense for form or measure, and to be in every way
inartistic; and if any true poet were to be granted to the New World, he
would be expected to be noisy like Niagara. In this sense the real
literature of America has hitherto remained un-American, perhaps too
un-American. For the main thing which it has lacked has been force.
There have been men like Uhland, Geibel, and Heyse, but there has so far
been no one like Hebbel.
There is no absolutely new note in American literature, and especially
no one trait which is common to all American writings and which is not
found in any European. If there is anything unique in American
literature, it is perhaps the peculiar combination of elements long
familiar. An enthusiastic American has said that to be American means to
be both fresh and mature, and this is in fact a combination which is
new, and which well characterizes the literary temperament of the
country. To be fresh and young generally means to be immature, and to be
mature and seasoned means to have lost the enthusiasm and freshness of
youth. Of course, this is not a contradiction realized. It would be
impossible, for instance, to be both naïve and mature; but the American
is not and never has been naïve. Just as this nation has never had a
childhood, has never originated ballads, epics, and popular songs, like
other peoples during their naïve beginnings, because this nation brought
with it from Europe a finished culture; so the vigorous youthfulness in
the national literary temperament has in it nothing of naïve simplicity.
It is the enthusiasm of youth, but not the innocence of boyhood. It
would also be impossible to be both fresh and decadent; the American is
mature but not over-ripe, not weakened by the sceptical ennui of
senility.
To be fresh means to be confident, optimistic and eager, lively,
unspoiled, and courageous; it means to strive toward one’s best ideals
with the ardour of youth; while to be mature means to understand things
in their historic connection, in their true proportions, and with a due
feeling for form; to be mature means to be simple, and reposeful, and
not breathlessly anxious over the outcome of things. To be sure, this
optimistic feeling of strength, this enthusiastic self-confidence, is
hardly able to seize the things which are finest and most subtle. It
looks only into the full sunlight, never into the shadows with their
less obvious beauties. There are no half-tones, no sentimental and
uncertain moods; wonder and meditation come into the soul only with
pessimism. And most of all, the enthusiasm of youth not only looks on
but wants to work, to change and to make over; and so the American is
less an artist than an insistent herald. Behind the observer stands
always the reformer, enthusiastic to improve the world. On the other
hand, the disillusionment of maturity should have cooled the passions,
soothed hot inspiration, and put the breathless tragic muse to sleep. It
avoids dramatic excitement, holds aloof, and looks on with quiet
friendliness and sober understanding of mankind. So it happens that
finished art is incompatible with such an enthusiastic eagerness to
press onward, and sensuous emotion is incompatible with such an
idealism. And so we find in the American temperament a finished feeling
for form, but a more ethical than artistic content, and we find humour
without its favourite attendant of sentiment. Of course, the exceptions
crowd quickly to mind to contradict the formula: had not Poe the
demoniac inspiration; was not Hawthorne a thorough artist; did not
Whitman violate all rules of form; and does not Henry James see the
half-tones? And still such variations from the usual are due to
exceptional circumstances, and every formula can apply only in a general
way.
Still, in these general traits, one can see the workings of great
forces. This enthusiastic self-confidence and youthful optimism in
literature are only another expression of American initiative, which has
developed so powerfully in the fight with nature during the colonial and
pioneer days, and which has made the industrial power of America. And,
as Barrett Wendell has shown, not a little of this enthusiastic and
spontaneous character is inherited from the old English stock of three
hundred years ago. In England itself, the industrial development changed
the people; the subjects of Queen Victoria were very little like those
of Queen Elizabeth; the spontaneity of Shakespeare’s time no longer
suits the smug and insular John Bull. But that same English stock found
in America conditions that were well calculated to arouse its
spontaneity and enthusiasm.
Then, on the other hand, the clear, composed, and formal maturity which
distinguish the literary work of the new nation is traceable principally
to the excellent influence of English literature. The ancient culture of
England spared this nation a period of immaturity. Then, too, there has
been the intellectual domination of the New England States, whose
Puritan spirit has given to literature its ethical quality, and at the
same time contributed a certain quiet superiority to the common turmoil.
Throughout the century, and even to-day, almost all of the best
literature originates with those who are consciously reacting against
the vulgar taste. Just because the number of sellers and readers of
books is so much greater than in Europe, the unliterary circles of
readers who, as everywhere, enjoy the broadly vulgar, must by their
numbers excite the disgust of the real friend of literature; and this
conscious duty of opposition, which becomes a sort of mission, sharpens
the artistic consciousness, fortifies the feeling of form, and struggles
against all that is immature.