In the city of Portland, that "beautiful town that is seated by the
sea," in the year 1807 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born, and in the
delightful old ancestral home there he passed his youth. The house had
been his mother's home since early childhood; in it she was married, and
in it passed almost her entire life. It had been built by Mrs.
Longfellow's father, General Peleg Wadsworth, in the year 1784, and was
one of the finest mansions in the city at that time, standing, not as
now, in the heart of the city, but out in the open fields. Mr. and Mrs.
Longfellow passed here a long, beautiful, and happy life, devotedly
attached to each other, fond and proud of their children, and much given
to good works. Mr. Longfellow was a man of consequence in the community,
much honored for his learning and ability, and much esteemed for his
integrity, his cordial and kind manners, and his generous hospitality.
He had graduated at Harvard College when very young, where he was a
classmate of Dr. Channing, Judge Story, and other distinguished men, and
much esteemed by them for the same qualities which made him popular in
after-life. He was regarded as one of the purest and most high-minded
youths who had at that time honored the college and been honored by it.
Mrs. Longfellow was a very beautiful woman, fond of poetry and music, of
dancing and social gayety, and a profound lover of Nature in all her
varied aspects. She was a tender and faithful wife and a most devoted
mother. From her Mr. Longfellow doubtless inherited his poetic
temperament and much that was most pleasing in his disposition.
Longfellow's childhood seems to have been a very happy one, passed in
this beautiful home, with such parents, and surrounded by a delightful
group of young friends. He was very fond of reverting to it, and all
through his life cherished the memory of
"The friendships old, and the early loves"
which used to come back to him
"With a Sabbath sound as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods."
He remembered, too, more vividly than many men of mature years,
"The gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart
That in part are prophecies and in part
Are longings wild and vain."
When only fifteen years of age he entered Bowdoin College, with a
brother two years older than himself, and graduated fourth in his class
in 1825. His Commencement oration was upon "The Life and Writings of
Chatterton." He was also invited to deliver a poem the day after
Commencement, as he had already begun to write verses which had been
printed in the local newspapers. Almost immediately after his graduation
he was offered a professorship in the college, and requested to visit
Europe to prepare himself for its duties, making further studies in the
modern languages for that purpose.
The proposal was eagerly accepted, and he sailed the following spring in
a packet-ship from New York. The voyage occupied a month, and was a
remarkably pleasant one, thoroughly enjoyed by the young traveller.
There is nothing remarkable in the letters he wrote home during this
first trip to Europe, when he visited France, Spain, Germany, Italy
(where he spent a year), and England. He assumed the duties of his
professorship immediately upon his return, at a salary of one thousand
dollars a year. He was very popular with the students from the first,
and became quite a power in the University. At this time he became a
contributor to the "North American Review," and may be said to have
fairly begun his literary career. In the year 1831 he was married to
Mary Storer Potter, a young lady of Portland, to whom he had long been
attached. She was one of the famous beauties of that town, noted for its
beautiful women, and a member of the social circle in which the
Longfellows moved. The marriage was in every way suitable, and pleasing
to the friends of both parties. She was a lady highly educated for that
day, and possessed of a mind of unusual power. She was also of a most
cheerful and amiable disposition; and the world opened very brightly
before the young professor. They began housekeeping in Brunswick in a
house still standing in Federal Street. He gives this picture of a
morning there:--
"I can almost fancy myself in Spain, the morning is so soft and
beautiful. The tessellated shadow of the honeysuckle lies
motionless upon my study floor, as if it were a figure in the
carpet; and through the open window comes the fragrance of the
wild-brier and the mock-orange. The birds are carolling in the
trees, and their shadows flit across the window as they dart to and
fro in the sunshine; while the murmur of the bee, the cooing of
doves from the eaves, and the whirring of a little humming-bird
that has its nest in the honeysuckle, send up a sound of joy to
meet the rising sun."
Here was passed a very busy and happy period of Mr. Longfellow's life.
He was young, gifted, fortunately situated, and beloved, and as yet no
shadow had darkened his life. He employed his leisure in writing a
series of sketches of travel which were afterwards published as
"Outre-Mer," and he began to write poetry again after an interval of
nearly eight years. He also began a scrap-book devoted to notices of
his writings, which he christened "Puffs and Counter Blasts," and kept
for the greater part of his life.
He passed five and a half years in Brunswick, perhaps the happiest years
of his life, for he had youth and health and high hope at this time; and
then he began to long for a somewhat wider sphere. Very opportunely came
the offer of a professorship in Harvard University, which was at once
accepted, in April, 1835. He sailed for Europe to make himself familiar
with the Scandinavian tongues and to pass some further time in Germany.
