roundabout to boston-第2章

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I　have　never　read　his　history；　and　I　speak　of　it　only　at　second　hand；　but
I　had　read；　before　I　met　him；　his　novel　of　'Archy　Moore；　or　The　White
Slave'；　which　left　an　indelible　impression　of　his　imaginative　verity　upon
me。　　The　impression　is　still　so　deep　that　after　the　lapse　of　nearly　forty
years　since　I　saw　the　book；　I　have　no　misgiving　in　speaking　of　it　as　a
powerful　piece　of　realism。　　It　treated　passionately；　intensely；　though
with　a　superficial　coldness；　of　wrongs　now　so　remote　from　us　in　the
abolition　of　slavery　that　it　is　useless　to　hope　it　will　ever　beg
generally　read　hereafter；　but　it　can　safely　be　praised　to　any　one　who
wishes　to　study　that　bygone　condition；　and　the　literature　which　grew　out
of　it。　　I　fancy　it　did　not　lack　recognition　in　its　time；　altogether；　for
I　used　to　see　it　in　Italian　and　French　translations　on　the　bookstalls。
I　believe　neither　his　history　nor　his　novel　brought　the　author　more　gain
than　fame。　　He　had　worn　himself　out　on　a　newspaper　when　he　got　his
appointment　at　Trieste；　and　I　saw　him　in　the　shadow　of　the　cloud　that　was
wholly　to　darken　him　before　he　died。　　He　was　a　tall　thin　man；　absent；
silent：　already　a　phantom　of　himself；　but　with　a　scholarly　serenity　and
dignity　amidst　the　ruin；　when　the　worst　came。

I　first　saw　him　at　the　pretty　villa　where　he　lived　in　the　suburbs　of
Trieste；　and　where　I　passed　several　days；　and　I　remember　him　always
reading；　reading；　reading。　　He　could　with　difficulty　be　roused　from　his
book　by　some　strenuous　appeal　from　his　family　to　his　conscience　as　a
host。　　The　last　night　he　sat　with　Paradise　Lost　in　his　hand；　and　nothing
could　win　him　from　it　till　he　had　finished　it。　　Then　he　rose　to　go　to
bed。　　Would　not　he　bid　his　parting　guest　good…bye？　　The　idea　of　farewell
perhaps　dimly　penetrated　to　him。　　He　responded　without　looking　round；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃They；　hand　in　hand；　with　wandering　steps　and　slow；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Through　Eden　took　their　solitary　way；〃

and　so　left　the　room。

I　had　earlier　had　some　dealings　with　him　as　a　fellow…consul　concerning　a
deserter　from　an　American　ship　whom　I　inherited　from　my　predecessor　at
Venice。　　The　man　had　already　been　four　or　five　months　in　prison；　and　he
was　in　a　fair　way　to　end　his　life　there；　for　it　is　our　law　that　a
deserting　sailor　must　be　kept　in　the　consul's　custody　till　some　vessel　of
our　flag　arrives；　when　the　consul　can　oblige　the　master　to　take　the
deserter　and　let　him　work　his　passage　home。　　Such　a　vessel　rarely　came　to
Venice　even　in　times　of　peace；　and　in　times　of　war　there　was　no　hope　of
any。　　So　I　got　leave　of　the　consul　at　Trieste　to　transfer　my　captive　to
that　port；　where　now　and　then　an　American　ship　did　touch。　　The　flag
determines　the　nationality　of　the　sailor；　and　this　unhappy　wretch　was
theoretically　our　fellow…citizen；　but　when　he　got　to　Trieste　he　made　a
clean　breast　of　it　to　the　consul。　　He　confessed　that　when　he　shipped
under　our　flag　he　was　a　deserter　from　a　British　regiment　at　Malta；　and　he
begged　piteously　not　to　be　sent　home　to　America；　where　he　had　never　been
in　his　life；　nor　ever　wished　to　be。　　He　wished　to　be　sent　back　to　his
regiment　at　Malta；　and　to　whatever　fate　awaited　him　there。　　The　case
certainly　had　its　embarrassments；　but　the　American　consul　contrived　to
let　our　presumptive　compatriot　slip　into　the　keeping　of　the　British
consul；　who　promptly　shipped　him　to　Malta。　　In　view　of　the　strained
relations　between　England　and　America　at　that　time　this　was　a　piece　of
masterly　diplomacy。

