Literary history hardly affords a better instance of the direct following of a model by a younger author than one can inspect by laying side by side a page of the first number of “Outre-Mer” and a page of the “Sketch Book,” taking in each case the first American editions. Irving’s books were printed by C. S. Van Winkle, New York, and Longfellow’s by J. Griffin, Brunswick, Maine; the latter bearing the imprint9 of Hilliard, Gray & Co., Boston, and the former of the printer only. Yet the physical appearance of the two sets of books is almost identical; the typography, distribution into chapters, the interleaved titles of these chapters, and the prefix10 to each chapter of a little motto, often in a foreign language. It must be remembered that the “Sketch Book,” like “Outre-Mer,” was originally published in numbers; and besides all this the literary style of Longfellow’s work was at this 70 time so much like that of Irving that it is very hard at first to convince the eye that Irving is not responsible for all. Yet for some reason or other the early copies of the “Sketch Book” command no high price at auction11, while at the recent sale of Mr. Arnold’s collection in New York the two parts of “Outre-Mer” brought $310. The work is now so rare that the library of Harvard University has no copy of the second part, and only an imperfect copy of the first with several pages mutilated, but originally presented to Professor Felton by the author and bearing his autograph. As to style, it is unquestionable that in “Outre-Mer” we find Washington Irving frankly12 reproduced, while in “Hyperion” we are soon to see the development of a new literary ambition and of a more imaginative touch.
The early notices of “Outre-Mer” are written in real or assumed ignorance of the author’s name and almost always with some reference to Irving. Thus there is a paper in the “North American Review” for October, 1834, by the Rev13. O. W. B. Peabody, who says of the book that it is “obviously the production of a writer of talent and of cultivated taste, who has chosen to give to the public the results of his observation in foreign countries in the form of a series of tales and sketches.” He continues, “It is a form which, as every reader knows, had been recommended 71 by the high example and success of Mr. Irving.... It is not to be supposed that in adopting the form of Mr. Irving, the author has been guilty of any other imitation.”[21] This may in some sense be true, and yet it is impossible to compare the two books without seeing that kind of assimilation which is only made more thorough by being unconscious. Longfellow, even thus early, brought out more picturesquely14 and vividly15 than Irving the charm exerted by the continent of Europe over the few Americans who were exploring it. What Irving did in this respect for England, Longfellow did for the continental16 nations. None of the first German students from America, Ticknor, Cogswell, Everett, or Bancroft, had been of imaginative temperament18, and although their letters, as since printed,[22] revealed Germany to America as the land of learning, it yet remained for Longfellow to portray19 all Europe from the point of view of the pilgrim. When he went to England in 1835, as we shall see, he carried with him for English publication the two volumes of one of the earliest literary tributes paid by the New World to the Old, “Outre-Mer.”
It is a curious fact that Mr. Samuel Longfellow, in his admirable memoir20 of his brother, 72 omits all attempt to identify the stories by the latter which are mentioned as appearing in the annual called “The Token,” published in Boston and edited by S. G. Goodrich. This annual was the first of a series undertaken in America, on the plan of similar volumes published under many names in England. It has a permanent value for literary historians in this country as containing many of Hawthorne’s “Twice-Told Tales” in their original form, but often left anonymous21, and sometimes signed only by his initial (H.). In the list of his own early publications given by Longfellow to George W. Greene under date of March 9, 1833, he includes, “7. In ‘The Token’ for 1832, a story.... 8. In the same, for 1833, a story.” To identify the contributions thus affords a curious literary puzzle. The first named volume—“The Token” for 1832—contains the tale of a domestic bereavement22 under the name of “The Indian Summer;” this has for a motto a passage from “The Maid’s Tragedy,” and the whole story is signed with the initial “L.” This would seem naturally to suggest Longfellow, and is indeed almost conclusive23. Yet curiously24 enough there is in the same volume a short poem called “La Doncella,” translated from the Spanish and signed “L....,” which is quite in the line of the Spanish versions he was then writing, although not included in Mr. 73 Scudder’s list of his juvenile25 or unacknowledged poems. To complicate26 the matter still farther, there is also a story called “David Whicher,” dated Bowdoin College, June 1, 1831, this being a period when Longfellow was at work there, and yet this story is wholly remote in style from “The Indian Summer,” being a rather rough and vernacular27 woodman’s tale. Of the two, “The Indian Summer” seems altogether the more likely to be his work, and indeed bears a distinct likeness28 to the equally tragic29 tale of “Jacqueline” in “Outre-Mer,”—the one describing the funeral of a young girl in America, the other in Europe, both of them having been suggested, possibly, by the recent death of his own sister.
