cambridge neighbors-第1部分

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Cambridge　Neighbors

by　William　Dean　Howells






Being　the　wholly　literary　spirit　I　was　when　I　went　to　make　my　home　in
Cambridge；　I　do　not　see　how　I　could　well　have　been　more　content　if　I　had
found　myself　in　the　Elysian　Fields　with　an　agreeable　eternity　before　me。
At　twenty…nine；　indeed；　one　is　practically　immortal；　and　at　that　age；
time　had　for　me　the　effect　of　an　eternity　in　which　I　had　nothing　to　do
but　to　read　books　and　dream　of　writing　them；　in　the　overflow　of　endless
hours　from　my　work　with　the　manuscripts；　critical　notices；　and　proofs　of
the　Atlantic　Monthly。　　As　for　the　social　environment　I　should　have　been
puzzled　if　given　my　choice　among　the　elect　of　all　the　ages；　to　find　poets
and　scholars　more　to　my　mind　than　those　still　in　the　flesh　at　Cambridge
in　the　early　afternoon　of　the　nineteenth　century。　　They　are　now　nearly
all　dead；　and　I　can　speak　of　them　in　the　freedom　which　is　death's
doubtful　favor　to　the　survivor；　but　if　they　were　still　alive　I　could　say
little　to　their　offence；　unless　their　modesty　was　hurt　with　my　praise。




I。

One　of　the　first　and　truest　of　our　Cambridge　friends　was　that　exquisite
intelligence；　who；　in　a　world　where　so　many　people　are　grotesquely
miscalled；　was　most　fitly　named；　for　no　man　ever　kept　here　more　perfectly
and　purely　the　heart　of　such　as　the　kingdom　of　heaven　is　of　than　Francis
J。　Child。　　He　was　then　in　his　prime；　and　I　like　to　recall　the　outward
image　which　expressed　the　inner　man　as　happily　as　his　name。　　He　was　of
low　stature　and　of　an　inclination　which　never　became　stoutness；　but　what
you　most　saw　when　you　saw　him　was　his　face　of　consummate　refinement：　very
regular；　with　eyes　always　glassed　by　gold…rimmed　spectacles；　a　straight；
short；　most　sensitive　nose；　and　a　beautiful　mouth　with　the　sweetest　smile
mouth　ever　wore；　and　that　was　as　wise　and　shrewd　as　it　was　sweet。　　In　a
time　when　every　other　man　was　more　or　less　bearded　he　was　clean　shaven；
and　of　a　delightful　freshness　of　coloring　which　his　thick　sunny　hair；
clustering　upon　his　head　in　close　rings；　admirably　set　off。　　I　believe　he
never　became　gray；　and　the　last　time　I　saw　him；　though　he　was　broken　then
with　years　and　pain；　his　face　had　still　the　brightness　of　his
inextinguishable　youth。

It　is　well　known　how　great　was　Professor　Child's　scholarship　in　the
branches　of　his　Harvard　work；　and　how　especially；　how　uniquely；　effective
it　was　in　the　study　of　English　and　Scottish　balladry　to　which　he　gave　so
many　years　of　his　life。　　He　was　a　poet　in　his　nature；　and　he　wrought　with
passion　as　well　as　knowledge　in　the　achievement　of　as　monumental　a　task
as　any　American　has　performed。　　But　he　might　have　been　indefinitely　less
than　he　was　in　any　intellectual　wise；　and　yet　been　precious　to　those　who
knew　him　for　the　gentleness　and　the　goodness　which　in　him　were　protected
from　misconception　by　a　final　dignity　as　delicate　and　as　inviolable　as
that　of　Longfellow　himself。

We　were　still　much　less　than　a　year　from　our　life　in　Venice；　when　he　came
to　see　us　in　Cambridge；　and　in　the　Italian　interest　which　then　commended
us　to　so　many　fine　spirits　among　our　neighbors　we　found　ourselves　at　the
beginning　of　a　life…long　friendship　with　him。　　I　was　known　to　him　only　by
my　letters　from　Venice；　which　afterwards　became　Venetian　Life；　and　by　a
bit　of　devotional　verse　which　he　had　asked　to　include　in　a　collection　he
was　making；　but　he　immediately　gave　us　the　freedom　of　his　heart；　which
after　wards　was　never　withdrawn。　　In　due　time　he　imagined　a　home…school；
to　which　our　little　one　was　asked；　and　she　had　her　first　lessons　with　his
own　daughter　under　his　roof。　　These　things　drew　us　closer　together；　and
he　was　willing　to　be　still　nearer　to　me　in　any　time　of　trouble。　　At　one
such　time　when　the　shadow　which　must　some　time　darken　every　door；　hovered
at　ours；　he　had　the　strength　to　make　me　face　it　and　try　to　realize；　while
it　was　still　there；　that　it　was　not　cruel　and　not　evil。　　It　passed；　for
that　time；　but　the　sense　of　his　help　remained；　and　in　my　own　case　I　can
testify　of　the　potent　tenderness　which　all　who　knew　him　must　have　known
in　him。　　But　in　bearing　my　witness　I　feel　accused；　almost　as　if　he　were
present；　by　his　fastidious　reluctance　from　any　recognition　of　his
helpfulness。　When　this　came　in　the　form　of　gratitude　taking　credit　to
itself　in　a　pose　which　reflected　honor　upon　him　as　the　architect　of
greatness；　he　was　delightfully　impatient　of　it；　and　he　was　most　amusingly
dramatic　in　reproducing　the　consciousness　of　certain　ineffectual　alumni
who　used　to　overwhelm　him　at　Commencement　solemnities　with　some　such
pompous　acknowledgment　as；　〃Professor　Child；　all　that　I　have　become；　sir；
I　owe　to　your　influence　in　my　college　career。〃　　He　did；　with　delicious
mockery；　the　old…fashioned　intellectual　poseurs　among　the　students；　who
used　to　walk　the　groves　of　Harvard　with　bent　head；　and　the　left　arm
crossing　the　back；　while　the　other　lodged　its　hand　in　the　breast　of　the
high　buttoned　frock…coat；　and　I　could　fancy　that　his　classes　in　college
did　not　form　the　sunniest　exposure　for　young。　　folly　and　vanity。　　I　know
that　he　was　intolerant　of　any　manner　of　insincerity；　and　no　flattery
could　take　him　off　his　guard。　　I　have　seen　him　meet　this　with　a　cutting
phrase　of　rejection；　and　no　man　was　more　apt　at　snubbing　the　patronage
that　offers　itself　at　times　to　all　men。　　But　mostly　he　wished　to　do
people　pleasure；　and　he　seemed　always　to　be　studying　how　to　do　it；　as　for
need；　I　am　sure　that　worthy　and　unworthy　want　had　alike　the　way　to　his
heart。

