requires a clearness and accuracy of statement which might be compared to
the work of an optician. Some idea of it can be derived from the fact
that there may be eight or ten points to a human bone, each of which has
a name of eight or ten syllables,--only to be acquired by the hardest
study. Doctor Holmes's lecturing manner was incisive and sometimes
pungent, like his conversation, but always good-humored and well
calculated to make an impression even on the most lymphatic temperaments.
While it may be said that others might have done it as well, it is
doubtful if he could have been excelled in his own specialty. His ready
fund of wit often served to revive the drooping spirits of his audience,
and many of his jests have become a kind of legendary lore at the
Medical-School. Most of them, however, were of a too anatomical character
to be reproduced in print.
So the years rolled over Doctor Holmes's head; living quietly, working
steadily, and accumulating a store of proverbial wisdom by the way. In
June, 1840, he married Amelia Lee Jackson, of Boston, an alliance which
brought him into relationship with half the families on Beacon Street,
and which may have exercised a determining influence on the future course
of his life. Doctor Holmes was always liberally inclined, and ready to
welcome such social and political improvements as time might bring; but
he never joined any of the liberal or reformatory movements of his time.
Certain old friends of Emerson affirmed, when Holmes published his
biography of the Concord sage in 1885, that no one else was so much given
to jesting as Emerson in his younger days. This may have been true; but
it is also undeniable that Emerson himself had changed much during that
time, and that the socialistic Emerson of 1840 was largely a different
person from the author of "Society and Solitude." Holmes had already
composed one of the fairest tributes to Emerson's intellectual quality
that has yet been written.
"He seems a winged Franklin, heavenly wise,
Born to unlock the secrets of the skies."
Emerson began his course in direct apposition to the conventional world;
but he was the great magnet of the age, and the world could not help
being attracted by him. It modified its course, and Emerson also modified
his, so that the final reconciliation might take place. Meanwhile Doctor
Holmes pursued the even tenor of his way. Concord does not appear to have
been attractive to him. He had a brother, John Holmes, who was reputed by
his friends to be as witty as the "Autocrat" himself, but who lived a
quiet, inconspicuous life. John was an intimate friend of Hon. E. R. Hoar
and often went to Concord to visit him; but I never heard of the Doctor
being seen there, though it may have happened before my time. He does not
speak over-much of Emerson in his letters, and does not mention
Hawthorne, Thoreau or Alcott, so far as we know, at all. They do not
appear to have attracted his attention.
We are indebted to Lowell for all that Doctor Holmes has given us. The
Doctor was forty-eight when the _Atlantic Monthly_ appeared before
the public, and according to his own confession he had long since given
up hope of a literary life. We hardly know another instance like it; but
so much the better for him. He had no immature efforts of early life to
regret; and when the cask once was tapped, the old wine came forth with a
fine bouquet. When Phillips & Sampson consulted Lowell in regard to the
editorship of the _Atlantic,_ he said at once: "We must get
something from Oliver Wendell Holmes." He was Lowell's great discovery
and proved to be his best card,--a clear, shining light, and not an
_ignis fatuus._
When the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" first appeared few were in the
secret of its authorship and everybody asked: "Who is this new luminary?"
It was exactly what the more intelligent public wanted, and Holmes jumped
at once into the position in literature which he has held ever since.
Readers were delighted with his wit, surprised at his originality and
impressed by his proverbial wisdom. It was the advent of a sound, healthy
intelligence, not unlike that of President Lincoln, which could deal with
common-place subjects in a significant and characteristic manner. The
landlady's daughter, the schoolmistress, little Boston, and the young man
called John, are as real and tangible as the _dramatis personae_ in
one of Moliere's plays. They seem more real to us than many of the
distinguished men and women whom we read of in the newspapers.
Doctor Holmes is the American Sterne. He did not seek a vehicle for his
wit in the oddities and mishaps of English middle-class domestic life,
but in the contrasts and incongruities of a Boston boarding-house. He
informs us at the outset that he much prefers a family with an ancestry--
one that has had a judge or a governor in it, with old family portraits,
old books and claw-footed furniture; but if Doctor Holmes had depended on
such society for his material he would hardly have interested the public
whom he addressed. One of Goethe's critics complained that the class of
persons he had introduced in "Wilhelm Meister" did not belong to good
society; and to this the "aristocratic" poet replied: "I have often been
in society called good, from which I have not been able to obtain an idea
for the shortest poem."
