LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ^Hp. ©ujpjrig]^ !f ]j..vri:| Shelf.._.L0.7 UNITE© STATES OF AMERICA. « V7, the common opinion which is to be relied upon in historical mat- ters, meaning that the consensus of histori- ans is to be respected beyond any striking view which has novelty for its chief merit. Yet there is such a thing as a slow revo- ASPECTS OF HISTORICAL WORK 183 lution even in common opinion, tlie forma- tion of a new habit of thought. Thus it was once the custom among American writers to treat American history as if it were excep- tional, the product of forces integral to American life, and independent of Euro- pean development. A sort of intellectual high tariff shut out foreign ideas, and en- couraged the production of native notions. Such an attitude has given way before the impulse which is sending our students to the search for the beginning of institutions, laws, and organisms. A wiser understanding sees that for a considerable period, indeed down to the close of the second war with England, American history was in reality a part of European history, and could be truthfully related only by a person who took his stand now on one side, now on the other of the At- lantic. A truly philosophical history indi- cates those undercurrents of race, law, and institutions which make the nexus of the new world with the old, and act as inter- preters of the later history, wrought out under more separate influences. Nor is this all. If the writer of American history needs to throw open his windows to- ward the east, it is quite as needful that he 184 MEN AND LETTERS should regard the aspect of our development which looks away from Europe. A delicate illustration of this is offered in the work of that new school of historical writers which puts The People in the titles of its books. The late Mr. J. R. Green was not precisely a pioneer, but his brilliant history was so conspicuous an example of a mode of treat- ment which commends itself to the minds of men educated under democratic principles, that it has served to stimulate other writers and to make historical students take much more careful note than formerly of the mul- titudinous life which finds expression in the varied form of human activity, and to cease concerning themselves mainly with govern- mental development. The rise of this school is a distinct witness to the new reading of humanity which the present century has known. The growth of democratic ideas has given dignity to the study of the indi- vidual; the emancipation of the intellect, which is a part of the great renaissance of modern times, has resulted in an intense in- quiry into the reign of law: so that the most acceptable historian of to-day, the one most in accord with the temper of the age, is he who is able to detect the operation of the ASPECTS OF HISTORICAL WORK 185 greatest variety of individual life, and to discover the comprehensive laws which gov- ern in the development of the nation. A country like England, where the idea of government by class has not so much been overthrown by the violence of revolutions as displaced by the greater energy of demo- cratic principles, offers a most attractive theme to the historian who would disclose the undercurrent of popular life and its gradual emergence into the light of day. A history of the English people is a protest against an interpretation of history which makes it the drama of kings, and its finest success is in tracing a confessed power back into periods when it was dumbly, uncon- sciously, working out its destiny. Dean Stanley, leading a party of working men through Westminster Abbey, and discours- ing upon the historical monuments to which they are heirs in common, is a fine picture of modern England ; but by what steps were the figures in the picture brought together ? To tell that is to tell the history of the peo- ple of England. The contrasts which such a picture sug- gests are abundant in English history, and they arrest the mind; but is there an equally 186 MEN AND LETTERS suggestive theme in American history? Is the history of the American people a protest against false views of that history, which once prevailed ? Certainly not in so dis- tinct a degree as may be averred of English history, although the habits of historical writing prevalent in one country have natu- rally influenced and largely determined the same habits in the other. A recent Amer- ican writer, for example, strikes a note in the prelude to his history which betrays the influence under which he has worked. " In the course of this narrative," he says at the outset, " much, indeed, must be written of wars, conspiracies, and rebellions ; of presi- dents, of congresses, of embassies, of treaties, of the ambition of political leaders in the senate-house, and of the rise of great parties in the nation. Yet the history of the people shall be the chief theme." I do not believe that any American historian can go deeply into such a subject without revising his judgment as to the comparative unimpor- tance in history of wars, conspiracies, rebel- lions, presidents, congresses, embassies, trea- ties, ambitions of political leaders, and the rise of great parties. The ease with which this writer sets all these aside is a mere ASPECTS OF HISTORICAL WORK 187 rhetorical burst, borrowed from the creed of the school to which he belongs. It is very true that in English history there is a people in distinction from a government, but no one can make an exhaustive study of United States history without revealing the fundamental doctrine that the people con- stitutes the nation, and that there is no polit- ical order external to it. No doubt this truth is one which grows clearer in the prog- ress of the nation, and yet the organic life of the people of the United States has always been an integrity ; it is merely a habit of mind borrowed from traditional study, which speaks of wars, presidents, congresses, and the like as if they were something foreign from the life of the people, or only inci- dental to it. There is a radical defect in any conception of the history of the United States which invests the political life and in- stitutions and administration of government with any foreign property. It is a defect resident in much of our political thought, and it is slowly wearing away from our political consciousness ; its last stronghold is in the minds of place-holders, but it ought to be wholly absent from the mind of an historical teacher. 188 MEN AND LETTERS Tliere is, indeed, one view in whicli an author governed by sucli a notion is in dan- ger of missing the greatness of his subject altogether. The history of a nation is scarcely worth telling if it leave upon the mind the impression that an improved mower, or even a public school system, represents its highest attainment. There is a national life which surpasses any individual product, or any system which human ingenuity has evolved. It is in the realization of freedom, and has its record in public acts and the delib- erate registration of the public conscience. A bill of rights is a more admirable represen- tation of the life of the people than letters patent, and the organic unity of the nation has been found to mean more to the indi- vidual member of the nation than any well- ordered or comfortable life, however adorned by the arts and graces of civilization. It is for this reason that congresses and courts, proceeding from the people and responsible to them, may occupy the thought of an his- torian of the American people, with more just propriety than the same subjects may engage the attention of an historian of the English people. Then, if one really desires to take up the ASPECTS OF HISTORICAL WORK 189 subject of United States history in