YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE.
I.
Among the various conflicting modes of writing history, there would seem
to be two grand practical distinctions, under which all the rest must
subordinately range. By the one mode, all contemporaneous circumstances,
facts, and events must be set down contemporaneously; by the other, they
are only to be set down as the general stream of the narrative shall
dictate; for matters which are kindred in time, may be very irrelative
in themselves. I elect neither of these; I am careless of either; both
are well enough in their way; I write precisely as I please.
In the earlier chapters of this volume, it has somewhere been passingly
intimated, that Pierre was not only a reader of the poets and other fine
writers, but likewise--and what is a very different thing from the
other--a thorough allegorical understander of them, a profound emotional
sympathizer with them; in other words, Pierre himself possessed the
poetic nature; in himself absolutely, though but latently and
floatingly, possessed every whit of the imaginative wealth which he so
admired, when by vast pains-takings, and all manner of unrecompensed
agonies, systematized on the printed page. Not that as yet his young and
immature soul had been accosted by the Wonderful Mutes, and through the
vast halls of Silent Truth, had been ushered into the full, secret,
eternally inviolable Sanhedrim, where the Poetic Magi discuss, in
glorious gibberish, the Alpha and Omega of the Universe. But among the
beautiful imaginings of the second and third degree of poets, he freely
and comprehendingly ranged.
But it still remains to be said, that Pierre himself had written many a
fugitive thing, which had brought him, not only vast credit and
compliments from his more immediate acquaintances, but the less partial
applauses of the always intelligent, and extremely discriminating
public. In short, Pierre had frequently done that, which many other boys
have done--published. Not in the imposing form of a book, but in the
more modest and becoming way of occasional contributions to magazines
and other polite periodicals. His magnificent and victorious _debut_ had
been made in that delightful love-sonnet, entitled "The Tropical
Summer." Not only the public had applauded his gemmed little sketches of
thought and fancy, whether in poetry or prose; but the high and mighty
Campbell clan of editors of all sorts had bestowed upon him those
generous commendations, which, with one instantaneous glance, they had
immediately perceived was his due. They spoke in high terms of his
surprising command of language; they begged to express their wonder at
his euphonious construction of sentences; they regarded with reverence
the pervading symmetry of his general style. But transcending even this
profound insight into the deep merits of Pierre, they looked infinitely
beyond, and confessed their complete inability to restrain their
unqualified admiration for the highly judicious smoothness and
genteelness of the sentiments and fancies expressed. "This writer," said
one,--in an ungovernable burst of admiring fury--"is characterized
throughout by Perfect Taste." Another, after endorsingly quoting that
sapient, suppressed maxim of Dr. Goldsmith's, which asserts that
whatever is new is false, went on to apply it to the excellent
productions before him; concluding with this: "He has translated the
unruffled gentleman from the drawing-room into the general levee of
letters; he never permits himself to astonish; is never betrayed into
any thing coarse or new; as assured that whatever astonishes is vulgar,
and whatever is new must be crude. Yes, it is the glory of this
admirable young author, that vulgarity and vigor--two inseparable
adjuncts--are equally removed from him."
A third, perorated a long and beautifully written review, by the bold
and startling announcement--"This writer is unquestionably a highly
respectable youth."
Nor had the editors of various moral and religious periodicals failed to
render the tribute of their severer appreciation, and more enviable,
because more chary applause. A renowned clerical and philological
conductor of a weekly publication of this kind, whose surprising
proficiency in the Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldaic, to which he had devoted
by far the greater part of his life, peculiarly fitted him to pronounce
unerring judgment upon works of taste in the English, had unhesitatingly
delivered himself thus:--"He is blameless in morals, and harmless
throughout." Another, had unhesitatingly recommended his effusions to
the family-circle. A third, had no reserve in saying, that the
predominant end and aim of this author was evangelical piety.
A mind less naturally strong than Pierre's might well have been hurried
into vast self-complacency, by such eulogy as this, especially as there
could be no possible doubt, that the primitive verdict pronounced by the
editors was irreversible, except in the highly improbable event of the
near approach of the Millennium, which might establish a different
dynasty of taste, and possibly eject the editors. It is true, that in
view of the general practical vagueness of these panegyrics, and the
circumstance that, in essence, they were all somehow of the prudently
indecisive sort; and, considering that they were panegyrics, and nothing
but panegyrics, without any thing analytical about them; an elderly
friend of a literary turn, had made bold to say to our hero--"Pierre,
this is very high praise, I grant, and you are a surprisingly young
author to receive it; but I do not see any criticisms as yet."