So it is always: the interesting person is the one who struggles. After
the struggle is over, and prosperity commences, the moral ends,--young
Corey and his bride go off to Mexico. The lives of families are
represented by those of its prominent individuals. The ambitious son of
an old and wealthy family makes a new departure from former precedents,
thus creating a fresh struggle for himself, and becomes an orator, like
Wendell Philips, or a scientist, like Darwin.
In the "Autocrat" we recognize the dingy wall-paper of the dining-room,
the well-worn furniture, the cracked water-pitcher, and the slight aroma
of previous repasts; but we soon forget this unattractive background, for
the scene is full of genuine human life. The men and women who congregate
there appear for what they really are. They wear no mental masks and
other disguises like the people we meet at fashionable entertainments;
and each acts himself or herself. Boarding-houses, sanitariums, and sea
voyages are the places to study human nature. When a man is half seasick
the old original Adam shows forth in him through all the wrappings of
education, social restraint, imitation and attempts at self-improvement,
with which he has covered it over for so many years. Once on a Cunard
steamship I heard an architect from San Francisco tell the story of the
hoop-snake, which takes its tail in its teeth and rolls over the prairies
at a speed equal to any express train. He evidently believed the story
himself, and as I looked round on the company I saw that they all
believed it, too, excepting Captain Martyn, who gave me a sly look from
the corner of his eye. "Rocked in the cradle of the deep," they had
become like children again, and were ready to credit anything that was
told in a confident manner. But Doctor Holmes's digressions are
infectious.
The "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" is an irregular panorama of human
life without either a definite beginning or end,--unless the autocrat's
offering himself to the schoolmistress (an incident which only took place
on paper) can be considered so; but it is by no means a patchwork. He
talks of horse-racing, the Millerites, elm trees, Doctor Johnson, the
composition of poetry and much else; but these subjects are introduced
and treated with an adroitness that amounts to consummate art. He is
always at the boarding-house, and if his remarks sometimes shoot over the
heads of his auditors, this is only because he intends that they should.
The first ten or fifteen pages of the "Autocrat" are written in such a
cold, formal and pedantic manner that the wonder is that Lowell should
have published it. After that the style suddenly changes and the Doctor
becomes himself. It is like a convention call which ends in a sympathetic
conversation.
Doctor Holmes's humor permeates every sentence that he wrote. Even in his
most serious moods we meet with it in a peculiar phrase, or the use of
some exceptional word.
Now and then his wit is very brilliant, lighting up its surroundings like
the sudden appearance of a meteor. The essence of humor consists in a
contrast which places the object or person compared at a disadvantage. If
the contrast is a dignified one we have high comedy; but if the reverse,
low comedy. Some of Holmes's comparisons make the reader laugh out aloud.
He says that a tedious preacher or lecturer, with an alert listener in
the audience, resembles a crow followed by a king-bird,--a spectacle
which of itself is enough to make one smile; and as for an elevated
comparison, what could be more so, unless we were to seek one in the
moon. There is a threefold wit in it; but the full force of this can only
be appreciated in the original text.
Nature commonly sets her own stamp on the face of a humorist. The long
pointed nose of Cervantes is indicative of immeasurable fun, and there
have been many similar noses on the faces of less distinguished wits.
Doctor Holmes ridiculed phrenology as an attempt to estimate the money in
a safe by the knobs on the outside, but he evidently was a believer in
physiognomy, and he exemplified this in his own case. His face had a
comical expression from boyhood; its profile reminded one of those
prehistoric images which Di Cesnola brought from Cyprus. As if he were
conscious of this he asserted his dignity in a more decided manner than a
man usually does who is confident of the respect of those about him. Thus
he acquired a style of his own, different from that of any other person
in Boston. He was not a man to be treated with disrespect or undue
familiarity.