a philo- sophical spirit, what large opportunities there are for absolutely new lines of work. Who, for instance, has fairly disclosed the meaning of racial currents ? Who has made clear the great migration, unsystematic, un- organized, yet moving with resistless force to take possession of western areas ? Even that old, apparently threadbare theme of the rela- tion of the separate states to the union has been discussed chiefly in its political and legal bearings. Who has yet fully grasped the subtler relations which find expression in the changing moods of political conscious- ness? There is a means of study which has fallen somewhat into disuse that may well be com- mended to those who are ambitious of writ- ing American history. Nowadays, a vigor- ous training at college and university, with a few terms under some German historical master, finds favor as a proper preparation for worthy historical work. But this intel- lectual course misses one important effect : it does not necessarily depolarize the mind and set it free from those intangible, tradi- tionary beliefs and prejudices which color the perception of life. How nearly impossi- 190 MEN AND LETTERS ble it is, for instance, for a New Englander to divest himself of that circumambient at- mosphere through which his ancestors have been in the habit of regarding the develop- ment of our political life, and which seems to him nothing else than the clear light of heaven ! Association with southern or west- ern bred men at the university will do some- thing toward enlarging his horizon, but after all it is not reflected light, but change in the point of view which is most needed. Valentine in discourse with Proteus, who apparently has been urging his friend to stay at home, declares, — " Home-keepiBg youth have ever homely wits ; " and Proteus's uncle in like manner advises his nephew to set out on his travels. He urges Panthino to importune Antonio ' ' To let him spend his tim.e no more at home, Which would be great impeachment to his age, In having known no travel in his youth." This, no doubt, was the temper which Shakespeare found amongst English gentle- men in the restless, enterprising age upon which he had fallen, and Bacon in his essay Of Travel supposes throughout the custom of travel for educational ends. The English gentleman of Elizabeth's time expected to ASPECTS OF HISTORICAL WORK 191 take part in the government of his country, and he traveled abroad because government meant emphatically dealing with the neigh- bors of the nation. The American historical student likewise has very decidedly to do with the government of his country, because it is his special function to illuminate the history which must be constantly intelligent to the people in order that they may govern wisely. For him there is an immense aid in the habit of what may be called historical and political traveling in distinction from geographical. His closet study would be immensely vivified and enlightened by slow and leisurely journeying through the coun- try. Let any one write a general history of the United States, and he will find, if he be a Bostonian, that he will write of events which took place in Boston and its neighborhood with an animation and precision painfully in contrast with the vagueness which occu- pies his mind when he comes to write of the battle of New Orleans or the attack on Fort Sumter. In the one case, the whole back- ground is in his mind's eye ; in the other, he has only the diagram of a map or chart to help him. Beyond and above this, the his- torian who has been naturalized in different 192 MEN AND LETTERS sections of the union will have been natural- ized in thought also. Bacon would have his young English gentleman " sequester himself from the Company of his Countrymen, and diet in such Places where there is good Com- pany of the Nation where he travelleth." The advice is commendable to the historical student, who is by no means free from the perils of insularity in thought. One is tempted to think that the improve- ments in modern thought mean a fresh start in all fields of literary production. It is easy to delude one's self with the notion that sci- ence and scientific methods are working such a revolution in intellectual life that the hu- man race will one of these days accept a new grand division of time, and antiquity will reach down to the nineteenth century. At any rate, such is the logical deduction from the sentiments of a good many laudatores temporis prcesentis. But there is one thing that survives all the changes that come over men's modes of thought, and that is art. How great the apparent difference between the Parthenon and Chartres Cathedral, yet how capable the human spirit is of appre- hending the beauty of each ! It is so with literary art, and one finds no inconsistency ASPECTS OF HISTORICAL WORK 193 in enjoying Homer and Shakespeare. There is in art an appeal which is undisturbed by the conflict of reason, or by great changes in mental processes ; and there is an art o£ history which leaves Herodotus secure when Rawlinson has said his last word, and keeps Clarendon alive though scientific historians have been busy over documents which he never saw. It is in vain to suppose that the new era of historic research and faithful collation of obscure authorities, the hunt for the beginning of things, the laying bare of foundations, is to put an end to that writing and reading of history which is akin to the writing and reading of poetry, the creation and enjoyment of all forms of art. Only this may fairly be asserted : that the his- torian who undertakes to recite the epic of a nation is put under heavier bonds to be faithful to minor details, and will be held more strictly accountable for any departure from accuracy. He will also be relieved of much waste of energy by the thoroughness with which the way is preparing before him. The indexes to history, which are increasing in number and efficiency, will make it possi- ble for the literary historian to qualify him- self for his task as he could not before, and 194 MEN AND LETTERS will help to save Mm from those false gen- eralizations which an insufficient familiarity with facts renders almost inevitable. And readers — there always will be readers who will surrender themselves to the charm which puts skepticism to sleep, and awakens the larger trust in the divine possibilities of hu- man freedom. ANNE GILCHRIST, There is a personality in some people which is brought out most distinctly by relations held to others. Mrs. Anne Gil- christ was a woman of marked strength of character and self - reliance ; yet her very individuality is most discoverable when one sees her, through the medium of her son's memorial, with her husband, with Blake, with her children, with Whitman, and with Mary Lamb. She is alv/ays herself, but then her self was a nature which obeyed the great paradoxical law of finding life through the loss of it. Mrs. Carlyle is quoted as saying, as she watched her neighbor break- ing up her Chelsea home for a retirement in the country, that Mrs. Gilchrist would " skin and bury herself alive for the benefit of her children." Comparisons are apt to be unjust as well as odious, and the picture of Mrs. Gilchrist keeping the integrity of her life when most completely devoted to the life of others is striking enough without 196 MEN AND LETTERS the aid of any contrasting picture, even if two neighboring households readily suggest such a contrast. Anne Burrows was twenty-three years old when she married Alexander Gilchrist. Her father died when she was eleven, and she was left to the care of her mother. The family seems to have been one which held by the tenets of the evangelical school, and Anne's education was directed in