Part 43 (1/2)

The spiritual conception of nature revealed in some of his early poems is a New World echo of Wordsworth; his somber poems of death indicate that he was familiar with Gray and Young; his ”Evening Wind” has some suggestion of Sh.e.l.ley; we suspect the influence of Scott's narrative poems in the neglected ”Stella” and ”Little People of the Snow.” But though influenced by English writers, the author of ”Thanatopsis” was too independent to imitate them; and in his independence, with the hearty welcome which it received from the American public, we have a prophecy of the new poetry.

[Sidenote: HIS ORIGINALITY]

The originality and st.u.r.dy independence of Bryant are clearly shown in his choice of subjects. In his early days poetry was formal and artificial, after the manner of the eighteenth century; the romantic movement had hardly gained recognition in England; Burns was known only to his own countrymen; Wordsworth was ridiculed or barely tolerated by the critics; and poets on both sides of the Atlantic were still writing of larks and nightingales, of moonlight in the vale, of love in a rose-covered cottage, of ivy-mantled towers, weeping willows, neglected graves,--a medley of tears and sentimentality. You will find all these and little else in _The Garland_, _The Token_ and many other popular collections of the period; but you will find none of them in Bryant's first or last volume.

From the beginning he wrote of Death and Nature; somewhat coldly, to be sure, but with manly sincerity. Then he wrote of Freedom, the watchword of America, not as other singers had written of it but as a Puritan who had learned in bitter conflict the price of his heritage:

O Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gus.h.i.+ng from the cap With which the Roman master crowned his slave When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand Grasps the broad s.h.i.+eld, and one the sword; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy ma.s.sive limbs Are strong with struggling.

He wrote without affectation of the Past, of Winter, of the North Star, of the Crowded Street, of the Yellow Violet and the Fringed Gentian. If the last-named poems now appear too simple for our poetic taste, remember that simplicity is the hardest to acquire of all literary virtues, and that it was the dominant quality of Bryant. Remember also that these modest flowers of which he wrote so modestly had for two hundred years brightened our spring woods and autumn meadows, waiting patiently for the poet who should speak our appreciation of their beauty. Another century has gone, and no other American poet has spoken so simply or so well of other neglected treasures: of the twin flower, for example, most fragrant of all blooms; or of that other welcome-nodding blossom, beloved of b.u.mblebees, which some call ”wild columbine” and others ”whippoorwill's shoes.”

In a word, Bryant was and is our pioneer poet in the realm of native American poetry. As Emerson said, he was our first original poet, and was original because he dared to be sincere.

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER (1789-1851)

In point of time Cooper is the first notable American novelist. Judging by the booksellers, no other has yet approached him in the sustained interest of his work or the number of his readers.

[Sidenote: THE MAN]

On first a.n.a.lysis we shall find little in Cooper to account for his abiding popularity. The man himself was not exactly lovable; indeed, he had almost a genius for stirring up antagonism. As a writer he began without study or literary training, and was stilted or slovenly in most of his work. He was p.r.o.ne to moralize in the midst of an exciting narrative; he filled countless pages with ”wooden” dialogue; he could not portray a child or a woman or a gentleman, though he was confident that he had often done so to perfection. He did not even know Indians or woodcraft, though Indians and woodcraft account for a large part of our interest in his forest romances.

[Sidenote: THE STORYTELLER]

One may enjoy a good story, however, without knowing or caring for its author's peculiarities, and the vast majority of readers are happily not critical but receptive. Hence if we separate the man from the author, and if we read _The Red Rover_ or _The Last of the Mohicans_ ”just for the story,” we shall discover the source of Cooper's power as a writer.

