Part 7 (1/2)

Speaking of some friends who were contemplating a visit to Europe just after our civil war, when exchange was still very high, he said that ”the wily American would elude Europe for a year yet, hoping exchange would go down.” On being introduced to an invited guest of the Sat.u.r.day Club, Emerson said: ”I am glad to meet you, sir. I often see your name in the papers and elsewhere, and am happy to take you by the hand for the first time.”

”Not for the first time,” was the reply. ”Thirty-three years ago I was enjoying my school vacation in the woods, as boys will. One afternoon I was walking alone, when you saw me and joined me, and talked of the voices of nature in a way which stirred my boyish pulses, and left me thinking of your words far into the night.”

Emerson looked pleased, but rejoined that it must have been long ago indeed when he ventured to talk of such fine subjects.

In conversing with Richard H. Dana (”Two Years Before the Mast”) the latter spoke of the cold eyes of one of our public men. ”Yes,” said Emerson meditatively, ”holes in his head! holes in his head!”

In speaking once of education and of the slight attention given to the development of personal influence, he said ”he had not yet heard of Rarey” (the famous horse-tamer of that time) ”having been made Doctor of Laws.”

After an agreeable conversation with a gentleman who had suffered from ill health, Emerson remarked, ”You formerly bragged of bad health, sir; I trust you are all right now.”

Emerson's reticence with regard to Carlyle's strong expressions against America was equally wise and admirable. His friends crowded about him, urging him to denounce Carlyle, as a sacred duty, but he stood serene and silent as the rocks until the angry sea was calm.

Of his grace of manner, what could be more expressive than the following notes of compliment and acknowledgment?

”When I came home from my pleasant visit to your house last week (or was it a day or two before last week?), Mrs. Hawthorne, arriving in Concord a little later than I, brought me the photograph of Raffaelle's original sketch of Dante, and from you. It appears to be a fixed idea in your mind to benefit and delight me, and still in ingenious and surprising ways. Well, I am glad that my lot is cast in the time and proximity of excellent persons, even if I do not often see their faces. I send my thanks for this interesting picture, which so strangely brings us close to the painter again, and almost hints that a supermarine and superaerial telegraph may bring us thoughts from him yet.”

And, again, with reference to a small photograph from a very interesting _rilievo_ done by a young Roman who died early, leaving nothing in more permanent form to attest his genius:-- ”'The Star-led Wizards' arrived safely at my door last night, as the beauty and splendid fancy of their figures, and not less the generous instructions of their last entertainer and guide, might well warrant and secure.

”It was surely a very unlooked-for but to me most friendly inspiration of yours which gave their feet this direction. But they are and shall be gratefully and reverently received and enshrined, and in the good hope that you will so feel engaged at some time or times to stop and make personal inquiry after the welfare of your guests and wards.”

And again:--

How do you suppose that unskillful scholars are to live, if Fields should one day die? _Serus in coelum redeat_!

Affectionately yours and his,

R. W. EMERSON.

Surely the grace and friendly charm of these conversational notes warrant their preservation even to those who are not held by the personal attraction which lay behind them.

Again he writes:--

”I have been absent from home since the n.o.ble Sat.u.r.day evening, or should have sent you this book of Mr. Stirling's, which you expressed a wish to see. The papers on Macaulay, Tennyson, and Coleridge interest me, and the critic is master of his weapons.

”Meantime, in these days, my thoughts are all benedictions on the dwellers in the happy home of number 148 Charles Street.”

His appreciation of the hospitality of others was only a reflection from his own. I find a few words in the journal as follows: ”Mr.

Emerson was like a benediction in the house, as usual. He was up early in the morning looking over books and pictures in the library.”

I find also the mention of one evening when he brought his own journal to town and read us pa.s.sages describing a visit in Edinburgh, where he was the guest of Mrs. Crowe. She was one of those ladies of Edinburgh, he said, ”who could turn to me, as she did, and say, 'Whom would you like to meet?' Of course I said, Lord Jeffrey, De Quincey, Samuel Brown, called the alchemist by chemists, and a few others. She was able, with her large hospitality, to give me what I most desired. She drove with Samuel Brown and myself to call on De Quincey, who was then living most uncomfortably in lodgings with a landlady who persecuted him continually. While I was staying at Mrs. Crowe's, De Quincey arrived there one evening, after being exposed to various vicissitudes of weather, and latterly to a heavy rain. Unhappily Mrs. Crowe's apparently unlimited hospitality was limited at pantaloons, and poor De Quincey was obliged to dry his water-soaked garments at the fireside.”

Emerson read much also that was interesting of Tennyson and of Carlyle. Of the latter he said that the last time he was in England he drove directly to his house. ”Jane Carlyle opened the door for me, and the man himself stood behind and bore the candle. 'Well, here we are, shoveled together again,' was his greeting. Carlyle's talk is like a river, full and never ceasing; we talked until after midnight, and again the next morning at breakfast we went on. Then we started to walk to London; and London bridge, the Tower, and Westminster were all melted down into the river of his speech.”

After the reading that evening there was singing, and Emerson listened attentively. Presently he said, when the first song ended, ”I should like to know what the words mean.” The music evidently signified little to his ears. Before midnight, when we were alone, he again reverted to Tennyson. He loves to gather and rehea.r.s.e what is known of that wonderful man.

Early in the morning he was once more in the library. I found him there laughing over a little book he had discovered. It was Leigh Hunt's copy of ”English Traits,” and was full of marginal notes, which amused Emerson greatly.

Not Mrs. Crowe's hospitality nor any other could ever compare in his eyes with that of the New York friend to whom I have already alluded.

We all agreed that her genius was preeminent. Here are two brief notes of graceful acknowledgment to his Boston friends which, however, may hardly be omitted. In one of these he says:--