My Dear Friend,--Long ago, as soon as swift steamers could bring
the new book across the sea, I received the third volume of
_Friedrich,_ with your autograph inscription, and read it with
joy. Not a word went to the beloved author, for I do not write
or think. I would wait perhaps for happier days, as our
President Lincoln will not even emancipate slaves, until on the
heels of a victory, or the semblance of such. But he waited in
vain for his triumph, nor dare I in my heavy months expect bright
days. The book was heartily grateful, and square to the author's
imperial scale. You have lighted the glooms, and engineered away
the pits, whereof you poetically pleased yourself with
complaining, in your sometime letter to me, clean out of it,
according to the high Italian rule, and have let sunshine and
pure air enfold the scene. First, I read it honestly through for
the history; then I pause and speculate on the Muse that
inspires, and the friend that reports it. 'T is sovereignly
written, above all literature, dictating to all mortals what they
shall accept as fated and final for their salvation. It is
Mankind's Bill of Rights and Duties, the royal proclamation of
Intellect ascending the throne, announcing its good pleasure,
that, hereafter, _as heretofore,_ and now once for all, the World
shall be governed by Common Sense and law of Morals, or shall go
to ruin.
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* Portions of this and of the following letter of Emerson have
been printed by Mr. Alexander Ireland in his "Ralph Waldo
Emerson: Recollections of his Visits to England," &c. London,
1882.
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But the manner of it!--the author sitting as Demiurgus, trotting
out his manikins, coaxing and bantering them, amused with their
good performance, patting them on the back, and rating the
naughty dolls when they misbehave; and communicating his mind
ever in measure, just as much as the young public can understand;
hinting the future, when it would be useful; recalling now and
then illustrative antecedents of the actor, impressing, the
reader that he is in possession of the entire history centrally
seen, that his investigation has been exhaustive, and that he
descends too on the petty plot of Prussia from higher and
cosmical surveys. Better I like the sound sense and the absolute
independence of the tone, which may put kings in fear. And, as
the reader shares, according to his intelligence, the haughty
_coup d'oeil_ of this genius, and shares it with delight, I
recommend to all governors, English, French, Austrian, and other,
to double their guards, and look carefully to the censorship of
the press. I find, as ever in your books, that one man has
deserved well of mankind for restoring the Scholar's profession
to its highest use and dignity.* I find also that you are very
wilful, and have made a covenant with your eyes that they shall
not see anything you do not wish they should. But I was heartily
glad to read somewhere that your book was nearly finished in the
manuscript, for I could wish you to sit and taste your fame, if
that were not contrary to law of Olympus. My joints ache to
think of your rugged labor. Now that you have conquered to
yourself such a huge kingdom among men, can you not give yourself
breath, and chat a little, an Emeritus in the eternal university,
and write a gossiping letter to an old American friend or so?
Alas, I own that I have no right to say this last,--I who
write never.
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* As long before as 1843 Emerson wrote in his Diary: "Carlyle in
his new book" (_Past and Present_), "as everywhere, is a
continuer of the great line of scholars in the world, of Horace,
Varro, Pliny, Erasmus, Scaliger, Milton, and well sustains their
office in ample credit and honor."
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Here we read no books. The war is our sole and doleful
instructor. All our bright young men go into it, to be misused
and sacrificed hitherto by incapable leaders. One lesson they
all learn,--to hate slavery, _teterrima causa._ But the issue
does not yet appear. We must get ourselves morally right.
Nobody can help us. 'T is of no account what England or France
may do. Unless backed by our profligate parties, their action
would be nugatory, and, if so backed, the worst. But even the
war is better than the degrading and descending politics that
preceded it for decades of years, and our legislation has made
great strides, and if we can stave off that fury of trade which
rushes to peace at the cost of replacing the South in the _status
ante bellum,_ we can, with something more of courage, leave the
problem to another score of years,--free labor to fight with the
Beast, and see if bales and barrels and baskets cannot find out
that they pass more commodiously and surely to their ports
through free hands, than through barbarians.
I grieved that the good Clough, the generous, susceptible
scholar, should die. I read over his _Bothie_ again, full of the
wine of youth at Oxford. I delight in Matthew Arnold's fine
criticism in two little books. Give affectionate remembrances
from me to Jane Carlyle, whom ---'s happiness and accurate
reporting restored to me in brightest image.
Always faithfully yours,
R.W. Emerson