accordance with these tenets ; but the few glimpses which her son gives of her girlhood disclose the independence of mind which was after- ward so marked an attribute. Apparently, her religious education was based upon a merely superficial presentation of traditional beliefs, and her vigorous intellect, refusing such nurture, took refuge in an extreme in- dependence. It is no uncommon phenome- non when the dry individualism of Calvin- ism, detached from the deep personal expe- rience which saves the creed, sends the dis- satisfied pupil into a richer naturalism, but one which has missed the profound signifi- cance of a common Christianity. In Alexander Gilchrist the thoughtful girl found a true companion, or, to speak more exactly, the husband found in his wife one ANNE GILCHRIST 197 wlio could give to his nervous, eager, liter- ary activity the aid of a calm, sympathetic, and constant nature, Mrs. Gilchrist has sketched her husband's life in the second edition of the Life of William Blake^ and brief as that sketch is it leaves upon the mind a tolerably sharp impression of the conscientious, thorough, and minutely curious character to which she was so happily joined. She gave him, we cannot help thinking, an element of repose, and he gave her both an intellectual stimulus, and, by the legacy of his unfinished work and their little children, an occupation and purpose which carried her through hard years and deepened the forces of her nature. Mr. Gilchrist was an enthusiast in art, and a finely constituted hero-worshiper. He is principally known to readers by his Life of William Blahe, the actual composition of which was practically complete before he was cut off by sudden death, although con- siderable editorial labor was afterward ex- pended on the work by his widow and by the two Rossettis. Mrs. Gilchrist does not seem to have had any special training in artistic studies before her marriage, and her chosen literary tasks after she was done with 198 MEN AND LETTERS the Blake did not lead her into the field of art. Her intellectual companionship with her husband made her quickly intelligent in such matters, and she followed his lead with confident step; but we are impressed rather by the large wisdom which saved her from a mere sympathetic pursuit of her husband's studies. While he was with her, she thought with him and worked with him. When he was gone, she finished his task carefully, with sound judgment and excellent taste. Then she devoted herself to the next interest, and lived for years to mould and guide her children's char- acters. Her husband's hero - worship made him naturally a biographer, and his fine percep- tion, his quick sympathy, led him to choose subjects upon which he could expend gener- ous labor; he had, as Mrs. Gilchrist says, a " strong sympathy with the un victorious fighters in the battle of life." With this came easily a warm admiration for persons, and a willingness to make himself of use to them. The man who would hunt with un- flagging zeal for everything which threw light upon the career of the dead Blake was no less ready to lend his time and fine pow- ANNE GILCHRIST 199 ers of literary sceut to the living Carlyle ; and thus it came about that a friendly ac- quaintance with the hero ripened rapidly into an affectionate relation, and Gilchrist proved a most helpful aid to the historian in searching for portraits. The two families became neighbors in Chelsea, and the son prints interesting extracts from his father's journal and correspondence, in which the social and a little of the domestic life of the Carlyles is pleasantly outlined in a scrappy, disjointed fashion. It would not be fair to judge Mr. Gilchrist by the random notes which he made. They were plainly intended as pegs for his own memory, and some of the trivialities would doubtless have either been omitted altogether, or replaced by the fuller form which they would have suggested to the writer, if he had used this material itself. Nevertheless, these pages relating to the Carlyles help to bring out the personality of Mrs. Gilchrist, and it is for this that one is glad to have them. They show the young couple in friendly and natural associ- ation with the older and more famous people near them ; and though Mrs. Gilchrist ap- pears almost in the background, the reader 200 MEN AND LETTERS is constantly pleased with tbe glimpses he catches of her, — womanly, devoted, intel- lectually strong, yet never obtruding her- self, and always preserving that calm, cheer- ful self-poise which must have made her, with all her privacy of life, the one person to whom the other three restless figures turned for a sense of repose and steadfast- ness. It was at this time, also, that the Rossettis were added to the circle of the Gilchrists' acquaintance, and both now and later there are pleasing expressions of Dante Kossetti's subdued intensity of nature. It was through her husband and his literary occupation that Mrs. Gilchrist came into association with these and other notable persons, but her husband was rather the oc- casion than the cause of her friendships. When he was taken from her, and she buried herself in the country with her chil- dren, her former friends showed in many ways that they valued her for her own sake ; and though she secluded herself, she kept on, as she had done before, quietly and with delicate discrimination, receiving into her life the best that presented itself. She does not seem to have read widely, but she was indifferent to ignoble literature. She did ANNE GILCHRIST 201 not make a crowd of friends, but, while open and receptive to all, she gravitated toward those best worth knowing and most worth holding. Thus to Brookbank came the Tennysons, and their coming is so pleas- antly told by Mrs. Gilchrist in a letter that I give it here. '' I was sitting under the yew-tree yester- day, when Fanny came to me and put a card into my hand. And whose name do you think was on that card? If I were talking instead of writing, I should make you guess, and keep you in suspense a long while; but that is no use in a letter, because you can peep forward. It was ' Mr. Alfred Tennyson.' He looks older than I expected, because, of course, the portraits one was early familiar with have stood still in one's mind as the image to be associated with that great name. But he is, to my thinking, far nobler looking now, every inch a king : features are massive ; eyes very grave and penetrating ; hair long, still very dark, and, though getting thin, falls in such a way as to give a peculiar beauty to the mystic head. Mrs. Tennyson, a sweet, graceful woman, with singularly winning, gentle manners, but she looks painfully fragile and wan. , . , 202 MEN AND LETTERS "But what you will be most anxious to hear is all that he said. Mrs, Tennyson having mentioned that they had just come over from Peter sfield, and that they had been there to see a clergyman who takes pupils, with an idea of placing their boys with him, when Giddy [a child of seven] came into the room, Tennyson called her to him, asked her her name, kissed her, stroked her sturdy legs, made Mrs. Tennyson feel them, and then set her on his knee, and talked to her all the while I was over at the Simmons' arranging matters. After- wards, when we were walking up a hill to- gether, he said, ' I admire that little girl of yours. It is n't every one that admires that kind of very solid development of flesh and blood, but I do. Old Tom Campbell used to say that children should be like bulbs, — plenty of substance in them for the flower to grow out of by and by.' Tennyson asked me how many children I had ; and when I said ' four,' answered hastily, ' Quite enough ! quite enough ! ' at which I was not a little amused." So began a pleasant