Appointed as Secretary of Legation.—Life in St.
Petersburg.—Literary Labors.—His Home at Kennett.—Publication
of his Poems.—Visits Iceland—His Poem at the Millennial
Celebration.—Appointment as Minister to Berlin.—His
Congratulations.—Reception at Berlin.—His Death.
In the summer of 1862, Mr. Taylor accepted the appointment as Secretary
of Legation at St. Petersburg, Russia, for which he was indebted to
his life-long friend, the Hon. George H. Boker, of Philadelphia, whose
services to the nation as Minister Plenipotentiary, as well as his gifts
as an author, have made his name familiar to the reading public of
America.
It does not appear that the official duties connected with his office
especially pleased Mr. Taylor, and it is believed by his friends that
he regarded them in about the same light that Hawthorne looked upon his
office. It was an honorable and responsible position, especially so
during 1862 and 1863, when the United States was laboring so earnestly,
and finally so successfully, to gain the friendship of Russia, and Mr.
Taylor appreciated it. Certainly the American Legation at St. Petersburg
was never more popular at the Court of the Emperor than during the
term of Mr. Taylor’s sojourn. Whatever the credit which is due to
the Minister during his stay, it is no disparagement to say that Mr.
Taylor made many warm friends in St. Petersburg, who remember him, and
weep for his untimely death. When the duties of the Legation devolved
entirely upon him, as _charge d’affairs_, he was treated with the
greatest consideration, and for a time the court circles believed that
the President of the United States would promote him to the office of
Ambassador, as appeared to them to be his due.
But Mr. Taylor was in no wise an office-seeker, and cared more for the
honor of writing a good book than for any office in the gift of the
President. So the autumn, winter, and spring which Mr. Taylor spent in
St. Petersburg were devoted to his studies of literature, so far as he
could do so without neglecting his duties. He made several excursions
into the interior of Russia, and made himself acquainted with the
language and writings of Russian authors. Work! work! work! Incessantly
writing, reading, or observing! Such was his life in St. Petersburg.
His envious critics have said that his genius all lay in the ability
to do hard work. But does not successful hard work exhibit genius in
its greatest strength? Some may, in one dash, make themselves famous.
Authors may concentrate all their power in a single leap, and reach the
heights of fame at one bound. But of such men you seldom hear a second
success. Their single work is all that they do well. Not so with Mr.
Taylor. The publication of one book only left the way clear for a better
successor. His Muse was not uncertain, his genius was not spasmodic. Two
of his poems, written in Russia, namely, “The Neva,” and “A Thousand
Years,” were afterwards translated into Russian, and received the hearty
encomiums of the cultured nobility. His story of “Beauty and the Beast,”
located at Novgorod, to which place Mr. Taylor made an excursion while
connected with the American Legation at St. Petersburg, has also been
translated into the Russian language, together with other selections from
his writings, showing that his literary renown did not suffer by his
residence in Russia.
But his highest ambition in life was to publish a worthy translation of
Goethe and Schiller, together with a biography of both. This had been
his purpose from the time he first visited Weimar and Gotha. To this his
other labors became gradually subordinated.
How he came to turn his attention to prose fiction can be accounted
for on the supposition that he adopted that character for the purpose
of testing his own powers, and securing an income which would enable
him to prosecute his studies and investigations relating to Goethe and
Schiller. He did not hope to be a leading novelist, and the public placed
a much higher estimate on his novels than he did. The desire he had to
immortalize his old home, the urgent appeals of friends, and the advice
of acquaintances, pressed him into a field which he confessed in his
lectures was uncongenial. Yet he had no more reason to be ashamed of
“Hannah Thurston,” “John Godfrey’s Fortunes,” and the “Story of Kennett,”
brought out soon after his return from Russia, than he had thirteen or
fourteen years before to be ashamed of the Jenny Lind prize-song, or the
poem delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard College.
After leaving Russia, he soon returned to the United States, and, with
lecturing and writing, occupied the time until again called abroad by a
desire to see some localities visited by Goethe, and describe the great
Paris Exhibition of 1867. Then followed those years of work at home,
and travel abroad and at home, as his duties as author, editor, and
correspondent demanded. In 1866 appeared his poem, “Picture of St. John,”
which was immediately translated into Italian by an admirer in Florence.
His poem, “The Ballad of Abraham Lincoln,” appeared in 1869, “Goethe’s
Faust,” in 1871, “The Masque of the Gods,” in 1872, “Lars, a Pastoral of
Norway,” in 1873, “The Prophet, a Tragedy,” in 1874, and “Home Pastorals,
Ballads, and Lyrics,” in 1875.
In the spring of 1874, Mr. Taylor visited Iceland as the correspondent
of the New York “Tribune.” He had visited Egypt, and was to return to
America after a short stay in Europe, but the news of the Millennial
Celebration, which was to take place on the island August 2d and 3d,
called a large number of people to the festivities, and it was fitting
that a great American newspaper should be represented. But neither the
people of Iceland, nor the editors of the “Tribune,” nor Mr. Taylor,
had any idea, when he set out, that his visit would be magnified
into a recognition of the event by the people of the United States.
