_Gentleness and cheerfulness are the perfect virtues._
--Robert Louis Stevenson
Stevenson was right. There is not a more admirable trait in one's
character than that of cheerfulness. Combined with that other virtue
named by Stevenson, gentleness, and what more is needed to make a
companionable and a beloved man.
These two attributes were possessed in an emphatic way both by Stevenson
and by Leigh Hunt. That's why some of us are so fond of Hunt. That's why
he is growing in esteem as he is becoming better known to lovers and
students of the literature produced in England during the first half of
the nineteenth century.
For it is certain that Hunt is coming into his own. First editions of
his writings year by year are advancing in price. They are becoming
scarce and in some instances exceedingly difficult to obtain. Catalogues
of rare book dealers are listing fewer of his works, and when quotations
are made they invariably are in advance of those of a year or two ago.
The cultivation of cheerfulness frequently is enjoined throughout his
writings. He had many visitors in his home, attracted there by his
personal qualities and by his gentleness of heart. He was fond of
music, which formed a staple in the entertainment and the conversation.
Barry Cornwall (B. W. Procter), a long time intimate friend, in his
_Recollections of Men of Letters_, mentions the evenings at Hunt's
house: "Hunt never gave dinners, but his suppers of cold meat and salad
were cheerful and pleasant; sometimes the cheerfulness (after a 'wassail
bowl') soared into noisy merriment. I remember one Christmas or New
Year's evening, when we sat there till two or three o'clock in the
morning, and when the jokes and stories and imitations so overcame me
that I was nearly falling off my chair with laughter. This was mainly
owing to the comic imitations of Coulson, who was usually so grave a
man. We used to refer to him as an encyclopedia, so perpetually, indeed,
that Hunt always spoke of him as 'The Admirable Coulson!' This _vis
comica_ left him for the most part in later life, when he became a
distinguished lawyer."
It was this same Barry Cornwall who introduced Hawthorne to Hunt, a
charming account of Hawthorne's visit being recorded in _Our Old Home_.
"I rejoiced to hear him say," he writes, "that he was favored with most
confident and cheering anticipations in respect to a future life; and
there were abundant proofs, throughout our interview, of an unrepining
spirit, resignation, quiet relinquishment of the worldly benefits that
were denied him, thankful enjoyment of whatever he had to enjoy, and
piety, and hope shining onward into the dusk--all of which gave a
reverential cast to the feeling with which we parted from him. I wish he
could have had one draught of prosperity before he died."
There are many of us ready to give expression to the same wish.
Speaking of Hunt's _Autobiography_, a book second only in interest to
Boswell's _Johnson_ said Carlyle, this caustic writer had the grace to
say that the reader might find in that book "the image of a gifted,
gentle, patient, and valiant human soul, as it buffets its way through
the billows of time, and will not drown though often in danger; cannot
be drowned, but conquers and leaves a track of radiance behind it."
The _Spectator_, London, said this autobiography was one of the most
graceful and genial chronicles of the incidents of a human life in the
English language. "The sweetness of temper, the indomitable love and
forgiveness, the pious hilarity, and the faith in the ultimate triumph
of good revealed in its pages show the humane and noble qualities of the
writer."
This appreciation of Hunt is in contrast with the portrait drawn by
Dickens in _Bleak House_, where the character of Harold Skimpole was so
patent a caricature of Hunt that mutual friends promptly remonstrated
with the author, and this influenced Dickens, in the later numbers of
the monthly parts in which the book was issued, to modify his picture.
In writing of his father after his death, Thornton evidently had in mind
this ungenerous act of Dickens when he penned these sentences: "His
consideration, his sympathy with what was gay and pleasurable, his
avowed doctrine of cultivating cheerfulness were manifest on the
surface, and could only be appreciated by those who knew him in society,
most probably even exaggerated as salient traits, on which he himself
insisted with a sort of gay and ostentatious wilfulness. In the spirit
which made him disposed to enjoy 'anything that was going forward' he
would even assume for the evening a convivial aspect, and urge a liberal
measure of the wine with the gusto of a bon vivant. Few who knew him so
could be aware, not only of the simple and uncostly sources from which
he habitually drew his enjoyments, but of his singularly plain life,
extended even to a rule of self denial. Excepting at intervals when wine
was recommended to him, or came to him as a gift of friendship, his
customary drink was water, which he would drink with the almost daily
repetition of Dr. Armstrong's line, 'Nought like the simple element
dilutes.'... His dress was always plain and studiously economical. He
would excuse the plainness of his diet, by ascribing it to a delicacy of
health, which he overrated. His food was often nothing but bread and
meat at dinner, bread and tea for two meals of the day, bread alone for
luncheon or for supper. His liberal constructions were shown to others,
his strictness to himself. If he heard that a friend was in trouble, his
house was offered as a 'home'; and it was literally so, many times in
his life."
Apropos of this, it is of interest to note that his house was an asylum
for Keats for weeks, at a time when the young poet was sick in body and
mind. It was Leigh Hunt who gave Keats, in the _Examiner_, the first
favorable review he received.
It is but fair to note that Dickens later disclaimed any intent to
portray in Harold Skimpole the foibles of Leigh Hunt. I have several
letters from Dickens to Hunt making delicate reference to the subject.