friendship, which was confirmed when the Tennysons came to stay in the neighborhood, and Mrs. Gilchrist ANNE GILCHRIST 203 made herself a most hospitable and helpful neighbor. Her letters at this time give most agreeable bits from Tennyson's talk, and unwittingly show how much the poet re- spected this cheerful, serene, and hard-work- ing mother. Hard-working indeed she was. A strict economy was needful, and everything was to be done for the children. It was for them that she had sought this country seclu- sion, and she was giving them not only the physical training which the pure air and sweet country permitted, but the careful training in mental power which her strong nature made possible. All else was subordinate ; and while she used her pen from time to time, to add to her slender income, she resolutely measured her strength with regard to the one crowning purpose of this part of her life. She writes to her sister-in-law : — " Masson has accepted the article I wrote last spring \_The Lidestructihility of Force^ in Macmillan s Magazine], And that will be the last thing I shall attempt for many a long day, as I have fully made up my mind to give myself up wholly to educating the children. I find it such a harassing strain to attempt two things. Bad for me, because to be hard at work from the time 204 MEN AND LETTERS you step out of bed in the morning till you step into it at night is not good for any one ; it leaves no time, either, for general culture, for drinking at the refreshing fountain of standard literature and of music. Bad for the children, because it made me grudge them my time of an evening, when so much indi- rect good may be done to them by reading aloud and showing them prints. And after all they will not always be children ; and if I have it in me to do anything worth doing with my pen, why, I can do it ten years hence, if I live, when I shall have completed my task so far as direct instruction of the children goes. I shall only be forty - six then, not in my dotage. Do you think I am right? A divided aim is not only most harassing to a conscientious disposition, but quite fatal to success — to doing one's very best in either." And later she writes of teaching "as real hard work, and I spend five hours a day at it; and then the amount of industry that goes to making two hun- dred a year do the work of four or five is not small. However, my prime rest, pleas- ure, society, all in one, — what keeps me going in a tolerably unflagging way, — are the glorious walks. Hind Head is as fresh ANNE GILCHRIST 205 to me as the day I first set eyes on it. And if I go out feeling ever so jaded, irritable, dispirited, when I find myself up there alone (for unless I have perfect stillness and quiet- ness, and my thoughts are as free as a bird, the walk does not seem to do me a bit of good), care and fatigue are all shaken off, and life seems as grand and sweet and noble a thing as the scene my bodily eyes rest on ; and if sad thoughts come, they have hope and sweetness so blended with them that I hardly know them to be sad, and I return to my little chicks quite bright and rested, and fully alive to the fact that they are the sweetest, loveliest chicks in the whole world. ; and Giddy says, ' Mamma has shut up her box of sighs.' " The familiar intercourse which Mrs. Gil- christ maintained with the Rossettis, by in- terchange of visits and correspondence, gave occasion for an acquaintance which largely colors the latter half of the memorial of her life. Mr. William Rossetti introduced Walt Whitman to the English public by a volume of judicious selections, and one of its earliest readers was Mrs. Gilchrist, who wrote : " Since I have had it, I can read no other book; it holds me entirely spell- 206 MEN AND LETTERS bound, and I go througli it again and again, with deepening delight and wonder." Mr. Rossetti at once placed the entire body of Whitman's verse in Mrs. Gilchrist's hands ; and there followed a series of letters from her, which were a little later run into a consecutive article, printed in America, and reprinted in the memorial volume as An Englishwomari s Estimate of Walt Whit- man. Mr. Rossetti introduced the letters by a brief note of his own, in which he characterized them as " about the fullest, farthest-reaching, and most eloquent appre- ciation of Whitman yet put into writing, whether or not I or other readers find cause for critical dissent at an item here and there. The most valuable, I say, because this is the expression of what a woman sees in Whit- man's poems, — a woman who has read and thought much, and whom to know is to re- spect and esteem in every relation, whether of character, intellect, or culture. " Fifteen years later Mrs. Gilchrist again summed her judgment of Whitman and his apostleship in a paper entitled A Confession of Faith, There is, or rather was fifteen or twenty years ago, in England, a disposition among literary and artistic people of a distinct type ANNE GILCHRIST 207 to construct an American phantom. The men and women who were at odds with the England of their day, impatient at smug respectability, chafing not so much at the petty restrictions of conventionality as at the limitations imposed by institutional re- ligion and politics, wishing to escape from the commercial conception of the universe, and met everywhere by the self-complacency of Philistinism, took refuge in two widely separate realities, mediaeval romanticism and American freedom. The one inspired their art and much of their poetry, the other en- kindled their thought. Both offered them an opportunity to protest against English lawful dullness. In America these spirits saw the cheerful largeness of hope, the confident step, the freedom from tradition, the frank appropriation of the world as belonging to Americans, and a general habit of mind which proclaimed law as made for man, and not man for law. With the ardor of worshippers, the more outre their idol the more they admired it. An exagger- ated type of frontier lawlessness, some som- brero-shadowed, cowhide-booted being, filled them with special ecstasy. It was not that they cared to go and live with him on the 208 MEN AND LETTERS prairie, but he served as a sort of symbol to them of an expansive life which was gone from England, but was possible to human- ity. They knew he was exaggerated, that there were cityfuls of people in America who regarded him as a side-show ; but he brought the freshness of contrast with him, and so served the end of their thought in his way as effectively as a Cimabue did in another. Cimabue and the latest wild man of the West met in the London studio and drawing - room, and though they did not know each other had a " mutual friend." Thus these dissatisfied Englishmen sought in American literature for something new, something that could not have been written in London, and they were impatient of those fine shades of difference which make Ameri- can literature as distinct as Americans them- selves, and just as defiant of analysis ; they wished to see their conceptions of America materialized in bold, unmistakable shape. They did not ask for form, — they had abun- dance of that in England ; they asked for spirit, and it might take any shape it chose. So, persons whose artistic perception was delicately developed accepted as a fact, which transcended all ordinary laws of art. ANNE GILCHRIST 209 poetry as huge, as floundering, as inorganic, as Blake's wandering visions, and like tliose visions shot through with superb lines, touched with gleams of heavenly beauty, suggesting waves of profound thought. Po- etry broken loose was what they saw and admired. There is much in the point of view, in ad- miration. From a London studio an Amer- ican wonder will have a different aspect