LITERARY LIFE IN CAMBRIDGE
Let us now return from the history of Longfellow's academic life to his
normal pursuit, literature. It seemed a curious transition from the real
and genuine sympathy for human wrong, as shown in the "Poems on
Slavery," to the purely literary and historic quality of the "Spanish
Student" (1843), a play never quite dramatic enough to be put on the
stage, at least in English, though a German version was performed at the
Ducal Court Theatre in Dessau, January 28, 1855. As literary work it was
certainly well done; though taken in part from the tale of Cervantes "La
Gitanilla," and handled before by Montalvan and by Solis in Spanish, and
by Middleton in English, it yet was essentially Longfellow's own in
treatment, though perhaps rather marred by taking inappropriately the
motto from Robert Burns. He wrote of it to Samuel Ward in New York,
December, 1840, calling it "something still longer which as yet no eye
but mine has seen and which I wish to read to you first." He then adds,
"At present, my dear friend, my soul is wrapped up in poetry. The scales
fell from my eyes suddenly, and I beheld before me a beautiful
landscape, with figures, which I have transferred to paper almost
without an effort, and with a celerity of which I did not think myself
capable. Since my return from Portland I am almost afraid to look at it,
for fear its colors should have faded out. And this is the reason why I
do not describe the work to you more particularly. I am not sure it is
worth it. You shall yourself see and judge before long." He thus
afterwards describes it to his father: "I have also written a much
longer and more difficult poem, called 'The Spanish Student,'--a drama
in five acts; on the success of which I rely with some self-complacency.
But this is a great secret, and must not go beyond the immediate family
circle; as I do not intend to publish it until the glow of composition
has passed away, and I can look upon it coolly and critically. I will
tell you more of this by and by."
Longfellow's work on "The Poets and Poetry of Europe" appeared in 1845,
and was afterwards reprinted with a supplement in 1871. The original
work included 776 pages,{74} the supplement adding 340 more. The
supplement is in some respects better edited than the original, because
it gives the names of the translators, and because he had some better
translators to draw upon, especially Rossetti. It can be said fairly of
the whole book that it is intrinsically one of the most attractive of a
very unattractive class, a book of which the compiler justly says that,
in order to render the literary history of the various countries
complete, "an author of no great note has sometimes been admitted, or a
poem which a severer taste would have excluded." "The work is to be
regarded," he adds, "as a collection, rather than as a selection, and in
judging any author it must be borne in mind the translations do not
always preserve the rhythm and melody of the original, but often
resemble soldiers moving forward when the music has ceased and the time
is marked only by the tap of the drum." It includes, in all, only ten
languages, the Celtic and Slavonic being excluded, as well as the
Turkish and Romaic, a thing which would now seem strange. But the
editor's frank explanation of the fact, where he says "with these I am
not acquainted," disarms criticism. This explanation implies that he was
personally acquainted with the six Gothic languages of Northern
Europe--Anglo-Saxon, Icelandish, Danish, Swedish, German, and Dutch--and
the four Latin languages of the South of Europe--French, Italian,
Spanish, and Portuguese. The mere work of compiling so large a volume in
double columns of these ten languages was something formidable, and he
had reason to be grateful to his friend Professor Felton, who, being a
German student, as well as a Greek scholar, compiled for him all the
biographical notes in the book. It is needless to say that the selection
is as good as the case permitted or as the plan of the book allowed, and
the volume has always maintained its place of importance in libraries.
Many of the translations were made expressly for it, especially in the
supplement; among these being Platen's "Remorse," Reboul's "The Angel
and Child," and Malherbe's "Consolation." It is to be remembered that
Longfellow's standard of translation was very high and that he always
maintained, according to Mrs. Fields, that Americans, French, and
Germans had a greater natural gift for it than the English on account of
the greater insularity of the latter's natures.{75} It is also to be
noted that he sometimes failed to find material for translation where
others found it, as, for instance, amid the endless beauty of the Greek
Anthology, which he called "the most melancholy of books with an odor of
dead garlands about it. Voices from the grave, cymbals of Bacchantes,
songs of love, sighs, groans, prayers,--all mingled together. I never
read a book that made me sadder."{76}
His fame at this time was widely established, yet a curious indication
of the fact that he did not at once take even Cambridge by storm, as a
poet, is in a letter from Professor Andrews Norton, father of the
present Professor Charles E. Norton, to the Rev. W. H. Furness of
Philadelphia. The latter had apparently applied to Mr. Norton for advice
as to a desirable list of American authors from whom to make some
literary selections, perhaps in connection with an annual then edited by
him and called "The Diadem." Professor Norton, as one of the most
cultivated Americans, might naturally be asked for some such counsel. In
replying he sent Mr. Furness, under date of January 7, 1845, a list of
fifty-four eligible authors, among whom Emerson stood last but one,
while Longfellow was not included at all. He then appended a
supplementary list of twenty-four minor authors, headed by
Longfellow.{77} We have already seen Lowell, from a younger point of
view, describing Longfellow, at about this time, as the head of a
"clique," and we now find Andrews Norton, from an older point of view,
assigning him only the first place among authors of the second grade. It
is curious to notice, in addition, that Hawthorne stood next to
Longfellow in this subordinate roll.