He was accompanied by his wife and two of her young lady friends. They
remained in London for a few weeks, and made acquaintance with many
distinguished people,--among others the Carlyles, to whom they had
brought an introduction from Mr. Emerson. They paid a visit to the seer
at Chelsea, of which Mrs. Longfellow wrote:--
"Mr. Carlyle of Craigenputtock was soon after announced, and passed
a half-hour with us much to our delight. He has very unpolished
manners, and a broad Scottish accent, but such fine language and
beautiful thoughts that it is truly delightful to listen to him. He
invited us to take tea with them at Chelsea, where they now reside.
We were as much charmed with Mrs. C. as with her husband. She is a
lovely woman with very simple and pleasing manners. She is also
very talented and accomplished; and how delightful it is to see
such modesty combined with such power to please!"
They left London for Copenhagen and Stockholm in June, and were much
delighted with the new land they visited. To read in the public square
at midnight; to pass through groves of pine and fir with rose-colored
cones; to hear the watchman call from the church tower four times toward
the four quarters of the heaven, "Ho, watchmen, ho! Twelve the clock
hath stricken. God keep our town from fire and brand, and enemy's
hand;" to have boys and girls run before to open the gates; to hear the
peasants cry, "God bless you," when you sneezed,--all these little
things gave them the delight which young travellers alone can
experience.
But alas! that delight was of short duration. Mrs. Longfellow was taken
sick in Amsterdam in October, and they were detained there for a month.
She seemed to recover, and they journeyed on to Rotterdam, where she
fell ill again and died the 29th of November. Her husband wrote of her
that "she closed her peaceful life by a still more peaceful death, and
though called away when life was brightest, went without a murmur and in
perfect willingness to the bosom of her God." Mr. Longfellow immediately
resumed his journey, going on to Dusseldorf and from there to Bonn. He
took a carriage and journeyed along the banks of the Rhine, by the
"castled crag of Drachenfels" and the other storied places of that
famous river, in complete silence, though with a pleasant companion by
his side. They visited castles and cathedrals, and wonderful ruins, and
some of the most picturesque points of that picturesque land, but in a
gloom which nothing could break or even lighten. So on to Heidelberg,
where they were to sojourn for a time, and where Mr. Longfellow was to
pursue his studies. Here he found Mr. Bryant, whom he had never met, but
who cheered and soothed him as only a fellow-countryman and a man
like-minded with himself could have done. Mr. Bryant did not remain long
in Heidelberg, however, though his wife and daughters stayed through the
winter and continued to cheer Mr. Longfellow's loneliness. He made work
his chief consoler, however, and accomplished a great deal in the line
of his chosen career.
Like Paul Fleming, into whose story he wove many of the experiences of
this part of his life, "he buried himself in books, in old dusty books.
He worked his way diligently through the ancient poetic lore of Germany
into the bright sunny land where walk the modern bards and sing." Into
the Silent Land he walked with Salis; he wept with the melancholy
Werther, or laughed with the gentle Meister; he pondered deeply over the
congenial Schiller, but delighted most of all in Jean Paul the Only, in
whose prodigal fancy he lost for a time the memory of his sorrows. But
ever at his side, as he walked on the banks of the beautiful Neckar and
gazed up at the lofty mountains which surround Heidelberg, there seemed
to walk the Being Beauteous who had whispered with her dying breath, "I
will be with you and watch over you." Many years afterwards he embalmed
the memory of this young and beautiful wife in the poem called "The
Footsteps of Angels." The summer following his bereavement he started on
a tour through Switzerland, finding at the very outset of that journey
the tablet containing the inscription which he made the motto of
"Hyperion" and of his future life: "Look not mournfully into the Past,
it comes not back again; wisely improve the Present, it is thine; go
forth to meet the shadowy Future without fear and with a manly heart."
At Interlachen he met Miss Frances Appleton, and in the pages of
"Hyperion" the world has read of the romance which followed that
meeting. We also read, in the journals published recently, some records
of those days. Here is one of the earliest:--
"A day of true and quiet enjoyment, travelling from Thun to
Entelbuch on our way to Lucerne. The time glided too swiftly away.
We read the 'Genevieve' of Coleridge, and the 'Christabel,' and
many scraps of song, and little German ballads of Uhland, simple
and strange. At noon we stopped at Langnau, and walked into the
fields, and sat down by a stream of pure water that turned a mill;
and a little girl came out of the mill and brought us cherries; and
the shadow of the trees was pleasant, and my soul was filled with
peace and gladness."