A medical student named Holyoke once had occasion to call on him, and as
soon as he had introduced himself Doctor Holmes said: "There, me friend,
stand there and let me take an observation of you." He then fetched an
old book from his library which contained a portrait of Holyoke's
grandfather, who had also been a physician. He compared the two faces,
saying: "Forehead much the same; nose not so full; mouth rather more
feminine; chin not quite so strong; but on the whole a very good
likeness, and I have no doubt you will make an excellent doctor." After
Holyoke had explained his business Doctor Holmes finally said: "I liked
your grandfather, and shall always be glad to see you here."
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., was class poet of 1861, an honor which
pleased his father very much. Immediately after graduating he went to the
war, and came near losing his life at the battle of Antietam. A rifle-
ball passed through both lungs, and narrowly missed his heart. Alexander
Hamilton died of exactly such a wound in seven hours; and yet in three
days Captain Holmes was able to write to his father. The Doctor started
at once for the seat of war, and met with quite a series of small
adventures which he afterwards described in a felicitous article in the
_Atlantic,_ called "My Hunt after the Captain." His friend, Dr.
Henry P. Bowditch, lost his son in the same battle, and when they met at
the railway depot Holmes said: "I would give my house to have your
fortune like mine."
In a letter to Motley dated February 3, 1862, he says:
"I was at a dinner at Parker's the other day where Governor Andrew and
Emerson, and various unknown dingy-linened friends of progress met to
hear Mr. Conway, the not unfamous Unitarian minister of Washington,--
Virginia-born, with seventeen secesh cousins, fathers, and other
relatives,--tell of his late experience at the seat of Government. He is
an out-and-out immediate emancipationist,--believes that is the only way
to break the strength of the South; that the black man is the life of the
South; that they dread work above all things, and cling to the slave as
the drudge that makes life tolerable to them. I do not know if his
opinion is worth much."
This was a meeting of the Bird Club which Doctor Holmes attended and the
dingy-linened friends of progress were such men as Dr. Samuel G. Howe,
Governor Washburn, Governor Claflin, Dr. Estes Howe, and Frank B.
Sanborn. It has always been a trick of fashionable society, a trick as
old as the age of Pericles, to disparage liberalism by accusing it of
vulgarity; but we regret to find Doctor Holmes falling into line in this
particular. He always speaks of Sumner in his letters with something like
a slur--not to Motley, for Motley was Sumner's friend, but to others who
might be more sympathetic. This did not, however, prevent him from going
to Sumner in 1868 to ask a favor for his second son, who wanted to be
private secretary to the Senator and learn something of foreign affairs.
Sumner granted the request, although he must have been aware that the
Doctor was not over-friendly to him; but it proved an unfortunate
circumstance for Edward J. Holmes, who contracted malaria in Washington,
and this finally resulted in an early death.
Why is it that members of the medical profession should take an
exceptional interest in poisonous reptiles? Professor Reichert and Dr. S.
Weir Mitchell spent a large portion of their leisure hours for several
years in experimenting with the virus of rattlesnakes, and of the Gila
monster, without, however, quite exhausting the subject. Doctor Holmes
kept a rattlesnake in a cage for a pet, and was accustomed to stir it up
with an ox-goad. A New York doctor lost his life by fooling with a
poisonous snake, and another in Liverpool frightened a whole congregation
of scientists with two torpid rattlesnakes which suddenly came to life on
the president's table. Does it arise from their custom of dealing with
deadly poisons, or is it because they officiate as the high priests of
mortality?
Doctor Holmes's "Elsie Venner" was one of the offshoots of this peculiar
medical interest, and when we think of it in that light the story seems
natural enough. The idea of a snaky woman is as old as the fable of
Medusa. I read the novel when I was fifteen, and it made as decided an
impression on me as "Ivanhoe" or "Pickwick." I remember especially a
proverbial saying of the old doctor who serves as the presiding genius of
the plot: he knew "the kind of people who are never sick but what they
are going to die, and the other kind who never know they are sick until
they are dead." If Doctor Holmes had taken this as his text, and written
a novel on those lines, he might have created a work of far-reaching
importance. He appears to have known very little concerning poisonous
reptiles; had never heard of the terrible fer-de-lance, which infests the
cane-swamps of Brazil--a snake ten feet in length which strikes without
warning and straight as a fencer's thrust. But "Elsie Venner" and
Holmes's second novel, "The Guardian Angel," are, to use Lowell's
expression on a different subject:
"As full of wit, gumption and good Yankee sense,
As there are mosses on an old stone fence."