Longfellow published two volumes of poetic selections, "The Waif" (1845)
and "The Estray" (1846), the latter title being originally planned as
"Estrays in the Forest," and he records a visit to the college library,
in apparent search for the origin of the phrase. His next volume of
original poems, however, was "The Belfry of Bruges and Other Poems,"
published December 23, 1845, the contents having already been partly
printed in "Graham's Magazine," and most of them in the illustrated
edition of his poems published in Philadelphia. The theme of the volume
appears to have been partly suggested by some words in a letter to
Freiligrath which seem to make the leading poem, together with that
called "Nuremberg," a portion of that projected series of
travel-sketches which had haunted Longfellow ever since "Outre-Mer."
"The Norman Baron" was the result of a passage from Thierry, sent him by
an unknown correspondent. One poem was suggested by a passage in
Andersen's "Story of my Life," and one was written at Boppard on the
Rhine. All the rest were distinctly American in character or origin.
Another poem, "To the Driving Cloud," the chief of the Omaha Indians,
was his first effort at hexameters and prepared the way for
"Evangeline." His translation of the "Children of the Lord's Supper" had
also served by way of preparation; and he had happened upon a specimen
in "Blackwood's Magazine" of the hexameter translation of the "Iliad"
which had impressed him very much. He even tried a passage of
"Evangeline" rendered into English pentameter verse, and thus satisfied
himself that it was far less effective for his purpose than the measure
finally adopted.
There is no doubt that the reading public at large has confirmed the
opinion of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes when he says, "Of the longer poems
of our chief singer, I should not hesitate to select 'Evangeline' as the
masterpiece, and I think the general verdict of opinion would confirm my
choice.... From the first line of the poem, from its first words, we
read as we would float down a broad and placid river, murmuring softly
against its banks, heaven over it, and the glory of the unspoiled
wilderness all around." The words "This is the forest primeval" have
become as familiar, he thinks, as the "Arma virumque cano" which opened
Virgil's "Æneid," and he elsewhere calls the poem "the tranquil current
of these brimming, slow-moving, soul-satisfying lines." The subject was
first suggested to Longfellow by Hawthorne, who had heard it from his
friend, the Rev. H. L. Conolly, and the outline of it will be found in
"The American Note-Books" of Hawthorne, who disappointed Father Conolly
by not using it himself. It was finished on Longfellow's fortieth
birthday.
It was a striking illustration of the wide popularity of "Evangeline,"
that even the proper names introduced under guidance of his rhythmical
ear spread to other countries and were taken up and preserved as
treasures in themselves. Sumner writes from England to Longfellow that
the Hon. Mrs. Norton, herself well known in literature, had read
"Evangeline," not once only, but twenty times, and the scene on Lake
Atchafalaya, where the two lovers pass each other unknowingly, so
impressed her that she had a seal cut with the name upon it. Not long
after this, Leopold, King of the Belgiums, repeated the same word to her
and said that it was so suggestive of scenes in human life that he was
about to have it cut on a seal, when she astonished him by showing him
hers.
The best review of "Evangeline" ever written was probably the analysis
made of it by that accomplished French traveller of half a century ago,
Professor Philarète Chasles of the Collège de France, in his "Etudes sur
la Littérature et les Moeurs des Anglo-Américains du XIX. Siécle,"
published in 1851. It is interesting to read it, and to recognize anew
what has often been made manifest--the greater acuteness of the French
mind than of the English, when discussing American themes. Writing at
that early period, M. Chasles at once recognized, for instance, the
peculiar quality of Emerson's genius. He describes Longfellow, in
comparison, as what he calls a moonlight poet, having little passion,
but a calmness of attitude which approaches majesty, and moreover a deep
sensibility, making itself felt under a subdued rhythm. In short, his is
a slow melody and a reflective emotion, both these being well suited to
the sounds and shadows of our endless plains and our forests, which have
no history. He is especially struck with the resemblance of the American
poet to the Scandinavians, such as Tegnèr and Oehlenschlaeger. He
notices even in Longfellow the Norse tendency to alliteration, and he
quotes one of the Northern poems and then one of Longfellow's to show
this analogy. It is worth while to put these side by side. This is from
Oehlenschlaeger:--
"_T_i_l_giv _t_vu_n_gne
_T_rae_l_ af E_l_skov!
_At_ han dig _a_tter
_A_s_t_saeld findet." ... etc.
The following is by Longfellow:--
"_F_uller of _f_ragrance, _th_an _th_ey
And as heavy with sha_d_ows and night-_d_ews,
_H_ung the _h_eart of the _m_aiden.
The cal_m_ and _m_agical _m_oonlight
See_m_ed to inundate her soul."
It is curious to notice that Chasles makes the same criticism on
"Evangeline" that Holmes made on Lowell's "Vision of Sir Launfal;"
namely, that there is in it a mixture of the artificial and the natural.
