"Took a carriage to St. Germain-en-Laye to see the _Fete des
Layes_. The day was pleasant, with shifting clouds and sunshine.
They told me I was in good spirits. It was the surface only,
stirred by the passing breeze and catching the sunshine of the
moment. I have often observed, amid a chorus of a hundred voices
and the sound of a hundred instruments, amid all this whirlwind of
the vexed air, that I could distinguish the melancholy vibration of
a single string touched by a finger. It had a mournful, sobbing
sound. Thus amid the splendor of a festival,--the rushing crowd,
and song, and sounds of gladness, and a thousand mingling
emotions,--distinctly audible to the mind's ear are the pulsations
of some melancholy chord of the heart, touched by the finger of
memory. And it has a mournful, sobbing sound."
But tearing himself away from the sadness of the old memory and the
fascination of the new presence alike, Mr. Longfellow returned to
America in December, 1836, and assumed the duties of his professorship
at Cambridge. Here he soon formed those friendships which were to him a
life-long blessing and delight. They fall naturally into two groups, the
earlier and later, though some of the most intimate of these friendships
formed in youth lasted until near the close of Mr. Longfellow's life.
Among the early friends were George W. Greene, with whom he corresponded
most affectionately for many years; Mr. Samuel Ward, a brother of Mrs.
Julia Ward Howe; Professor Felton; Hilliard, Mr. Sumner's law partner;
Cleveland, a scholar living at ease in Brookline; Hawthorne; and always
and ever Mr. Sumner himself. Emerson, also, and Prescott were his
friends, but not so intimate as the others. Here is a glimpse of the
author of that series of fascinating histories, since so popular, in a
letter to Greene:--
"This morning, as I was sitting at breakfast, a gentleman on
horseback sent up word that I should come down to him. It was
Prescott, author of 'Ferdinand and Isabella.' He is an early riser,
and rides about the country. There on his horse sat the great
author. He is one of the best fellows in the world, and much my
friend; handsome and forty; a great diner-out; gentle,
companionable, and modest; quite astonished to find himself
famous."
Then comes a glimpse of the as yet unknown author of "The Scarlet
Letter:"--
"I shall see Hawthorne to-morrow. He lives in Salem, and we meet
and sup together to-morrow evening at the Tremont House. Your
health shall be remembered. He is a strange owl; a very peculiar
individual, with a dash of originality about him very pleasant to
behold. How I wish you could be with us! Ach! my beloved friend,
when I one day sit with you in Italy again, with nothing on the
snow-white tablecloth save bread still whiter, and fruit, and that
most delicate wine 'in beakers full of the warm South,' will we
pledge the happy present time and those sorrows and disappointments
which are our schoolmasters. Sumner is the nearest and warmest
thing I can send you. When you have him you will think you have me,
he can tell you so much of me."
To this early group were added, later on, Agassiz, Lowell, Dana, James
T. Fields, Norton, Dr. Holmes, and others; but those mentioned were his
real intimates throughout life. With Emerson he maintained a calm and
admiring friendship, but saw less of him than of the others. Bryant and
Whittier and George W. Curtis he loved and admired, but they were more
distant and not his every-day companions. Dr. Samuel G. Howe belonged,
if not exactly to the earliest group of friends, yet among friends both
early and late. These men are all historic now, and it seems strange to
find Longfellow writing of them as he does in letters and journals. For
instance:--
"Also Mr. Emerson, a clergyman, with new views of life, death, and
immortality; author of 'Nature,' and friend of Carlyle. He is one
of the finest lecturers I ever heard, with magnificent passages of
true prose poetry. But it is all dreamery, after all."
Strange, too, to find Carlyle writing to the young poet after the
receipt of a volume of his poems, before reading them, as is said to be
the fashion of great men when they wish to let unknown authors down
easily and gracefully:--
"About the same time there came an indistinct message that a copy
of your poems had been left for me at Fraser the bookseller's. It
now beckons to me from one of my shelves, asking always, 'When wilt
thou have a cheerful, vacant day?'"
Very natural it seems, though, to find that Carlyle is already writing
from "a hideous immeasurable treadmill, a smoky, soul-confusing
Babylon," and that he addresses "only one prayer to the heavens,--that
he were well out of it before it takes the life out of him."
Pleasantest and strongest perhaps of all his friendships was that for
Charles Sumner, who was lecturing at the Law School when Mr. Longfellow
first came to Cambridge. Begun when both were young men just launching
forth on their great but so different career, it continued until death
separated them, without a shadow of estrangement or disloyalty, but with
ever increasing ardor of affection. Sumner was inclined to literature at
that time, and indeed for many years afterwards, his political career
being rather forced upon him by the stormy times. A club was formed at
this time, called the "Five of Clubs," consisting of Longfellow, Sumner,
Hilliard, Cleveland, and Felton. They read and criticised each other's
writings, and enjoyed a hearty social intercourse. Awhile afterwards,
when they began to speak well of each other's articles in the reviews,
the newspapers gave them the name of the "Mutual Admiration Society."
Not inapplicable, probably, but applicable to the literary men of all
time. What is the great literary guild anywhere but a mutual admiration
society? What a large portion of our best literature would be blotted
out if what one great writer has said of another should be destroyed!
Would we have this so? Nay, verily! Certainly there was no lack of warm
admiration, and warm expression of it, among this little group of
friends; and between Sumner and Longfellow, at least, these expressions
continued throughout life, and were heartily sincere to the last. One
after another Longfellow's poems were submitted to his friends'
criticism, and each received its due meed of praise or gentle censure.
Mr. Sumner's speeches were received by Longfellow with great enthusiasm
always, and praised heartily and unreservedly. Every step in his career
was watched with the most eager interest and intense sympathy. It is one
of the most beautiful friendships on record. One wonders in reading the
journal what Longfellow's life would have been without these constant
visits and letters from Sumner. Every Sabbath was spent by the statesman
at the poet's house, when the former was in the vicinity of Boston, and
many and many are the records during the week,--Sumner to dine, Sumner
to tea, Sumner to pass the night, and always some note made of the late
and pleasant talk the pair had together. When Sumner goes to Washington
he is sadly missed, and such little notes as this sent after him in
tender remembrance:--
"Your farewell note came safe and sad; and Sunday no well-known
footstep in the hall, nor sound of cane laid upon the table. We ate
our dinner somewhat silently by ourselves and talked of you far
off, looking at your empty chair. Away, phantoms! I will not think
of this too much for fear that which you say may prove truer than I
want it to be. Let us not prophesy sadness."
When Sumner was expected to make a speech all were alert at Craigie
House, and often his friend would send him some such greeting as this:--
"It is now eleven o'clock of the forenoon, and you have just taken
your seat in the Senate and arranged your artillery to bombard
Nebraska! We listen with deepest interest, but shall not hear the
report of your guns till to-morrow, you are so far off. If, after
all, the enemy prevails, it will be one dishonest victory more in
the history of the world. But the enemy will not prevail. A seeming
victory will be a real defeat."