In the second volume of “The Token” (1833) the puzzle is yet greater, for though there are half a dozen stories without initials, or other clue to authorship, yet not one of them suggests Longfellow at all, or affords the slightest clue by which it can be connected with him, while on the other hand there is a poem occupying three pages and signed H. W. L., called “An Evening in Autumn.” This was never included by him among his works, nor does it appear in the list of his juvenile poems and translations in the Appendix to Mr. Scudder’s edition of his “Complete Poetical30 Works,” yet the initials leave hardly a doubt 74 that it was written by him. Why, then, was it not mentioned in this list sent to Mr. George W. Greene, or did he by a slip of the pen record it as a story and not as a poem? Perhaps no solution of this conundrum31 will ever be given, but it would form a valuable contribution to the record of his literary dawning. Judging from the evidence now given, the most probable hypothesis would seem to be that the two contributions which Longfellow meant to enumerate32 were the story called “An Indian Summer” in “The Token” for 1832, and a poem, not a story, in “The Token” for 1833. Even against this theory there is the objection to be made that the editor of “The Token,” Samuel G. Goodrich, in his “Recollections of a Lifetime” (New York, 1856), after mentioning Longfellow casually34, at the very end of his list of writers, says of him, “It is a curious fact that the latter, Longfellow, wrote prose, and at that period had shown neither a strong bias35 nor a particular talent for poetry.” It is farther noticeable that in his index to this book, Mr. Goodrich does not find room for Longfellow’s name at all.[23]
It is to be borne in mind that at the very time when Longfellow was writing these somewhat trivial contributions for “The Token,” he was also engaged on an extended article for “The 75 North American Review,” which was a great advance upon all that he had before published. His previous papers had all been scholarly, but essentially36 academic. They had all lain in the same general direction with Ticknor’s “History of Spanish Literature,” and had shared its dryness. But when he wrote, at twenty-four, an article for “The North American Review” of January, 1832,[24] called “The Defence of Poetry,” taking for his theme Sir Philip Sidney’s “Defence of Poesy,” just then republished in the “Library of the Old English Prose Writers,” at Cambridge, Mass., it was in a manner a prediction of Emerson’s oration37, “The American Scholar,” five years later. So truly stated were his premises38 that they are still valid39 and most important for consideration to-day, after seventy years have passed. It is thus that his appeal begins:—
... “With us, the spirit of the age is clamorous40 for utility,—for visible, tangible41 utility,—for bare, brawny42, muscular utility. We would be roused to action by the voice of the populace, and the sounds of the crowded mart, and not ‘lulled to sleep in shady idleness with poet’s pastimes.’ We are swallowed up in schemes for gain, and engrossed43 with contrivances for bodily enjoyments44, as if this particle of dust 76 were immortal,—as if the soul needed no aliment, and the mind no raiment. We glory in the extent of our territory, in our rapidly increasing population, in our agricultural privileges, and our commercial advantages.... We boast of the increase and extent of our physical strength, the sound of populous45 cities, breaking the silence and solitude46 of our Western territories,—plantations conquered from the forest, and gardens springing up in the wilderness47. Yet the true glory of a nation consists not in the extent of its territory, the pomp of its forests, the majesty48 of its rivers, the height of its mountains and the beauty of its sky; but in the extent of its mental power,—the majesty of its intellect,—the height and depth and purity of its moral nature.... True greatness is the greatness of the mind;—the true glory of a nation is moral and intellectual pre?minence.”[25]
“Not he alone,” the poet boldly goes on, “does service to the State, whose wisdom guides her councils at home, nor he whose voice asserts her dignity abroad. A thousand little rills, springing up in the retired49 walks of life, go to swell17 the rushing tide of national glory and prosperity; and whoever in the solitude of his chamber50, and by even a single effort of his mind, has added to the intellectual pre?minence of his 77 country, has not lived in vain, nor to himself alone.”[26]
He goes on to argue, perhaps needlessly, in vindication51 of poetry for its own sake and for the way in which it combines itself with the history of the nation, and expresses the spirit of that nation. He then proceeds to a direct appeal in behalf of that very spirit. Addressing the poets of America he says, “To those of them who may honor us by reading our article, we would whisper this request,—that they should be more original, and withal more national. It seems every way important, that now, whilst we are forming our literature, we should make it as original, characteristic, and national as possible. To effect this, it is not necessary that the war-whoop should ring in every line, and every page be rife52 with scalps, tomahawks, and wampum. Shade of Tecumseh forbid!—The whole secret lies in Sidney’s maxim,—‘Look in thy heart and write.’”[27]
He then points out that while a national literature strictly53 includes “every mental effort made by the inhabitants of a country through the medium of the press,” yet no literature can be national in the highest sense unless it “bears upon it the stamp of national character.” This he illustrates54 by calling attention to certain local 78 peculiarities55 of English poetry as compared with that of the southern nations of Europe. He gives examples to show that the English poets excel their rivals in their descriptions of morning and evening, this being due, he thinks, to their longer twilights in both directions. On the other hand, the greater dreaminess and more abundant figurative language of southern nations are qualities which he attributes to their soft, voluptuous56 climate, where the body lies at ease and suffers the dream fancy “to lose itself in idle reverie and give a form to the wind and a spirit to the shadow and the leaf.” He then sums up his argument.