In the autumn of 1865 some Harvard students, radically inclined, obtained
possession of a religious society in the college called the Christian
Union, revolutionized it and changed its name to the Liberal Fraternity.
They then invited Emerson, Henry James, Sr., Doctor Holmes, and Colonel
Higginson to deliver lectures in Cambridge under their auspices. This was
a pretty bold stroke, but Holmes evidently liked it. He said to the
committee that waited upon him: "What is your rank and file? How deep do
you go down into the class?" He also promised to lecture, and that he did
not was more the fault of the students than his own. He was by no means a
radical in religious matters, but he hated small sectarian differences--
the substitution of dogma for true religious feeling. In his poem at the
grand Harvard celebration in 1886 he made a special point of this
principle:
"For nothing burns with such amazing speed
As the dry sticks of a religious creed."
Creeds are necessary, however, and an enlightened education teaches us
not to value them above their true worth.
In 1867 Doctor Holmes published a volume of poetry which was generally
well received, but was criticised in the _Nation_ with needless and
unmerciful severity. Rev. Edward Everett Hale and other friends of his
had already been attacked in the same periodical, and the Doctor thought
he knew the man who did it; but whether he was right in his conjecture
cannot be affirmed. There can be no doubt that these diatribes were
written by a Harvard professor who owned a large interest in the
_Nation_, and who was obliged to go to Europe the following year in
order to escape the odium of an imprudent speech at a public dinner. In
this critique Holmes's poetry was summed up under the heading of
"versified misfortunes"; and Holmes himself wrote to Mrs. Stowe that the
object of the writer was evidently "to injure at any rate, and to wound
if possible."
It was certainly contemptible to treat a man like Doctor Holmes in this
manner,--one so universally kind to others, and whose work was always, at
least, above mediocrity. He behaved in a dignified manner in regard to
it, and he made no attempt at self-justification, although the wound was
evidently long in healing. What recourse has a man who places himself
before the public against the envenomed shafts of an invisible adversary?
Of this at least we may be satisfied, that whatever is extravagant and
overwrought always brings its own reaction in due course; and Doctor
Holmes's reputation does not appear to have suffered permanently from
this attack. The general public, especially the republic of womankind,
forms its own opinion, and pays slight attention to literary criticisms
of that description.
Holmes's poetry rarely rises to eloquence, but neither does it descend to
sentimentality. It resembles the man's own life, in which there were no
bold endeavors, great feats, or desperate struggles; but it was a life so
judicious, healthful and highly intellectual that we cannot help admiring
it. "Dorothy Q." is perhaps the best of his short poems, as it is the
most widely known. The name itself is slightly humorous, but it is a
perfect work of art, and the line,
"Soft and low is a maiden's 'Yes,'"
has the beautiful hush of a sanctuary in it. A finer verse could not be
written. Also for a comic piece nothing equal to "The Wonderful One-hoss
Shay" has appeared since Burns's "Tam O'Shanter." It is based on a
logical illusion which brings it down to recent times, and the gravity
with which the story is narrated makes its impossibility all the more
amusing. The building of the chaise is described with a practical
accuracy of detail, and yet with a poetical turn to every verse:
"The hubs of logs from the 'Settler's ellum',--
Last of its timber,--they couldn't sell 'em;
Never an axe had seen their chips,
And the wedges flew from between their lips,
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips";
I believe that even cultivated readers have found more real satisfaction
in the "One-Hoss Shay" than in many a more celebrated lyric.
Doctor Holmes lived amid a comparatively narrow circle of friends and
acquaintances. He attended the Saturday Club, but Lowell appears to have
been the only member of it with whom he was on confidential terms. He was
rarely seen or heard of in Longfellow's house. In the winter of 1878 he
met Mrs. L. Maria Child for the first time at the Chestnut Street Club.
