My Dear Carlyle,--Two* unanswered letters filled and fragrant and
potent with goodness will not let me procrastinate another
minute, or I shall sink and deserve to sink into my dormouse
condition. You are of the Anakim, and know nothing of the
debility and postponement of the blonde constitution. Well,
if you shame us by your reservoir inexhaustible of force,
you indemnify and cheer some of us, or one of us, by charges
of electricity.
--------
* One seems to be missing.
--------
Your letter of April came, as ever-more than ever, if possible--
full of kindness, and making much of our small doings and
writings, and seemed to drive me to instant acknowledgment; but
the oppressive engagement of writing and reading eighteen
lectures on Philosophy to a class of graduates in the College,
and these in six successive weeks, was a task a little more
formidable in prospect and in practice than any foregoing one.
Of course, it made me a prisoner, took away all rights of
friendship, honor, and justice, and held me to such frantic
devotion to my work as must spoil that also.
Well, it is now ended, and has no shining side but this one, that
materials are collected and a possibility shown me how a
repetition of the course next year--which is appointed--will
enable me partly out of these materials, and partly by large
rejection of these, and by large addition to them, to construct a
fair report of what I have read and thought on the subject. I
doubt the experts in Philosophy will not praise my discourses;--
but the topics give me room for my guesses, criticism,
admirations and experiences with the accepted masters, and also
the lessons I have learned from the hidden great. I have the
fancy that a realist is a good corrector of formalism, no matter
how incapable of syllogism or continuous linked statement. To
great results of thought and morals the steps are not many, and
it is not the masters who spin the ostentatious continuity.
I am glad to hear that the last sent book from me arrived safely.
You were too tender and generous in your first notice of it, I
fear. But with whatever deductions for your partiality, I know
well the unique value of Carlyle's praise. Many things crowd to
be said on this little paper. Though I could see no harm in the
making known the bequest of books to Cambridge,--no harm, but
sincere pleasure, and honor of the donor from all good men,--yet
on receipt of your letter touching that, I went back to President
Eliot, and told him your opinion on newspapers. He said it was
necessarily communicated to the seven persons composing the
Corporation, but otherwise he had been very cautious, and it
would not go into print.
You are sending me a book, and Chapman's Homer it is? Are you
bound by your Arabian bounty to a largess whenever you think of
your friend? And you decry the book too. 'T-is long since I
read it, or in it, but the apotheosis of Homer, in the dedication
to Prince Henry, "Thousands of years attending," &c., is one of
my lasting inspirations. The book has not arrived yet, as the
letter always travels faster, but shall be watched and received
and announced.
But since you are all bounty and care for me, where are the new
volumes of the Library Edition of Carlyle? I received duly, as I
wrote you in a former letter, nine Volumes,--_Sartor; Life of
Schiller;_ five Vols. of _Miscellanies; French Revolution;_
these books oddly addressed to my name, but at _Cincinnati,_
Massachusetts. Whether they went to Ohio, and came back to
Boston, I know not. Two volumes came later, duplicates of two
already received, and were returned at my request by Fields & Co.
with an explanation. But no following volume has come. I write
all this because you said in one letter that Mr. Chapman assured
you that every month a book was despatched to my address.
But what do I read in our Boston Newspapers twice in the last
three days? That "Thomas Carlyle is coming to America," and the
tidings cordially greeted by the editors; though I had just
received your letter silent to any such point. Make that story
true, though it had never a verisimilitude since thirty odd years
ago, and you shall make many souls happy and perhaps show you so
many needs and opportunities for beneficent power that you cannot
be allowed to grow old or withdraw. Was I not once promised a
visit? This house entreats you earnestly and lovingly to come
and dwell in it. My wife and Ellen and Edward E. are thoroughly
acquainted with your greatness and your loveliness. And it is
but ten days of healthy sea to pass.
So wishes heartily and affectionately,
R.W. Emerson