"Criticisms?" cried Pierre, in amazement; "why, sir, they are all
criticisms! I am the idol of the critics!"
"Ah!" sighed the elderly friend, as if suddenly reminded that that was
true after all--"Ah!" and went on with his inoffensive, non-committal
cigar.
Nevertheless, thanks to the editors, such at last became the popular
literary enthusiasm in behalf of Pierre, that two young men, recently
abandoning the ignoble pursuit of tailoring for the more honorable trade
of the publisher (probably with an economical view of working up in
books, the linen and cotton shreds of the cutter's counter, after having
been subjected to the action of the paper-mill), had on the daintiest
scolloped-edged paper, and in the neatest possible, and fine-needle-work
hand, addressed him a letter, couched in the following terms; the
general style of which letter will sufficiently evince that,
though--thanks to the manufacturer--their linen and cotton shreds may
have been very completely transmuted into paper, yet the cutters
themselves were not yet entirely out of the metamorphosing mill.
"Hon. Pierre Glendinning,
"Revered Sir,
"The fine cut, the judicious fit of your productions fill us with
amazement. The fabric is excellent--the finest broadcloth of
genius. We have just started in business. Your
pantaloons--productions, we mean--have never yet been collected.
They should be published in the Library form. The tailors--we mean
the librarians, demand it. Your fame is now in its finest nap.
Now--before the gloss is off--now is the time for the library form.
We have recently received an invoice of Chamois---- Russia
leather. The library form should be a durable form. We respectfully
offer to dress your amazing productions in the library form. If you
please, we will transmit you a sample of the cloth---- we mean a
sample-page, with a pattern of the leather. We are ready to give
you one tenth of the profits (less discount) for the privilege of
arraying your wonderful productions in the library form:--you
cashing the seamstresses'---- printer's and binder's bills on the
day of publication. An answer at your earliest convenience will
greatly oblige,--
"Sir, your most obsequious servants,
"WONDER & WEN."
"P. S.--We respectfully submit the enclosed block---- sheet, as some
earnest of our intentions to do every thing in your behalf possible to
any firm in the trade.
"N. B.--If the list does not comprise all your illustrious wardrobe----
works, we mean----, we shall exceedingly regret it. We have hunted
through all the drawers---- magazines.
"Sample of a coat---- title for the works of Glendinning:
THE
COMPLETE WORKS
OF
GLENDINNING,
AUTHOR OF
_That world-famed production_, "_The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet._"
"_The Weather: a Thought._" "_Life: an Impromptu._" "_The
late Reverend Mark Graceman: an Obituary._" "_Honor:
a Stanza._" "_Beauty: an Acrostic._" "_Edgar:
an Anagram._" "_The Pippin: a Paragraph._"
_&c. &c. &c. &c.
&c. &c. &c.
&c. &c.
&c._"
P
From a designer, Pierre had received the following:
"Sir: I approach you with unfeigned trepidation. For though you are
young in age, you are old in fame and ability. I can not express to
you my ardent admiration of your works; nor can I but deeply regret
that the productions of such graphic descriptive power, should be
unaccompanied by the humbler illustrative labors of the designer.
My services in this line are entirely at your command. I need not
say how proud I should be, if this hint, on my part, however
presuming, should induce you to reply in terms upon which I could
found the hope of honoring myself and my profession by a few
designs for the works of the illustrious Glendinning. But the
cursory mention of your name here fills me with such swelling
emotions, that I can say nothing more. I would only add, however,
that not being at all connected with the Trade, my business
situation unpleasantly forces me to make cash down on delivery of
each design, the basis of all my professional arrangements. Your
noble soul, however, would disdain to suppose, that this sordid
necessity, in my merely business concerns, could ever impair----
"That profound private veneration and admiration
With which I unmercenarily am,
Great and good Glendinning,
Yours most humbly,
PETER PENCE."
II.
These were stirring letters. The Library Form! an Illustrated Edition!
His whole heart swelled.