than from the interior life of America itself, and the explanation of the apparent indifference which his own age and country may show to a poet received with acclaim in a foreign land may be found in the very community which his contemporary countrymen enjoy v/ith him. They see the thoughts which they think, and are all the while uncon- sciously translating into activity, rendered in a poetic form, which has little value for them precisely because it comes too close to their nature. They are accustomed to tall talk, and they treat it good-humoredly, as a weakness of their own. But because they are living freely, generously, and, if one may say so, splurgily, they instinctively seek form in their ideals of art, and demand that the spiritual forces which they admire shall have 210 MEN AND LETTERS a completeness and precision complementary to tlieir own somewhat vague and unre- strained life. It was no unmeaning accident, but a clear demonstration of tliis conscious want, which made sculpture the first effort of any consequence in American art. It was this perfection of form which endeared Longfellow to his countrymen, and it is the delicacy of art in Hawthorne which has made him so representative an American writer. I have strayed a little from my imme- diate theme. Mr. Rossetti rightly congrat- ulated himself that so strong a woman as Mrs. Gilchrist should welcome Whitman, and no one can read her own analysis of this new nature which had been presented to her without respecting her lofty courage and broad sympathy. " Perhaps Walt Whit- man has forgotten, or, through some theory in his head, has overridden," she writes, " the truth that our instincts are beautiful facts of nature, as well as our bodies, and that we have a strong instinct of silence about some things." Having said that, she dismisses the matter, or rather proceeds to take up into a general philosophical coup d^oeil all that in the poet which individually or in detail might offend her. ANNE GILCHRIST 211 My business is not with the poet, but with the woman, and my interest is in see- ing how boldly she uses the poet as a whole to carry forward her thought, to enlarge her conceptions of human life, and to solidify and define floating notions of science and religion which had long been forming in her mind. She was right, from her point of view, in disregarding special criticism. It was not whether Whitman, in this or that poem, had given her pleasure or offended her sense of propriety ; he was to her, in the sweep of his prose and verse, a democratic prophet, and as such a most welcome guide into those larger regions of thought whither her mind was tending. She belonged to the larger England of her day, and with a woman's wit and fidelity she recognized at once and accepted without reserve the Greatheart who should point the way to the city of her desire. Few phenomena in Mrs. Gilchrist's life impress me as more indicative of her womanliness than this strong passion for a book which in its ordinary acceptation would seem to repel rather than attract a woman's nature. In a large way she was disclosing the same noble nature which we have noted under other conditions. She was losing her 212 MEN AND LETTERS life to find it ; she was suppressing the indi- vidual in her to rise into the nobler concep- tion of the humane life ; and in giving her- self so abundantly to a great idea — for it was a great idea which she caught through the medium of this new nature — she was enlarging and enriching her own personal- ity. All this I can say, looking at the mat- ter from her point of view, but I think she was wrong, fundamentally, in her philoso- phy ; for naturalism, however far it may be developed, never has accounted, and never can account, for the sons of God. I have dwelt so long on the more striking periods of Mrs. Gilchrist's development that I can only refer briefly to the circumstances that followed. In 1876 she came to Amer- ica for two or three years, enlarging her cir- cle of acquaintance, and as before quietly pos- sessing herself of the best that came in her way; not restlessly seeking the unusual or the conspicuous, but looking with interest and a fine discrimination upon the life v/ith which fortune brought her into contact. Naturally she sought out Walt Whitman, and established pleasant friendly relations with him. She found him fully realizing the ideal she had formed from his poems ; ANNE GILCHRIST 213 for Mrs. Gilchrist had a sane mind, and was abundantly able to take care of her concep- tions. The years which succeeded Mrs. Gil- christ's return to England, from 1879 to 1885, were filled with occupation. She wrote a sympathetic life of Mary Lamb for the series of Eminent Women, and some minor articles, and brought out a second and revised edition of the Blake ; and she moved in a circle of friends who called out her cheerful help, and gave her in return the homage of respect and affection. She passed through a strong grief in the loss of a daughter, and her own strength, which had been undermined by years of devotion, gave way at last. In the somewhat fragmentary treatment of the memorial volume these last years are not very fully treated, but one is incurious of petty detail. He is satisfied with the sketch which is left on his mind of a woman notable not so much for any mark which she has left on the literature of the day, though, under other conditions, she might well have been eminent thus, as for the fine portrait which she presents of an English gentlewoman of the new yet ever old school, brave, honest, hospitable to the 214 MEN OF LETTERS largest thought, devoted and genuine, with a serene cheerfulness under circumstances which strain the character. Nor is one, who knew her even slightly, ever likely to forget that fine presence, the dignity which could bear the added title of quaintness without offense, the equipoise of manner which told of an equanimity of life. THE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEAEE. It happens to the ingenuous traveller upon first visiting Switzerland to experience a shock to his sensibilities not many days after he has entered the enchanted region of mountains. As he climbs some gently ascending path, with the increasing exhila- ration which the upper air engenders, he is suddenly confronted by a gate or some other bar to progress, and discovers that he must pay a franc, or half a franc, before he can make his way to the one point from which a wonderful view is to' be obtained. He for- gets at once the gentleness of the path by which he has climbed, in indignation at the mercenary spirit which has prompted the miserable owner of this particular part of the mountain to levy upon the lover of the picturesque. He fumes inwardly and possi- bly sputters outwardly as he pays the tax and passes on his way ; the view to w^hich he has become entitled, of which, indeed, lie is now a sort of tenant, may be ever so 216 MEN AND LETTERS grand, but it is vexatiously confused with, the meanness of its peasant proprietor. It is somewhat thus with our apprehen- sion of Shakespeare. In imagination, more even than in reality, access to his meaning seems barred by the officiousness of com- mentators. The host of industrious scholars who have opened ways to desirable points of view are apt to seem to us rather imper- tinent toll-takers who will not let us into the delights and mysteries of our author unless we stop to read their notes and com- ments. I suspect that for a great many readers Shakespeare is an enchanted castle thickly beset by an impenetrable hedge of notes which has grown up especially during the past century so as to render the place quite inaccessible. Yet along comes the prince, riding gayly with the ardor of ad- venture ; the thorns and