As late as June 28, 1855, four years prior to Hunt's death, Dickens
wrote: "I hope you will not now think it necessary to renew that painful
subject with me. There is nothing to remove from my mind--I hope,
nothing to remove from yours. I thought of the little notice which has
given you (I rejoice most heartily to find) so much pleasure--as the
best means that could possibly present themselves of enabling me to
express myself publicly about you as you would desire. In that better
and unmistakable association with you by name, let all end."
Shortly after the death of Hunt Dickens made it a point to say in his
_All the Year Round_ that it was the graces and charms of manner of
Hunt, "which had many a time delighted him, and impressed him as being
unspeakably whimsical and attractive," that were recalled when the
character in question was drawn, and that he had no thought "that the
admired original would ever be charged with the imaginary vices of the
fictitious creature"--an explanation that does not clear the great
novelist.
Dickens also bears tribute to Hunt's cheerfulness despite the reasons
he had for sadness. "His life was, in several respects, a life of
trouble, though his cheerfulness was such that he was, upon the whole,
happier than some men who have had fewer griefs to wrestle with." In
Hunt's correspondence, Dickens saw evidence that he was "sometimes
over-clouded with the shadow of affliction, but more often bright and
hopeful, and at all times sympathetic: taking a keen delight in all
beautiful things--in the exhaustless world of books and art, in the
rising genius of young authors, in the immortal language of music, in
trees and flowers, and old memorial nooks of London and its suburbs; in
the sunlight which came, as he used to say, like a visitor out of
heaven, glorifying humble places."
"The very philosophy of cheerfulness," says R. H. Horne, in _A New
Spirit of the Age_, "and the good humour of genius imbue all his prose
papers from end to end."
Says Thornton, his eldest son: "Leigh Hunt's whole teaching of himself
as well as others, inculcated the promotion of cheerfulness as a duty,
not for the selfish gain of the one man himself, but for the sake of
making the happier atmosphere for others and rendering the more perfect
homage to the Author of all good and happiness."
Here is another picture of the cheerful situation, taken from "Our
Cottage," which appeared in _The New Monthly Magazine_ for September,
1836:
Autumn, the princely season, purple-robed
And liberal-handed, brings no gloom to us,
But, rich in its own self, gives us rich hope
Of winter-time; and when the winter comes,
We burn old wood, and read old books that wall
Our biggest-room.
"We burn old wood, and read old books"--there's the kindly cheerfulness
that is appealing. Isn't that a picture to drive hence any thought of
sadness?
His son, Thornton, felicitously said that all his life he was striving
to open more widely the door of the library, and the windows that look
out upon nature. He loved the green fields of suburban London, and never
was more happy than when sauntering along the leafy lanes. With books
for companions and nature for inspiration, how can any mortal be other
than cheerful.
All the literary men of his time delighted in his society. All were his
friends. Many a mention is made of the happy and cheerful gatherings at
his home. Hazlitt speaks of "the vinous quality of his mind" as
producing a fascination and an intoxication at once upon those who came
in contact with him.
Professor Dowden, on the other hand, says it was not a heavy wine, but a
bright, light wine that coursed through his veins--
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance and Provencal song and sunburnt mirth.
It is natural for one acquainted with the writings of Leigh Hunt to
associate him with cheerfulness, for kindness and cheerfulness are to be
found in everything he wrote. Even in his letters in which he tells of
some of his perplexities there is found the optimistic note.
Which recalls what Hunt wrote of associations with Shakespeare. It is
quite natural to associate the idea of Shakespeare with anything which
is worth mention. "Shakespeare and Christmas" are two ideas that fall as
happily together as "wine and walnuts." "Shakespeare and May," and
"Shakespeare and June" call up many essays about spring and violets. One
may say "Shakespeare and Love," and put himself at once in the midst of
a bevy of bright damsels, as sweet as rosebuds. "Shakespeare and Life"
puts before one the whole world of youth, and spirit, and life itself.
"Hunt and Cheerfulness" are inseparable in the mind of one who knows the
story of his life and its struggles.
There's the cheerful note in this rondeau which appeared in _The New
Monthly Magazine_, 1838:
Jenny kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in:
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add--
Jennie kiss'd me!
The Jennie here immortalized is said to have been Jane Welsh Carlyle.
Perhaps Hunt's most quoted poem is his "Abou Ben Adhem," in which he
asks the angel to "write me as one that loves his fellow-men." This is
typical of his life's attitude to mankind. He had a kindly feeling for
all. The line was placed on his tombstone in Kensal Green Cemetery by
those who knew him best, his friends feeling that it most fittingly
indicated the kindliness of his character.
This poem rightly is considered the most meritorious of all Hunt wrote,
and it is quoted here because we love it:
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:--
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"--The vision rais'd its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answer'd, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
The cheerful note is sounded in many of his poems:
May, thou month of rosy beauty,
Month, when pleasure is a duty.
* * * *
May's the blooming hawthorn bough;
May's the month that's laughing now.
I no sooner write the word,
Than it seems as though it heard,
And looks up and laughs at me,
Like a sweet face rosily--