But unfortunately it occurred to Pierre, that as all his writings were
not only fugitive, but if put together could not possibly fill more than
a very small duodecimo; therefore the Library Edition seemed a little
premature, perhaps; possibly, in a slight degree, preposterous. Then, as
they were chiefly made up of little sonnets, brief meditative poems, and
moral essays, the matter for the designer ran some small risk of being
but meager. In his inexperience, he did not know that such was the great
height of invention to which the designer's art had been carried, that
certain gentlemen of that profession had gone to an eminent
publishing-house with overtures for an illustrated edition of "Coke upon
Lyttleton." Even the City Directory was beautifully illustrated with
exquisite engravings of bricks, tongs, and flat-irons.
Concerning the draught for the title-page, it must be confessed, that on
seeing the imposing enumeration of his titles--long and magnificent as
those preceding the proclamations of some German Prince ("_Hereditary
Lord of the back-yard of Crantz Jacobi; Undoubted Proprietor by Seizure
of the bedstead of the late Widow Van Lorn; Heir Apparent to the
Bankrupt Bakery of Fletz and Flitz; Residuary Legatee of the Confiscated
Pin-Money of the Late Dowager Dunker; &c. &c. &c._") Pierre could not
entirely repress a momentary feeling of elation. Yet did he also bow low
under the weight of his own ponderosity, as the author of such a vast
load of literature. It occasioned him some slight misgivings, however,
when he considered, that already in his eighteenth year, his title-page
should so immensely surpass in voluminous statisticals the simple page,
which in his father's edition prefixed the vast speculations of Plato.
Still, he comforted himself with the thought, that as he could not
presume to interfere with the bill-stickers of the Gazelle Magazine, who
every month covered the walls of the city with gigantic announcements of
his name among the other contributors; so neither could he now--in the
highly improbable event of closing with the offer of Messrs. Wonder and
Wen--presume to interfere with the bill-sticking department of their
business concern; for it was plain that they esteemed one's title-page
but another unwindowed wall, infinitely more available than most walls,
since here was at least one spot in the city where no rival
bill-stickers dared to encroach. Nevertheless, resolved as he was to let
all such bill-sticking matters take care of themselves, he was sensible
of some coy inclination toward that modest method of certain kid-gloved
and dainty authors, who scorning the vulgarity of a sounding parade,
contented themselves with simply subscribing their name to the
title-page; as confident, that that was sufficient guarantee to the
notice of all true gentlemen of taste. It was for petty German princes
to sound their prolonged titular flourishes. The Czar of Russia
contented himself with putting the simple word "NICHOLAS" to his
loftiest decrees.
This train of thought terminated at last in various considerations upon
the subject of anonymousness in authorship. He regretted that he had not
started his literary career under that mask. At present, it might be too
late; already the whole universe knew him, and it was in vain at this
late day to attempt to hood himself. But when he considered the
essential dignity and propriety at all points, of the inviolably
anonymous method, he could not but feel the sincerest sympathy for those
unfortunate fellows, who, not only naturally averse to any sort of
publicity, but progressively ashamed of their own successive
productions--written chiefly for the merest cash--were yet cruelly
coerced into sounding title-pages by sundry baker's and butcher's bills,
and other financial considerations; inasmuch as the placard of the
title-page indubitably must assist the publisher in his sales.
But perhaps the ruling, though not altogether conscious motive of Pierre
in finally declining--as he did--the services of Messrs. Wonder and Wen,
those eager applicants for the privilege of extending and solidifying
his fame, arose from the idea that being at this time not very far
advanced in years, the probability was, that his future productions
might at least equal, if not surpass, in some small degree, those
already given to the world. He resolved to wait for his literary
canonization until he should at least have outgrown the sophomorean
insinuation of the Law; which, with a singular affectation of benignity,
pronounced him an "infant." His modesty obscured from him the
circumstance, that the greatest lettered celebrities of the time, had,
by the divine power of genius, become full graduates in the University
of Fame, while yet as legal minors forced to go to their mammas for
pennies wherewith to keep them in peanuts.