Besides　my　old　Ohio…time　friend　Moncure　D。　Conway；　who　paid　us　a　visit；
and　in　his　immediate　relations　with　literary　Boston　seemed　to　bring　the
mountain　to　Mahomet；　I　saw　no　one　else　more　literary　than　Henry　Ward
Beecher。　　He　was　passing　through　Venice　on　his　way　to　those　efforts　in
England　in　behalf　of　the　Union　which　had　a　certain　great　effect　at　the
time；　and　in　the　tiny　parlor　of　our　apartment　on　the　Grand　Canal；　I　can
still　see　him　sitting　athletic；　almost　pugilistic；　of　presence；　with　his
strong　face；　but　kind；　framed　in　long　hair　that　swept　above　his　massive
forehead；　and　fell　to　the　level　of　his　humorously　smiling　mouth。　　His
eyes　quaintly　gleamed　at　the　things　we　told　him　of　our　life　in　the
strange　place；　but　he　only　partly　relaxed　from　his　strenuous　pose；　and
the　hands　that　lay　upon　his　knees　were　clinched。　　Afterwards；　as　he
passed　our　balcony　in　a　gondola；　he　lifted　the　brave　red　fez　he　was
wearing　（many　people　wore　the　fez　for　one　caprice　or　another）　and　saluted
our　eagle　and　us：　we　were　often　on　the　balcony　behind　the　shield　to
attest　the　authenticity　of　the　American　eagle。




III。

Before　I　left　Venice；　however；　there　came　a　turn　in　my　literary　luck；　and
from　the　hand　I　could　most　have　wished　to　reverse　the　adverse　wheel　of
fortune。　　I　had　labored　out　with　great　pains　a　paper　on　recent　Italian
comedy；　which　I　sent　to　Lowell；　then　with　his　friend　Professor　Norton
jointly　editor　of　the　North　American　Review；　and　he　took　it　and　wrote　me
one　of　his　loveliest　letters　about　it；　consoling　me　in　an　instant　for　all
the　defeat　I　had　undergone；　and　making　it　sweet　and　worthy　to　have　lived
through　that　misery。　　It　is　one　of　the　hard　conditions　of　this　state　that
while　we　can　mostly　make　out　to　let　people　taste　the　last　drop　of
bitterness　and　ill…will　that　is　in　us；　our　love　and　gratitude　are　only
semi…articulate　at　the　best；　and　usually　altogether　tongue…tied。　　As
often　as　I　tried　afterwards　to　tell　Lowell　of　the　benediction；　the
salvation；　his　letter　was　to　me；　I　failed。　　But　perhaps　he　would　not　have
understood；　if　I　had　spoken　out　all　that　was　in　me　with　the　fulness　I
could　have　given　a　resentment。　　His　message　came　after　years　of　thwarted
endeavor；　and　reinstated　me　in　the　belief　that　I　could　still　do　something
in　literature。　　To　be　sure；　the　letters　in　the　Advertiser　had　begun　to
make　their　impression；　among　the　first　great　pleasures　they　brought　me
was　a　recognition　from　my　diplomatic　chief　at　Vienna；　but　I　valued　my
admission　to　the　North　American　peculiarly　because　it　was　Lowell　let　me
in；　and　because　I　felt　that　in　his　charge　it　must　be　the　place　of　highest
honor。　　He　spoke　of　the　pay　for　my　article；　in　his　letter；　and　asked　me
where　he　should　send　it；　and　I　answered；　to　my　father…in…law；　who　put　it
in　his　savings…bank；　where　he　lived；　in　Brattleboro；　Vermont。　　There　it
remained；　and　I　forgot　all　about　it；　so　that　when　his　affairs　were
settled　some　years　later　and　I　was　notified　that　there　was　a　sum　to　my
credit　in　the　bank；　I　said；　with　the　confidence　I　have　nearly　always　felt
when　wrong；　that　I　had　no　money　there。　　The　proof　of　my　error　was　sent　me
in　a　check；　and　then　I　bethought　me　of　the　pay　for　〃Recent　Italian
Comedy。〃

It　was　not　a　day　when　I　could　really　afford　to　forget　money　due　me；　but
then　it　was　not　a　great　deal　of　money。　　The　Review　was　as　poor　as　it　was
proud；　and　I　had　two　dollars　a　printed　page　for　my　paper。　　But　this　was
more　than　I　got　from　the　Advertiser；　which　gave　me　five　dollars　a　column
for　my　letters；　printed　in　a　type　so　fine　that　the　money；　when　translated
from　greenbacks　into　gold　at　a　discount　of　2。80；　must　have　been　about　a
dollar　a　thousand　words。　　However；　I　was　richly　content　with　that；　and
would　gladly　have　let　them　have　the　letters　for　nothing。