His knowledge of the Danish language, and his study of the Icelandic
tongue, according to his plan laid in Copenhagen eighteen years before,
when on his way to the Northern Ocean, made him peculiarly fitted
for the position in which he was, by a conjunction of unforeseen
circumstances, unexpectedly thrown. But his genius was as spontaneous
as it was persevering; for in a few moments of time, amid confusion,
and conversation in which he took part, he wrote the poem, “America to
Iceland,” which, when read to the Icelanders in their own language, on
the occasion of their largest gathering, created the greatest enthusiasm.
One verse ran thus,—
“Hail, mother-land of Skalds and heroes,
By love of freedom hither hurled;
Fire in their hearts as in their mountains,
And strength like thine to shake the world!”
Mr. Taylor’s printed description of the scenery, people, government, and
geysers of Iceland, is a standard work on that almost unknown island, and
is written in a vein readable and refined. As it shows rather the fruit
of a cultured life than the processes of culture, its contents require no
extended notice in a work like this.
In the winter (February) of 1878, President Hayes offered Mr. Taylor the
vacant mission at Berlin, expressing, at the same time, his conviction
that there was no other American living who could so nobly and creditably
fill the position of Minister of the United States to the German Empire.
Mr. Taylor’s fame as a German scholar; his relation, by marriage, to the
German people; his popularity at home and in Germany; and his creditable
performance of his duties in a like position at St. Petersburg, made it
peculiarly fitting that he should represent the American people in that
official capacity.
It was an office unsought by Mr. Taylor, but, nevertheless, it was most
cheerfully accepted, as it would give him an opportunity to prosecute his
studies of the life of Goethe and the life of Schiller, which could not
be so well secured in any other way.
The announcement of the appointment was hailed by the people of the
United States with the liveliest demonstrations of approval. Neither
the appointment of Mr. Bancroft or Mr. Motley received such universal
approbation. All the newspapers, with no known exception, declared it to
be one of the wisest appointments made by the administration. All parties
applauded at home, and the leading journals of Europe mentioned it with
words of praise.
Mr. Taylor was overwhelmed with congratulations, and President Hayes
received letters from almost every State and city in the Republic,
thanking him for making such a creditable selection, and commending his
wisdom. Mr. Taylor was feasted, and “toasted” by his commercial and
literary friends with an enthusiasm and liberality never known before on
such an occasion. Ovation after ovation was given, and his departure in
April from New York was witnessed by hosts of his friends.
His welcome at Berlin was scarcely less hearty. Authors and editors
received him with earnest expressions of satisfaction. The Crown Prince,
Prince Bismarck, and even the Emperor and Empress greeted him with most
unusual marks of respect. With a world looking to him for yet greater
things, but thankful for the noble deeds of the past, Mr. Taylor set up
a home at Berlin in which he hoped to finish those books on Goethe and
Schiller, to which he had already given some of the best years of his
life. At last there was rest. Honored by his nation, holding a literary
position above the darts of envy, with a gifted wife and lovely daughter,
he entered his home in Berlin, saying, “Here I can work in peace. Here we
shall be very happy.”
Who can foretell the future; or, in the words of Goethe’s
“Mephistopheles,”—
“Who knows how yet the dice may fall?”
That drear December, of which he had written so much, and which ever
seemed to him the saddest of all the year, found him dangerously ill
with the dropsy. He tried to be quiet, as the physician directed. He
tried to resume the old Arabic resignation which had so often served him
in the place of substantial accomplishment. But the habit of years, the
overmastering desire to labor, the “passion for work” which made his life
successful, held sway over him still.
His nation had commissioned him to serve at the Court of Berlin. There
was a call for him at the Legation. He could not refuse to go, if he
had the strength to move. So he rises from his bed, and goes forth to
fulfil the desires of his people. It is his last work. His beloved
America receives his dying attention! The next day (Dec. 19, 1878), just
after the messenger had left at his door the first printed copy of his
new work, “Deukalion,” the poet, traveller, scholar, patriot, brother,
husband, and father, left his work unfinished to enter upon the Eternal
Rest.
He had long suffered from a mild form of a kidney disease, but neither
he nor his physicians attached any importance to that complaint. On the
day that he died, he arose from his bed, dressed, and received visitors.
Feeling tired, at noon, he concluded to lie down and rest. He slept for
a short time, quietly, but on awakening, his mind wandered, and his
symptoms became at once alarming. Dr. Lowe Kalbe, who was Mr. Taylor’s
physician, and an old friend, was with him, together with Mrs. Taylor and
their daughter Lillian. But he sank rapidly, and at four o’clock in the
afternoon, peacefully passed away.
How like a voice from a living Past came to us his own sad lines, when
they said to us in sadness,—“Bayard Taylor is dead!”
“I never knew the autumnal eves could wear,
With all their pomp, so drear a hue of Death;
I never knew their still and solemn breath
Could rob the breaking heart of strength to bear,
Feeding the blank submission of despair.
Yet, peace, sad soul! Reproach and pity shine,
Suffused through starry tears: bend thou in prayer,
Rebuked by Love divine.”
“Why art thou dead? Upon the hills once more
The golden mist of waning Autumn lies;
The slow-pulsed billows wash along the shore,
And phantom isles are floating in the skies.
They wait for thee: a spirit in the sand
Hushes, expectant for thy coming tread;
The light wind pants to lift thy trembling hair;
Inward, the silent land
Lies with its mournful woods;—why art thou dead,
When Earth demands that thou shalt call her fair?”