Not seldom Pierre's social placidity was ruffled by polite entreaties
from the young ladies that he would be pleased to grace their Albums
with some nice little song. We say that here his social placidity was
ruffled; for the true charm of agreeable parlor society is, that there
you lose your own sharp individuality and become delightfully merged in
that soft social Pantheism, as it were, that rosy melting of all into
one, ever prevailing in those drawing-rooms, which pacifically and
deliciously belie their own name; inasmuch as there no one draws the
sword of his own individuality, but all such ugly weapons are left--as
of old--with your hat and cane in the hall. It was very awkward to
decline the albums; but somehow it was still worse, and peculiarly
distasteful for Pierre to comply. With equal justice apparently, you
might either have called this his weakness or his idiosyncrasy. He
summoned all his suavity, and refused. And the refusal of
Pierre--according to Miss Angelica Amabilia of Ambleside--was sweeter
than the compliance of others. But then--prior to the proffer of her
album--in a copse at Ambleside, Pierre in a gallant whim had in the
lady's own presence voluntarily carved Miss Angelica's initials upon the
bark of a beautiful maple. But all young ladies are not Miss Angelicas.
Blandly denied in the parlor, they courted repulse in the study. In
lovely envelopes they dispatched their albums to Pierre, not omitting
to drop a little attar-of-rose in the palm of the domestic who carried
them. While now Pierre--pushed to the wall in his
gallantry--shilly-shallied as to what he must do, the awaiting albums
multiplied upon him; and by-and-by monopolized an entire shelf in his
chamber; so that while their combined ornate bindings fairly dazzled his
eyes, their excessive redolence all but made him to faint, though
indeed, in moderation, he was very partial to perfumes. So that of
really chilly afternoons, he was still obliged to drop the upper sashes
a few inches.
The simplest of all things it is to write in a lady's album. But Cui
Bono? Is there such a dearth of printed reading, that the monkish times
must be revived, and ladies books be in manuscript? What could Pierre
write of his own on Love or any thing else, that would surpass what
divine Hafiz wrote so many long centuries ago? Was there not Anacreon
too, and Catullus, and Ovid--all translated, and readily accessible? And
then--bless all their souls!--had the dear creatures forgotten Tom
Moore? But the handwriting, Pierre,--they want the sight of your hand.
Well, thought Pierre, actual feeling is better than transmitted sight,
any day. I will give them the actual feeling of my hand, as much as they
want. And lips are still better than hands. Let them send their sweet
faces to me, and I will kiss _lipographs_ upon them forever and a day.
This was a felicitous idea. He called Dates, and had the albums carried
down by the basket-full into the dining-room. He opened and spread them
all out upon the extension-table there; then, modeling himself by the
Pope, when His Holiness collectively blesses long crates of rosaries--he
waved one devout kiss to the albums; and summoning three servants sent
the albums all home, with his best compliments, accompanied with a
confectioner's _kiss_ for each album, rolled up in the most ethereal
tissue.
From various quarters of the land, both town and country, and
especially during the preliminary season of autumn, Pierre received
various pressing invitations to lecture before Lyceums, Young Men's
Associations, and other Literary and Scientific Societies. The letters
conveying these invitations possessed quite an imposing and most
flattering aspect to the unsophisticated Pierre. One was as follows:--
"_Urquhartian Club for the Immediate Extension of the Limits of all
Knowledge, both Human and Divine._
"ZADOCKPRATTSVILLE,
"_June 11th, 18--_.
"_Author of the 'Tropical Summer,' &c._
"HONORED AND DEAR SIR:--
"Official duty and private inclination in this present case most
delightfully blend. What was the ardent desire of my heart, has now
by the action of the _Committee on Lectures_ become professionally
obligatory upon me. As Chairman of our _Committee on Lectures_, I
hereby beg the privilege of entreating that you will honor this
Society by lecturing before it on any subject you may choose, and
at any day most convenient to yourself. The subject of Human
Destiny we would respectfully suggest, without however at all
wishing to impede you in your own unbiased selection.
"If you honor us by complying with this invitation, be assured,
sir, that the Committee on Lectures will take the best care of you
throughout your stay, and endeavor to make Zadockprattsville
agreeable to you. A carriage will be in attendance at the
Stage-house to convey yourself and luggage to the Inn, under full
escort of the _Committee on Lectures_, with the Chairman at their
head.
"Permit me to join my private homage
To my high official consideration for you,
And to subscribe myself
Very humbly your servant,
DONALD DUNDONALD."