The result is, we may infer, that on the whole one still thinks of it as
a work of art and does not--as, for instance, with Tolstoi's
"Cossacks"--think of all the characters as if they lived in the very
next street. Yet it is in its way so charming, he finds that although as
he says, "There is no passion in it," still there is a perpetual air of
youth and innocence and tenderness. M. Chasles is also impressed as a
Catholic with the poet's wide and liberal comprehension of the Christian
ideas. It is not, he thinks, a masterpiece (_Il y a loin d'Evangéline à
un chef-d'oeuvre_), but he points out, what time has so far vindicated,
that it has qualities which guarantee to it something like immortality.
When we consider that Chasles wrote at a time when all our more
substantial literature seemed to him to consist of uninteresting state
histories and extensive collections of the correspondence of American
presidents--a time when he could write sadly: "All America does not yet
possess a humorist" (_Toute l'Amérique ne possède pas un humoriste_),
one can place it to the credit of Longfellow that he had already won for
himself some sort of literary standing in the presence of one Frenchman.
At the time of this complaint, it may be noticed that Mr. S. L. Clemens
was a boy of fifteen. The usual European criticism at the present day is
not that America produces so few humorists, but that she brings forth so
many.
The work which came next from Longfellow's pen has that peculiar value
to a biographer which comes from a distinct, unequivocal, low-water mark
in the intellectual product with which he has to deal. This book,
"Kavanagh," had the curious fate of bringing great disappointment to
most of his friends and admirers, and yet of being praised by the two
among his contemporaries personally most successful in fiction,
Hawthorne and Howells. Now that the New England village life has proved
such rich material in the hands of Mary Wilkins, Sarah Jewett, and
Rowland Robinson, it is difficult to revert to "Kavanagh" (1849) without
feeling that it is from beginning to end a piece of purely academic
literature without a type of character, or an incident--one might almost
say without a single phrase--that gives quite the flavor of real life.
Neither the joys nor the griefs really reach the reader's heart for one
moment. All the characters use essentially the same dialect, and every
sentence is duly supplied with its anecdote or illustration, each one of
which is essentially bookish at last. It has been well said of it that
it is an attempt to look at rural society as Jean Paul would have looked
at it. Indeed, we find Longfellow reading aloud from the "Campaner Thal"
while actually at work on "Kavanagh," and he calls the latter in his
diary "a romance."{78} When we consider how remote Jean Paul seems from
the present daily life of Germany, one feels the utter inappropriateness
of his transplantation to New England. Yet Emerson read the book "with
great contentment," and pronounced it "the best sketch we have seen in
the direction of the American novel," and discloses at the end the real
charm he found or fancied by attributing to it "elegance." Hawthorne,
warm with early friendship, pronounces it "a most precious and rare
book, as fragrant as a bunch of flowers and as simple as one flower....
Nobody but yourself would dare to write so quiet a book, nor could any
other succeed in it. It is entirely original, a book by itself, a true
work of genius, if ever there was one." Nothing, I think, so well shows
us the true limitations of American literature at that period as these
curious phrases. It is fair also to recognize that Mr. W. D. Howells,
writing nearly twenty years later, says with almost equal exuberance,
speaking of "Kavanagh," "It seems to us as yet quite unapproached by the
multitude of New England romances that have followed it in a certain
delicate truthfulness, as it is likely to remain unsurpassed in its
light humor and pensive grace."{79}
The period following the publication of "Evangeline" seemed a more
indeterminate and unsettled time than was usual with Longfellow. He
began a dramatic romance of the age of Louis XIV., but did not persist
in it, and apart from the story of "Kavanagh" did no extended work. He
continued to publish scattered poems, and in two years (1850) there
appeared another volume called "The Seaside and the Fireside" in which
the longest contribution and the most finished--perhaps the most
complete and artistic which he ever wrote--was called "The Building of
the Ship." To those who remember the unequalled voice and dramatic power
of Mrs. Kemble, it is easy to imagine the enthusiasm with which her
reading of this poem was received by an audience of three thousand, and
none the less because at that troubled time the concluding appeal to the
Union had a distinct bearing on the conflicts of the time. For the rest
of the volume, it included the strong and lyric verses called "Seaweed,"
which were at the time criticised by many, though unreasonably, as
rugged and boisterous; another poem of dramatic power, "Sir Humphrey
Gilbert;" and one of the most delicately imaginative and musical among
all he ever wrote, "The Fire of Drift-Wood," the scene of which was the
Devereux Farm at Marblehead. There were touching poems of the fireside,
especially that entitled "Resignation," written in 1848 after the death
of his little daughter Fanny, and one called "The Open Window." Looking
back from this, his fourth volume of short poems, it must be owned that
he had singularly succeeded in providing against any diminution of power
or real monotony. Nevertheless his next effort was destined to be on a
wider scale.
{74 Mistakenly described by the Rev. Samuel Longfellow as "nearly four
hundred pages." _Life_, ii. 3.}
{75 _Life_, iii. 370.}
{76 _Life_, iii. 94.}
{77 _Correspondence of R. W. Griswold_, p. 162.}
{78 _Life_, ii. 81.}
{79 _North American Review_, civ. 534.}