Before　I　left　Venice　I　had　made　my　sketches　into　a　book；　which　I　sent　on
to　Messrs。　Trubner　&　Co。；　in　London。　　They　had　consented　to　look　at　it　to
oblige　my　friend　Conway；　who　during　his　sojourn　with　us　in　Venice；　before
his　settlement　in　London；　had　been　forced　to　listen　to　some　of　it。　　They
answered　me　in　due　time　that　they　would　publish　an　edition　of　a　thousand；
at　half　profits；　if　I　could　get　some　American　house　to　take　five　hundred
copies。　　When　I　stopped　in　London　I　had　so　little　hope　of　being　able　to
do　this　that　I　asked　the　Trubners　if　I　might；　without　losing　their　offer；
try　to　get　some　other　London　house　to　publish　my　book。　　They　said　Yes；
almost　joyously；　and　I　began　to　take　my　manuscript　about。　　At　most　places
they　would　not　look　at　me　or　it；　and　they　nowhere　consented　to　read　it。
The　house　promptest　in　refusing　to　consider　it　afterwards　pirated　one　of
my　novels；　and　with　some　expressions　of　good　intention　in　that　direction；
never　paid　me　anything　for　it；　though　I　believe　the　English　still　think
that　this　sort　of　behavior　was　peculiar　to　the　American　publisher　in　the
old　buccaneering　times。　　I　was　glad　to　go　back　to　the　Trubners　with　my
book；　and　on　my　way　across　the　Atlantic　I　met　a　publisher　who　finally
agreed　to　take　those　five　hundred　copies。　　This　was　Mr。　M。　M。　Hurd；　of
Hurd　&　Houghton；　a　house　then　newly　established　in　New　York　and
Cambridge。　　We　played　ring…toss　and　shuffleboard　together；　and　became　of
a　friendship　which　lasts　to　this　day。　　But　it　was　not　till　some　months
later；　when　I　saw　him　in　New　York；　that　he　consented　to　publish　my　book。
I　remember　how　he　said；　with　an　air　of　vague　misgiving；　and　an　effect　of
trying　to　justify　himself　in　an　imprudence；　that　it　was　not　a　great
matter　anyway。　　I　perceived　that　he　had　no　faith　in　it；　and　to　tell　the
truth　I　had　not　much　myself。　　But　the　book　had　an　instant　success；　and　it
has　gone　on　from　edition　to　edition　ever　since。　　There　was　just　then　the
interest　of　a　not　wholly　generous　surprise　at　American　things　among　the
English。　　Our　success　in　putting　down　the　great　Confederate　rebellion　had
caught　the　fancy　of　our　cousins；　and　I　think　it　was　to　this　mood　of
theirs　that　I　owed　largely　the　kindness　they　showed　my　book。　　There　were
long　and　cordial　reviews　in　all　the　great　London　journals；　which　I　used
to　carry　about　with　me　like　love…letters；　when　I　tried　to　show　them　to
other　people；　I　could　not　understand　their　coldness　concerning　them。

At　Boston；　where　we　landed　on　our　return　home；　there　was　a　moment　when　it
seemed　as　if　my　small　destiny　might　be　linked　at　once　with　that　of　the
city　which　later　became　my　home。　　I　ran　into　the　office　of　the　Advertiser
to　ask　what　had　become　of　some　sketches　of　Italian　travel　I　had　sent　the
paper；　and　the　managing　editor　made　me　promise　not　to　take　a　place
anywhere　before　I　had　heard　from　him。　　I　gladly　promised；　but　I　did　not
hear　from　him；　and　when　I　returned　to　Boston　a　fortnight　later；　I　found
that　a　fatal　partner　had　refused　to　agree　with　him　in　engaging　me　upon
the　paper。　　They　even　gave　me　back　half　a　dozen　unprinted　letters　of
mine；　and　I　published　them　in　the　Nation；　of　New　York；　and　afterwards　in
the　book　called　Italian　Journeys。

But　after　I　had　encountered　fortune　in　this　frowning　disguise；　I　had　a
most　joyful　little　visit　with　Lowell；　which　made　me　forget　there　was
anything　in　the　world　but　the　delight　and　glory　of　sitting　with　him　in
his　study　at　Elmwood　and　hearing　him　talk。　　It　must　have　been　my
freshness　from　Italy　which　made　him　talk　chiefly　of　his　own　happy　days　in
the　land　which　so　sympathetically　brevets　all　its　lovers　fellow…citizens。
At　any　rate　he　would　talk　of　hardly　anything　else；　and　he　talked　late
into　the　night；　and　early　into　the　morning。　　About　two　o'clock；　when　all
the　house　was　still；　he　lighted　a　candle；　and　went　down　into　the　cellar；
and　came　back　with　certain　bottles　under　his　arms。　　I　had　not　a　very
learned　palate　in　those　days　（or　in　these；　for