First of all, he has a tale to tell, an epic tale of heroism and manly virtue. Then he appeals strongly to the pioneer spirit, which survives in all great nations, and he is a master at portraying wild nature as the background of human life. The vigor of elemental manhood, the call of adventure, the lure of primeval forests, the surge and mystery of the sea,--these are written large in Cooper's best books. They make us forget his faults of temper or of style, and they account in large measure for his popularity with young readers of all nations; for he is one of the few American writers who belong not to any country but to humanity. At present he is read chiefly by boys; but half a century or more ago he had more readers of all cla.s.ses and climes than any other writer in the world.

LIFE. The youthful experiences of Cooper furnished him with the material for his best romances. He was born (1789) in New Jersey; but while he was yet a child the family removed to central New York, where his father had acquired an immense tract of wild land, on which he founded the village that is still called Cooperstown.

There on the frontier of civilization, where stood the primeval forest that had witnessed many a wild Indian raid, the novelist pa.s.sed his boyhood amid the picturesque scenes which he was to immortalize in _The Pioneers_ and _The Deerslayer_.

[Sidenote: HIS TRAINING]

Cooper picked up a little ”book learning” in a backwoods school and a little more in a minister's study at Albany. At thirteen he entered Yale; but he was a self-willed lad and was presently dismissed from college. A little later, after receiving some scant nautical training on a merchantman, he entered the navy as mids.h.i.+pman; but after a brief experience in the service he married and resigned his commission. That was in 1811, and the date is significant. It was just before the second war with Great Britain.

The author who wrote so much and so vividly of battles, Indian raids and naval engagements never was within sight of such affairs, though the opportunity was present. In his romances we have the product of a vigorous imagination rather than of observation or experience.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JAMES FENIMORE COOPER]

His literary work seems now like the result of whim or accident.

One day he flung down a novel that he was reading, declaring to his wife that he could write a better story himself. ”Try it,”

challenged his wife. ”I will,” said Cooper; and the result was _Precaution_, a romance of English society. He was then a farmer in the Hudson valley, and his knowledge of foreign society was picked up, one must think, from silly novels on the subject.

Strange to say, the story was so well received that the gratified author wrote another. This was _The Spy_ (1821), dealing with a Revolutionary hero who had once followed his dangerous calling in the very region in which Cooper was now living. The immense success of this book fairly drove its author into a career. He moved to New York City, and there quickly produced two more successful romances.

Thus in four years an unknown man without literary training had become a famous writer, and had moreover produced four different types of fiction: the novel of society in _Precaution_, the historical romance in _The Spy_, and the adventurous romance of forest and of ocean in _The Pioneers_ and _The Pilot_.

[Sidenote: YEARS OF STRIFE]

Cooper now went abroad, as most famous authors do. His books, already translated into several European languages, had made him known, and he was welcomed in literary circles; but almost immediately he was drawn into squabbles, being naturally inclined that way. He began to write political tirades; and even his romances of the period (_The Bravo_, _The Heidenmauer_, _The Headsman_) were devoted to proclaiming the glories of democracy. Then he returned home and proceeded to set his countrymen by the ears (in such books as _Home as Found_) by writing too frankly of their crudity in contrast with the culture of Europe. Then followed long years of controversy and lawsuits, during which our newspapers used Cooper scandalously, and Cooper prosecuted and fined the newspapers. It is a sorry spectacle, of no interest except to those who would understand the bulk of Cooper's neglected works. He was an honest man, vigorous, straightforward, absolutely sincere; but he was p.r.o.ne to waste his strength and embitter his temper by trying to force his opinion on those who were well satisfied with their own. He had no humor, and had never pondered the wisdom of ”Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: OTSEGO HALL, HOME OF COOPER]

The last years of his life were spent mostly at the old home at Cooperstown, no longer a frontier settlement but a thriving village, from which Natty b.u.mppo and Chingachgook had long since departed. Before his death (1851) the fires of controversy had sunk to ashes; but Cooper never got over his resentment at the public, and with the idea of keeping forever aloof he commanded that none of his private papers be given to biographers. It is for lack of such personal letters and doc.u.ments that no adequate life of Cooper has yet been written.