Children　were　always　his　friends；　and　they　repaid　with　adoration　the
affection　which　he　divided　with　them　and　with　his　flowers。　　I　recall　him
in　no　moments　so　characteristic　as　those　he　spent　in　making　the　little
ones　laugh　out　of　their　hearts　at　his　drolling；　some　festive　evening　in
his　house；　and　those　he　gave　to　sharing　with　you　his　joy　in　his
gardening。　　This；　I　believe；　began　with　violets；　and　it　went　on　to　roses；
which　he　grew　in　a　splendor　and　profusion　impossible　to　any　but　a　true
lover　with　a　genuine　gift　for　them。　　Like　Lowell；　he　spent　his　summers　in
Cambridge；　and　in　the　afternoon；　you　could　find　him　digging　or　pruning
among　his　roses　with　an　ardor　which　few　caprices　of　the　weather　could
interrupt。　　He　would　lift　himself　from　their　ranks；　which　he　scarcely
overtopped；　as　you　came　up　the　footway　to　his　door；　and　peer　purblindly
across　at　you。　　If　he　knew　you　at　once；　he　traversed　the　nodding　and
swaying　bushes；　to　give　you　the　hand　free　of　the　trowel　or　knife；　or　if
you　got　indoors　unseen　by　him　he　would　come　in　holding　towards　you　some
exquisite　blossom　that　weighed　down　the　tip　of　its　long　stem　with　a
succession　of　hospitable　obeisances。

He　graced　with　unaffected　poetry　a　life　of　as　hard　study；　of　as　hard
work；　and　as　varied　achievement　as　any　I　have　known　or　read　of；　and　he
played　with　gifts　and　acquirements　such　as　in　no　great　measure　have　made
reputations。　　He　had　a　rare　and　lovely　humor　which　could　amuse　itself
both　in　English　and　Italian　with　such　an　airy　burletta　as　〃Il　Pesceballo〃
（he　wrote　it　in　Metastasian　Italian；　and　Lowell　put　it　in　libretto
English）；　he　had　a　critical　sense　as　sound　as　it　was　subtle　in　all
literature；　and　whatever　he　wrote　he　imbued　with　the　charm　of　a　style
finely　personal　to　himself。　　His　learning　in　the　line　of　his　Harvard
teaching　included　an　early　English　scholarship　unrivalled　in　his　time；
and　his　researches　in　ballad　literature　left　no　corner　of　it　untouched。
I　fancy　this　part　of　his　study　was　peculiarly　pleasant　to　him；　for　he
loved　simple　and　natural　things；　and　the　beauty　which　he　found　nearest
life。　　At　least　he　scorned　the　pedantic　affectations　of　literary
superiority；　and　he　used　to　quote　with　joyous　laughter　the　swelling
exclamation　of　an　Italian　critic　who　proposed　to　leave　the　summits　of
polite　learning　for　a　moment；　with　the　cry；　〃Scendiamo　fra　il　popolo！〃
（Let　us　go　down　among　the　people。）




II。

Of　course　it　was　only　so　hard　worked　a　man　who　could　take　thought　and
trouble　for　another。　　He　once　took　thought　for　me　at　a　time　when　it　was
very　important　to　me；　and　when　he　took　the　trouble　to　secure　for　me　an
engagement　to　deliver　that　course　of　Lowell　lectures　in　Boston；　which　I
have　said　Lowell　had　the　courage　to　go　in　town　to　hear。　　I　do　not
remember　whether　Professor　Child　was　equal　to　so　much；　but　he　would　have
been　if　it　were　necessary；　and　I　rather　rejoice　now　in　the　belief　that　he
did　not　seek　quite　that　martyrdom。

He　had　done　more　than　enough　for　me；　but　he　had　done　only　what　he　was
always　willing　to　do　for　others。　　In　the　form　of　a　favor　to　himself　he
brought　into　my　fife　the　great　happiness　of　intimately　knowing　Hjalmar
Hjorth　Boyesen；　whom　he　had　found　one　summer　day　among　the　shelves　in　the
Harvard　library；　and　found　to　be　a　poet　and　an　intending　novelist。　　I　do
not　remember　now　just　how　this　fact　imparted　itself　to　the　professor；　but
literature　is　of　easily　cultivated　confidence　in　youth；　and　possibly　the
revelation　was　spontaneous。　　At　any　rate；　as　a　susceptible　young　editor；
I　was　asked　to　meet　my　potential　contributor　at　the　professor's　two
o'clock　dinner；　and　when　we　came　to　coffee　in　the　study；　Boyesen　t