III.
But it was more especially the Lecture invitations coming from
venerable, gray-headed metropolitan Societies, and indited by venerable
gray-headed Secretaries, which far from elating filled the youthful
Pierre with the sincerest sense of humility. Lecture? lecture? such a
stripling as I lecture to fifty benches, with ten gray heads on each?
five hundred gray heads in all! Shall my one, poor, inexperienced brain
presume to lay down the law in a lecture to five hundred life-ripened
understandings? It seemed too absurd for thought. Yet the five hundred,
through their spokesman, had voluntarily extended this identical
invitation to him. Then how could it be otherwise, than that an
incipient Timonism should slide into Pierre, when he considered all the
disgraceful inferences to be derived from such a fact. He called to
mind, how that once upon a time, during a visit of his to the city, the
police were called out to quell a portentous riot, occasioned by the
vast press and contention for seats at the first lecture of an
illustrious lad of nineteen, the author of "A Week at Coney Island."
It is needless to say that Pierre most conscientiously and respectfully
declined all polite overtures of this sort.
Similar disenchantments of his cooler judgment did likewise deprive of
their full lusciousness several other equally marked demonstrations of
his literary celebrity. Applications for autographs showered in upon
him; but in sometimes humorously gratifying the more urgent requests of
these singular people Pierre could not but feel a pang of regret, that
owing to the very youthful and quite unformed character of his
handwriting, his signature did not possess that inflexible uniformity,
which--for mere prudential reasons, if nothing more--should always mark
the hand of illustrious men. His heart thrilled with sympathetic anguish
for posterity, which would be certain to stand hopelessly perplexed
before so many contradictory signatures of one supereminent name. Alas!
posterity would be sure to conclude that they were forgeries all; that
no chirographic relic of the sublime poet Glendinning survived to their
miserable times.
From the proprietors of the Magazines whose pages were honored by his
effusions, he received very pressing epistolary solicitations for the
loan of his portrait in oil, in order to take an engraving therefrom,
for a frontispiece to their periodicals. But here again the most
melancholy considerations obtruded. It had always been one of the lesser
ambitions of Pierre, to sport a flowing beard, which he deemed the most
noble corporeal badge of the man, not to speak of the illustrious
author. But as yet he was beardless; and no cunning compound of Rowland
and Son could force a beard which should arrive at maturity in any
reasonable time for the frontispiece. Besides, his boyish features and
whole expression were daily changing. Would he lend his authority to
this unprincipled imposture upon Posterity? Honor forbade.
These epistolary petitions were generally couched in an elaborately
respectful style; thereby intimating with what deep reverence his
portrait would be handled, while unavoidably subjected to the discipline
indispensable to obtain from it the engraved copy they prayed for. But
one or two of the persons who made occasional oral requisitions upon him
in this matter of his engraved portrait, seemed less regardful of the
inherent respect due to every man's portrait, much more, to that of a
genius so celebrated as Pierre. They did not even seem to remember that
the portrait of any man generally receives, and indeed is entitled to
more reverence than the original man himself; since one may freely clap
a celebrated friend on the shoulder, yet would by no means tweak his
nose in his portrait. The reason whereof may be this: that the portrait
is better entitled to reverence than the man; inasmuch as nothing
belittling can be imagined concerning the portrait, whereas many
unavoidably belittling things can be fancied as touching the man.
Upon one occasion, happening suddenly to encounter a literary
acquaintance--a joint editor of the "Captain Kidd Monthly"--who suddenly
popped upon him round a corner, Pierre was startled by a
rapid--"Good-morning, good-morning;--just the man I wanted:--come, step
round now with me, and have your Daguerreotype taken;--get it engraved
then in no time;--want it for the next issue."
So saying, this chief mate of Captain Kidd seized Pierre's arm, and in
the most vigorous manner was walking him off, like an officer a
pickpocket, when Pierre civilly said--"Pray, sir, hold, if you please, I
shall do no such thing."--"Pooh, pooh--must have it--public
property--come along--only a door or two now."--"Public property!"
rejoined Pierre, "that may do very well for the 'Captain Kidd
Monthly;'--it's very Captain Kiddish to say so. But I beg to repeat that
I do not intend to accede."--"Don't? Really?" cried the other, amazedly
staring Pierre full in the countenance;--"why bless your soul, _my_
portrait is published--long ago published!"--"Can't help that,
sir"--said Pierre. "Oh! come along, come along," and the chief mate
seized him again with the most uncompunctious familiarity by the arm.