“We repeat, then, that we wish our native poets would give a more national character to their writings. In order to effect this, they have only to write more naturally, to write from their own feelings and impressions, from the influence of what they see around them, and not from any preconceived notions of what poetry ought to be, caught by reading many books and imitating many models. This is peculiarly true in descriptions of natural scenery. In these, let us have no more sky-larks and nightingales. For us they only warble in books. A painter might as well introduce an elephant or a rhinoceros58 into a New England landscape. [This comes, we must remember, from the young poet who 79 had written in his “Angler’s Song” six years before,—
To its silver cloud.”]
We would not restrict our poets in the choice of their subjects, or the scenes of their story; but when they sing under an American sky, and describe a native landscape, let the description be graphic59, as if it had been seen and not imagined. We wish, too, to see the figures and imagery of poetry a little more characteristic, as if drawn60 from nature and not from books. Of this we have constantly recurring61 examples in the language of our North American Indians. Our readers will all recollect33 the last words of Pushmataha, the Choctaw chief, who died at Washington in the year 1824: ‘I shall die, but you will return to your brethren. As you go along the paths, you will see the flowers and hear the birds; but Pushmataha will see them and hear them no more. When you come to your home, they will ask you, where is Pushmataha? and you will say to them, He is no more. They will hear the tidings like the sound of the fall of a mighty62 oak in the stillness of the wood.’ More attention on the part of our writers to these particulars would give a new and delightful63 expression to the face of our poetry. But the difficulty is, that instead of coming forward 80 as bold, original thinkers, they have imbibed64 the degenerate65 spirit of modern English poetry.”[28] What is meant by this last passage is seen when he goes on to point out that each little village then had “its little Byron, its self-tormenting scoffer66 at morality, its gloomy misanthropist in song,” and that even Wordsworth, in some respects an antidote67 to Byron, was as yet “a very unsafe model for imitation;” and he farther points out “how invariably those who have imitated him have fallen into tedious mannerisms.” He ends with a moral, perhaps rather tamely stated: “We hope, however, that ere long some one of our most gifted bards68 will throw his fetters69 off, and relying on himself alone, fathom70 the recesses71 of his own mind, and bring up rich pearls from the secret depths of thought.”[29]
“The true glory of a nation”—this is his final attitude—“is moral and intellectual pre?minence;” thus distinctly foreshadowing the title of his friend Charles Sumner’s later oration, “The True Grandeur72 of Nations.” American literature had undoubtedly73 begun to exist before this claim was made, as in the prose of Irving and Cooper, the poetry of Dana and Bryant. But it had awaited the arrival of some one to formulate74 its claims, and this it found in Longfellow.
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1
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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immature
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| adj.未成熟的，发育未全的，未充分发展的 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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renderings
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| n.（戏剧或乐曲的）演奏( rendering的名词复数 )；扮演；表演；翻译作品 | |
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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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9
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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prefix
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| n.前缀；vt.加…作为前缀；置于前面 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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14
picturesquely
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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18
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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portray
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| v.描写，描述；画(人物、景象等) | |
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memoir
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| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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24
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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26
complicate
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| vt.使复杂化，使混乱，使难懂 | |
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vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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conundrum
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| n.谜语；难题 | |
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32
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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bias
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| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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41
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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42
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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45
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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46
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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47
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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48
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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49
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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50
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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51
vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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52
rife
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| adj.(指坏事情)充斥的，流行的，普遍的 | |
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53
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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54
illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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55
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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56
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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57
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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58
rhinoceros
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| n.犀牛 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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62
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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64
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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66
scoffer
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| 嘲笑者 | |
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67
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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68
bards
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| n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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69
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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70
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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71
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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72
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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formulate
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| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
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