trees divide at his touch ; he passes the sleeping sentinels, enters the palace, discovers the princess, touches her lips, and without the blast of horn or bugle, the whole world of knights and ladies, servants, cooks, and scullions awakes to busy, joyous life. It was the princely nature only for which these drowsy folk waited, and the secret of Shakespeare yields to the gallant mind that goes straight to its mark. THE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 217 Yet it would be a mistake to cheapen in our minds the work of the commentators. We shoukl fare ill without them, and they are slowly but effectively constituting a new and important body of literature. Let any one read attentively the Variorum edition of Othello which Mr. Furness has so patiently and with such fine sense of proportion pre- pared for the use of the student. He will perceive what I mean when I venture to pre- dict that the time will some day come for a new and interesting study of Shakespeare, — namely, the study of Shakespeare as reflected in successive generations of men. Acute minds will set themselves the problem of dis- covering not what Shakespeare was by him- self, but what he was in the consciousness of other men, — the men of his own time, the men of Pope's time, the men of Coleridge's time, the men of Matthew Arnold's time. It will be a most curious and by no means un- profitable investigation, for it will add to the fullness and accuracy of our conception of mankind in a growth of its consciousness, the last and finest result of historical and philo- sophical study. Already it is possible to indicate some of the broader marks of this reflection of 218 MEN AND LETTERS Shakespeare in the mirror of men's thoughts. It has been well said that in the days of the Restoration when Pepys found Othello a mean thing as compared with the intrigue- riddled play of The Adventures of Five Hours^ Dryden was addressing the people of England through the ghost of Shake - speare. But Dryden found Shakespeare " untaught, unpractis'd, in a barbarous age ; " with all his poetic admiration for the genius of this great progenitor, Dryden thought it meet and indeed necessary to veneer Shakes- peare with a polish of his own. A crasser critic in the time of Dryden, Mr. Thomas Rymer reflected better, it may be, the comonplaces of the judgment of the time when he says, speaking of Othello^ " in the neighing of a horse, or in the growling of a mastiff, there is a meaning, there is a lively expression, and, may I say, more humanity, than many times in the tragical flights of Shakespeare." What more distinctly indicates the absence of veneration for Shakespeare in this period than the fact that Dryden and Davenant altered the Tempest in order to introduce spectacular effects which should catch the eye and ear of a public that demanded sen- THE FUTURE OF SEAKESPEARE 219 suous deliglits? But this perversion of the purest piece of imaginative fancy wliicli the world has ever seen held its place on the stage for a hundred and fifty years. Dur- ing that period there were other illustrations of the persistent blindness with which peo- ple looked at Shakespeare. CoUey Gibber turned King John into Papal Tyranny^ and the drama mumbled denunciations of the Pope and Guy Faux for a century with all the toothless virulence of Bunyan's Giant Pope himself. Tate remodeled Lear and over- turned MicJiard II. into The Sicilian Usur- per. The earlier editors of the text, which began to be taken in hand near the begin- ning of the eighteenth century, were all busy with trying to show what Shakespeare ought to have said, not what he did say ; and when the critics of the text, as distinguished from the critics of the stage, delivered themselves, it was for a long time on the assumption that Shakespeare was an uncouth, half bar- barous writer, an outlaw utterly objection- able to the rules of art, and the praise when bestowed was very sure to be in the wrong way and upon the wrong passages. Dr. Sam Johnson dismisses A Midsummer - Nighf s Dream with the words: "Wild and fan- 220 MEN AND LETTERS tastical as this play is, all the parts in their various moods are well written." We may sum the whole matter by remembering that Shylock, one of the most pathetic figures in the gallery of Shakespeare, was all this time received with shouts of laughter. The Eng- lish public was as stupid in the main, up to the end of the last century, in its regard of Shakespeare as it has been to the present day in its apprehension of Don Quixote as a sort of crazy buffoon. Nothing to my mind so distinctly marks the change in the consciousness of English- men which took place at the time of the French Revolution as the attitude toward Shakespeare and the Elizabethan dramatists in literature, and the new regard for moun- tains in nature. Gray was a forerunner of the new dispensation, and his perception of the imaginative element resident in moun- tain scenery, as opposed to the dislike of mountains for their rudeness which his com- panions entertpJned, was another form of the same spirit which took delight even in Ice- landic and Gaelic poetry. The great con- sentaneous judgment, however, of Coleridge, Wordsworth, Lamb, Hazlitt, De Quincey, and lesser lights when dealing with Shake- THE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 221 speare and Shakespeare's companions, marks tke real revolution in English thought and sentiment. Wordsworth was not without secret misgivings as to Shakespeare, and Lamb was an open contemner of mountains, but a common judgment, divided in its man- ifestations, impelled them to the same prac- tical evangelization of the British mind. By a natural course, there came first the juster, truer insight into the nature of Shakespeare, and then the desire to establish his text upon critical, scientific principles. If the labor of commentators during the past fifty or sixty years has been more scrupu- lously exact, it is because there was first implanted a veneration for the poet. This veneration has no doubt been often very unreasoning, and there has been a disposi- tion to make a fetich of Shakespeare, but the great fact remains that in the present consciousness of the English-speaking race, Shakespeare is as firmly established, as sol- idly set against any skeptical misgivings of his greatness, as Mont Blanc itself. I count this a very important position for the human mind to have reached, since it releases one from the necessity of elemen- tary criticism, and gives the freest possible 222 MEN AND LETTERS scope for suggestive and what I may call constructive criticism. Grant that Shake- speare is great, and our business is to point out in what his greatness consists ; our pleasure is to trace the form and content of his greatness. But why dwell on this simple truth? Was there ever a time when Shakespeare was not considered great ? No, there never was a time when single minds did not appre- hend his greatness, but there was a long stretch of time when insolent use of him demonstrates a failure of men, in particular and in general, to recognize his command- ing position in human art ; and I repeat that the universal recognition of Shake- speare during the past two or three genera- tions is both a symptom of advance in spirit- ual intelligence and also a prophecy of new movements of thought. I think that textual criticism of Shake- speare has probably expended its force. Un- doubtedly there always will be students whose habits of mind predispose them to this sort of work, and new and carefully edited texts will be published ; but they will owe their importance chiefly to some peculiar advantage of mechanical arrange- THE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 223 ment, or typographical exactness ; and