Though the sweetest-tempered youth in the world when but decently
treated, Pierre had an ugly devil in him sometimes, very apt to be
evoked by the personal profaneness of gentlemen of the Captain Kidd
school of literature. "Look you, my good fellow," said he, submitting to
his impartial inspection a determinately double fist,--"drop my arm
now--or I'll drop you. To the devil with you and your Daguerreotype!"
This incident, suggestive as it was at the time, in the sequel had a
surprising effect upon Pierre. For he considered with what infinite
readiness now, the most faithful portrait of any one could be taken by
the Daguerreotype, whereas in former times a faithful portrait was only
within the power of the moneyed, or mental aristocrats of the earth. How
natural then the inference, that instead, as in old times, immortalizing
a genius, a portrait now only _dayalized_ a dunce. Besides, when every
body has his portrait published, true distinction lies in not having
yours published at all. For if you are published along with Tom, Dick,
and Harry, and wear a coat of their cut, how then are you distinct from
Tom, Dick, and Harry? Therefore, even so miserable a motive as downright
personal vanity helped to operate in this matter with Pierre.
Some zealous lovers of the general literature of the age, as well as
declared devotees to his own great genius, frequently petitioned him for
the materials wherewith to frame his biography. They assured him, that
life of all things was most insecure. He might feel many years in him
yet; time might go lightly by him; but in any sudden and fatal sickness,
how would his last hours be embittered by the thought, that he was about
to depart forever, leaving the world utterly unprovided with the
knowledge of what were the precise texture and hue of the first trowsers
he wore. These representations did certainly touch him in a very tender
spot, not previously unknown to the schoolmaster. But when Pierre
considered, that owing to his extreme youth, his own recollections of
the past soon merged into all manner of half-memories and a general
vagueness, he could not find it in his conscience to present such
materials to the impatient biographers, especially as his chief
verifying authority in these matters of his past career, was now
eternally departed beyond all human appeal. His excellent nurse Clarissa
had been dead four years and more. In vain a young literary friend, the
well-known author of two Indexes and one Epic, to whom the subject
happened to be mentioned, warmly espoused the cause of the distressed
biographers; saying that however unpleasant, one must needs pay the
penalty of celebrity; it was no use to stand back; and concluded by
taking from the crown of his hat the proof-sheets of his own biography,
which, with the most thoughtful consideration for the masses, was
shortly to be published in the pamphlet form, price only a shilling.
It only the more bewildered and pained him, when still other and less
delicate applicants sent him their regularly printed
_Biographico-Solicito Circulars_, with his name written in ink; begging
him to honor them and the world with a neat draft of his life, including
criticisms on his own writings; the printed circular indiscriminately
protesting, that undoubtedly he knew more of his own life than any other
living man; and that only he who had put together the great works of
Glendinning could be fully qualified thoroughly to analyze them, and
cast the ultimate judgment upon their remarkable construction.
Now, it was under the influence of the humiliating emotions engendered
by things like the above; it was when thus haunted by publishers,
engravers, editors, critics, autograph-collectors, portrait-fanciers,
biographers, and petitioning and remonstrating literary friends of all
sorts; it was then, that there stole into the youthful soul of Pierre,
melancholy forebodings of the utter unsatisfactoriness of all human
fame; since the most ardent profferings of the most martyrizing
demonstrations in his behalf,--these he was sorrowfully obliged to turn
away.
And it may well be believed, that after the wonderful vital
world-revelation so suddenly made to Pierre at the Meadows--a revelation
which, at moments, in some certain things, fairly Timonized him--he had
not failed to clutch with peculiar nervous detestation and contempt that
ample parcel, containing the letters of his Biographico and other silly
correspondents, which, in a less ferocious hour, he had filed away as
curiosities. It was with an almost infernal grin, that he saw that
particular heap of rubbish eternally quenched in the fire, and felt
that as it was consumed before his eyes, so in his soul was forever
killed the last and minutest undeveloped microscopic germ of that most
despicable vanity to which those absurd correspondents thought to
appeal.