It appears that she did not catch his name when he was introduced to her,
and stranger still did not recognize his face. When the Doctor inquired
concerning her literary occupation she replied that she considered
herself too old to drive a quill any longer, and then fortunately added:
"Now, there is Doctor Holmes, I think he shows his customary good
judgment in retiring from the literary field in proper season." What the
Doctor thought of this is unknown, but he still continued to write.
At the age of seventy his _alma mater_ conferred on Doctor Holmes an
LL.D., and this was followed soon afterwards by Oxford and Cambridge, in
England; but why was it not given ten or fifteen years earlier, when
Holmes was in his prime? Then it might have been a service and a
satisfaction to him; but when a man is seventy such tributes have small
value for him. There had been an _Atlantic_ breakfast for Doctor
Holmes in Boston, and a Holmes breakfast in New York. He was in the
public eye, and by honoring him the University honored itself. So Harvard
conferred an LL.D. on General Winfield Scott just before the fatal battle
of Bull Run,--instead of after his brilliant Mexican campaign. If the
degree was not conferred on Holmes for his literary work, what reason
could be assigned for it; and if he deserved it on that account, Emerson
and Hawthorne certainly deserved it much more. Let us be thankful that no
such mischief was contemplated. If honorary degrees are to be given in
order to attract attention to a university, or worse still, for the
purpose of obtaining legacies, they had better be abolished altogether.
During his last visit to England Doctor Holmes was the guest of F. Max
Muller at Oxford, and years afterwards Professor Muller wrote to an
American correspondent concerning him and others:
"Froude was a dear friend of mine, related to my wife; so was Kingsley--
dear soul. Renan used to fetch books for me when we first met at the
Bibliothique Royale. Emerson stayed at my house on his last visit here.
But the best of all my American friends was Wendell Holmes. When he left
us he said, 'I have talked to thousands of people--you are the only one
with whom I have had a conversation.' We had talked about [Greek: ta
megisthta]--the world as the logos, as the thought of God. What a pure
soul his was--a real Serene Highness."
This is trancendentalism from the fountainhead; and here Doctor Holmes
may fairly be said to have avenged himself on the _Nation's_
excoriating critic.
FRANK W. BIRD, AND THE BIRD CLUB.
It is less than four miles from Harvard Square to Boston City Hall, a
building rather exceptional for its fine architecture among public
edifices, but the change in 1865 was like the change from one sphere of
human thought and activity to another. In Boston politics was everything,
and literature, art, philosophy nothing, or next to nothing. There was
mercantile life, of course, and careworn merchants anxiously waiting
about the gold-board; but there were no tally-ho coaches; there was no
golf or polo, and very little yachting. Fashionable society was also at a
low ebb, and as Wendell Phillips remarked in 1866, the only parties were
boys' and girls' dancing-parties. A large proportion of the finest young
men in the city had, like the Lowells, shed their blood for the Republic.
The young people danced, but their elders looked grave.
At this time the political centre of Massachusetts and, to a certain
extent of New England, was the Bird Club, which met every Saturday
afternoon at Young's Hotel to dine and discuss the affairs of the nation.
Its membership counted both Senators, the Governor, a number of ex-
Governors and four or five members of Congress. They were a strong team
when they were all harnessed together.
[Illustration: F. W. BIRD]
Francis William Bird, the original organizer of the club, was born in
Dedham, October 22, 1809, and the only remarkable fact concerning his
ancestry would seem to be that his great-grandmother was a Hawthorne, of
the same family as Nathaniel Hawthorne; but there was no trace of that
strongly-marked lineage in his composition. As a boy he was quick at
mathematics, but not much of a student, so that he was full eighteen
years of age before he entered Brown University. His college course also
left him in a depleted physical condition, and it was several years later
when he commenced the actual labor of life. His father had intended him
for the law; but this did not agree with his health, and his physician
advised a more active employment. Accordingly we find him in 1835 engaged
in the manufacture of paper at East Walpole, an occupation in which he
continued until 1892,--always suffering from dyspepsia, but always equal
to whatever occasion demanded of him. He was a tall, thin, wiry-looking
man, with a determined expression, but of kind and friendly manners.