a new reading or emendation will be discussed and fought over out of all proportion to its value, simply because of the poverty of op- portunity for such discussion. I think also that literary and historical illustration of Shakespeare, while affording a wider field and attracting fresher minds, has reached a point where the mass of material accumu- lated waits for careful sifting and ordering. Such a dictionary as Schmidt's indicates how this work of condensation and conven- ient presentation is going on, and new edi- tions of Shakespeare are likely to owe their attractiveness to the skill with which the best of this material for illustration is em- ployed. What then remains for the Shakespeare scholar, eager to make his contribution to- ward the interpretation and fulfillment of this great body of literature which we know as Shakespeare's Plays ? And what is the direction which the Shakespeare study of the immediate future is likely to take ? A partial reply could be made if we were to take into consideration a moment the change in attitude of the student of Shake- speare. While Shakespeare has remained 224 MEN AND LETTERS the same for the past two centuries and a half, his reader has changed. Mont Blanc has been gladdened by sun and smitten by- fierce storms, and enshrouded by clouds from the beginning, but it is only just beyond the memory of men, in modern times, that the mountain has been to the multitude any- thing but a phase of nature to recoil from. Yet now that Mont Blanc has become popu- lar, in how many ways and by what various devices men express their interest in it. They climb its slippery sides, and suffer cold and hunger, and risk neck and limb, for one shivering hour on its summit ; they peck at it with their geological hammers ; they measure its crevasses ; they analyze its snows ; they photograph it ; they climb the Montanvert to see it ; they look at it from as many points of view as Mr. Pecksniff had for sketching Salisbury Cathedral ; they write poems about it ; and if they have not seen it at all, they imagine how it looks. There are as many Mont Blancs as there are educated Christians. Now w4th all these individual apprehen- sions of the mountain, it is easy to see that there are certain groups of mind into which the apprehension may be classified ; there is THE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 225 the point of view of the tourist, of the geolo- gist, of the artist, and all these points may ex- ist in the minds of a single person. But after we have set aside the special interest of the scholar in Shakespeare and have accounted for the taste of the philologist, the textual critic and the student of dramatic and poetic technique, there remains that large human interest in Shakespeare which varies from age to age as humanity itself changes its at- titude toward whatever comes within its ken. This change takes place in the mind of any one person growing from childhood to matu- rity. As a child, one finds a story in Shake- speare, and the story may even be extracted from the dramatic form as Charles and Mary Lamb have done ; in the glow of youth, the movement in Shakespeare, that great flow of action toward an appointed end, is the cur- rent into which one throws one's self, and happy is one so trained in freedom as to be able to abandon himself to this swift, this mighty tide. A little later comes the inter- est in persons, in the expression of charac- ter, in the evolution of thought, and along with this a keen sense of the literary art, the wit, the humor, the telling phrase, the genetic word. 226 MEN AND LETTERS This is the stage last reached and always held by many, but there is a further inter- est in Shakespeare which comes to one here, another there, whose habit of thought is to find for all things transient some supernal, overarching, eternal counterpart of truth. What is philosophy but the never ending effort to make heaven and earth into one perfect sphere ? " There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philoso- phy," says Hamlet, who has had the nether world suddenly opened to him, to the gal- lant, eager Horatio, the scholar and frank gentleman. Let Horatio also get a glimpse of these mysteries, and for him the old for- mulas of philosophy learned in the schools become half empty of meaning. It is, I say, the effort of earnest minds to translate into terms of lasting import the fleeting phenom- ena which assail them in their daily life in the world. Who of such has not felt the desire to get far enough away from the con- fusion of the present to secure a true per- spective and see things as they really are, not as they appear ? Even distance in space sometimes affords almost the help of distance in time. If I were minded to THE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 227 write a history of modern America, a his- tory of the past twenty years, I am sure I should find it of real service to take my stand bodily on the other side of the Atlan- tic. The questions which crowd upon us now in theology, in politics, in government, in science, make us crave some jutting crag of vantage from which to answer them. To the mind seeking the solution of the great problems of human life, and asking for some definite expression of the problems themselves, there is always Shakespeare. In the microcosm which he offers one finds a miniature world just far enough away to permit a comprehensive study, just near enough to permit the warmth of humanity to be felt. The figures in the Greek drama are more sharply defined, and the action of human forces is more elemental ; there are fewer complexities to distort the judgment. But this very simplicity, profound as it is, removes the world which it reflects to a dis- tance from our sympathy and our practical thought. As an abstraction, the world of the Greek drama is held more firmly and yields to a finer logic, but we have to insist on the community of our humanity with it. It does not itself force this view upon us. 228 MEN AND LETTERS The world of Shakespeare, on the contrary, is not another planet in our system; it is our very world itself, reduced by literary art to a form which permits the most varied and the closest study of a great whole. It was Hawthorne, I think, who said of Trollope's stories that to read them was to get such a glimpse of current English life as one might get of the maggots in a cheese by cutting through its centre. The realism of Shake- speare is as powerful, as vital, as that of Trollope ; but the moment we begin to com- pare the two, we discover the difference be- tween a realism which merely reproduces the external world, and the realism which is the instrument of an art that contemplates wholes, and those wholes comprehensive of the spirit of man in its largest reaches. It is the multiformity of Shakespeare's art, its complex illustration of human spiritual activity, that renders it so unfailing a re- source to all who would read the mind of humanity, and who ask for some external and fit presentation of their thought. No doubt there are those who find Goethe's Faust a completer and more significant ei- dolon of their imaginative skepticism, and of Weltschmerz, but it is possible that the TEE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 229 nineteenth century is accountable for this preference, and that Faust^ for all it is so much of an air plant, will have a less vigor- ous clutch upon another century, while Shakespeare's plays, though rooted and grounded in the England of Elizabeth, will be read, not as antiquarian transcripts of an impermanent form of human life, but as enduring expressions of that which is most lasting in the human consciousness. Certainly, until the modern world is as far removed from Elizabeth by some cataclysm of moral forces as it now is from Pericles by the great fact of Christianity, Shake- speare will continue to reproduce for us ourselves and not another race of men. Nevertheless, there is in Shakespeare, as in every great humanist, that which is local, transient, temporary, as discriminated from what is universal and eternal. We go to the commentators for explanation of allu- sions which have become obscure to persons living in Massachusetts to-day and not in Warwickshire when America was a far- away name. Beyond these linguistic and social changes, however, which scarcely inter- rupt the course of an intelligent reading, there are lapses in the great forms of human 230 MEN AND LETTERS society which cause us, if we are keen in our sense of our own relations, to read the plays which record Shakespeare's sense of his human relations with a new interest, an interest derived not solely from the vivid appeal made to us by his characters and their drama, but also from the light of contrast thrown upon our own familiar expe- rience. We do not, for example, find the least difficulty in realizing the absurdity of Malvolio's attitudinizing in cross - gartered yellow stockings, although it is doubtful if any base-ball team in the country ever thought of adopting that sign -pedal, and Blender's Booh of Middles does not need to be translated for us into Harper 8 Drawer before we can understand why the bashful swain who had no wit of his own should lean heavily on that which was provided for him by the intelligible literature of the day. But when the fun of The Merry Wives of Windsor has expended itself, and we return to our own social life, we find it somewhat difficult to reproduce not the mere external conditions of that drama, but the social ethics to be translated into the terms of our ordinary society. What a capital opportunity, by the way, TUE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 231 this play offers for an ingenious study of Shakespeare. I would suggest as a task for any student in literature who wished at once to study the great dramatist and to perfect himself in the art which we all secretly believe we can practice, — I mean the art of writing a novel, — to take The Merry Wives of Windsor and make of it a novel under the title, say, of Anne Page's Lovers. What he would need to do would be to make Anne Page and her experi- ences the central theme of the novel, throw- ing Sir John Falstaff and the Merry Wives into the background, treating their adven- tures and larks as the occasions out of which Anne's opportunities spring. One who es- sayed this would be struck at once with the change of interest which has come over the world of men and women. To the audience at the Bankside Theatre the centre of inter- est was Sir John and the roystering ladies of the comedy. The figure of Anne Page steals almost coyly across the stage. But to-day the reader of the novel of Anne Pagers Lovers has his or her attention fixed upon the girl and her budding life, — the other figures skip about in the background as amusing foils and illustrations of the fatuous comedy of middle-aged sport. 232 MEN AND LETTERS The comparison of tlie drama and fiction is sometiiing more than a comparison of forms; it looks to an inquiry into the atti- tude of modern civilization towards human life ; it tells us that there has sprung up a literature, immense in volume, which con- cerns itself with different subjects from those which engaged the attention of the masters of the drama ; that it supposes a penetration of society in every direction ; sinks its shafts through every stratum of social structure, in its eagerness to bring up ore from the lowest deposits. The extension of the novel into all the fields of human thought and action means a corresponding breadth of human inquiry ; authors and readers to- gether, sustaining this vast literary organism, form the central moving body of Christen- dom. The book read in the home has been added to the play enacted on the stage ; has, in large measure, taken its place. It is an idle speculation to reflect whether Shake- speare if now living would choose the drama or the novel for his form ; whichever he chose it is incontestible that his attitude toward human life would compel him to take into account a stage upon which kings and princes played but a feeble part in compare THE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 233 ison witli untitled men and women, whose passions, acts, thoughts, were about each other in their social and domestic relations far more than in political activity. In a word, the sphere of the plain man and woman has been enlarged out of all proportion to a similar enlargement of the sphere of the titular man and woman. To vary the em- phasis of Shakespeare's words, — " All the world 's a stage And all the men and women merely players." The absence of the democratic in Shake- speare is simply a witness to the limitations of the society which Shakespeare represented. It hints at one of those great silent changes in the constitution of humanity which will one day cause readers to see Shakespeare with different eyes from what men here and now look at him. The mere difference in costume and speech is easily corrected for us by diligent commentators, but a difference in political and social structure means a dif- ference in habits of thought, and no short and sharp footnote will make this clear; only the mind trained to imaginative activ- ity and possessed of historical knowledge will be able to understand and realize the distinction. 234 MEN AND LETTERS When, therefore, we seek to clarify our thought upon great ethical and social prob- lems, and take down our Shakespeare, we find abundant illustration in almost every direction, and we cannot readily exhaust his capacity for illuminating our subjects ; we might find a quotation from Shakespeare to stand as a motto at the head of every edito- rial in every daily newspaper to be published to-morrow in the United States. But all this illustration proceeds upon the agree- ment of our world with the world of Shake- speare's time ; as we look more narrowly we are aware of certain tendencies on the part of this moving world of ours to drift away from Shakespeare's world. It is still within conversational distance ; it will long be within hailing distance ; it is safe to say that it never will be beyond communication, but the points of difference will grow more obvious, and as they thus are magnified, our con- sciousness of radical distinctions will grow more emphatic. We see all this on a large scale in the ever widening gulf between Englishmen and Americans. The Atlantic Ocean, which separates the two continents, has been contracting its space ever since the first Virginians rowed across its waters. THE FUTURE OF SHAKESPEARE 235 The inventions of men, tlie exactions of human intercourse, have reduced a three months' dreary voyage to a six days' trip in a movable hotel, and yet all this while a myriad forces have been at work on either side of the ocean moulding national con- sciousness, and producing those distinctions which are hard to express but perfectly patent. The manifestations of character in literature and art afford the clearest indi- cations of this national distinction, and al- though London and Boston can almost speak to each other through the telephone, the accent of Boston in literature is more sharply discriminated from the accent of London than it was a hundred years ago. Of what vast moment, then, it is, that the world of England in its most genetic period should have been compressed into a globe of art which we may turn and turn, exposing one continent after another to view. 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