Autobiography of Seventy Years Part 54

Blushed unseen, And wasted its sweetness on the desert air.

"He had what Jeremy Taylor calls, 'the great endearment of prudent and temperate speech.'

"His conversation was sparkling and witty and full of variety, but no spark from him was ever a cinder in the eye of his friend.

"He had a learning rare among public men, and, for its variety, rare, I think, among scholars. He would bring out bits of history, full of interest and instruction, from the most obscure sources, in common conversation. He was an excellent Latin scholar. He had read and mastered Tacitus, and a man who has mastered Tacitus has had the best gymnastic training of the intellect, both in vigor and style, which the resources of all literature can supply.

"One secret of his great popularity with his companions here-- a popularity I think unexcelled, indeed, I incline to think unequalled by that of any other man with whom I have served-- is that to which the late Justin Morrill owed so much. He never debated. He rarely answered other men's arguments, never with warmth or heat. But he was exceedingly tenacious of his own opinion. He was, in the things he stood for, as unyielding as flint and true as steel. But his flint or steel never struck out a spark by collision with any other. He spoke very rarely in debate in general; only when his official place on his committee, or something which concerned his own const.i.tuents especially, made speaking absolutely imperative.

Then he gave his opinion as a judge gives it, or as a delegate to some great international council might be supposed to give it; responsible for it himself, but undertaking no responsibility for other men's opinion or conduct; never a.s.suming that it was his duty or within his power to convert, or change, or instruct them, still less to chastise them. Whether that way be the best way for usefulness in a deliberative body, especially in a legislative body of a great popular government, I will not undertake now to say. Certainly it is not the common way here or elsewhere. It is very rare indeed, that any man possessing the great literary and oratorical power of Mr. Davis, especially a man to whom n.o.body ever thought of imputing timidity or undue desire to enjoy public favor, or want of absolute confidence in his own opinions, will be found to refrain from employing these qualities to persuade or convince other men.

"He had a rare and exquisite gift which, if he had been a man of letters and not a man engaged in a strenuous public life, would have brought him great fame. Once in a while he said something in private, and more rarely, though once or twice, in a public speech, which reminded you of the delicate touch of Hawthorne. His likening President Cleveland and Mr. Blount, looking upon the late royalty of the Sandwich Island with so much seriousness, to Don Quixote and Sancho Panza taking in great earnest the spectacle of a theatrical representation at a country fair and eager to rescue the distressed damsel, was one of the most exquisite felicities of the literature of the Senate.

"He had great pride in his ancestry, and was a great lover of the history of New England and Plymouth, from which they came, though he never gave himself airs on account of it.

He was a descendant of Robert Cushman, the preacher of the Pilgrims, whose service was in a thousand ways of such value to the little colony at Plymouth. Yet it had never happened to him to visit the scenes with which the feet of his ancestors had been so familiar, until a few years ago he did me the honor to be my guest in Ma.s.sachusetts, and spent a few days in visiting her historic places. He gazed upon Boston and Plymouth and Concord reverently as ever Moslem gazed upon Mecca or the feet of palmer stood by the holy sepulchre. That week to him was crowded with a delight with which few other hours in his life could compare. I had hoped that it might be my fortune and his that he might visit Ma.s.sachusetts again, that her people might gather in their cities to do him honor, and might learn to know him better, and might listen to the sincere eloquence of his voice. But it was ordered otherwise.

"There are other things his country had hoped for him. She had hoped a longer and higher service, perhaps the highest service of all. But the fatal and inexorable shaft has stricken him down in the full vigor of a yet strenuous manhood. The great transactions in which he had borne so large a part still remain incomplete and their event is still uncertain.

"There is a painting which a great Italian master left unfinished.

The work was taken up and completed by a disciple. The finished picture bears this inscription: 'What t.i.tian left unfinished, Palma reverently completed, and dedicated to G.o.d.' So may our beloved Republic find always, when one servant leaves his work unfinished, another who will take it up and dedicate it to the country and to G.o.d."

CHAPTER XVIII GEORGE BANCROFT

One of the most delightful friends.h.i.+ps of my life was with George Bancroft, the famous historian. I never knew him until I went to Was.h.i.+ngton in 1877. But we established at once, as a matter of course, the relation of an intimate friends.h.i.+p.

He was born in Worcester, to which he was much attached, though he had spent little of his life there after he had left college.

Mrs. Bancroft had known my oldest brother and sister intimately, when she lived in Boston. I had learned from Mr. Emerson, who rarely gave his praise lightly, as well as from my own study, to value Mr. Bancroft very highly as a historian, which he soon found out.

I almost always found him waiting for me on the doorstep of my dwelling when I came from church the first Sunday after I reached Was.h.i.+ngton, at the beginning of a session. I have enjoyed many hours at his table, rendered delightful by the conversation of the eminent guests whom he gathered there, but by no conversation more delightful than his own.

Mr. Bancroft had two enthusiasms which made him a great historian-- an enthusiasm for truth which spared no labor and left no stores of information unsearched, and an enthusiastic love of country. He believed that the great emotions and motives which move a free people are the n.o.ble, not the mean motives.

He has written and interpreted the history of the United States in that faith. I believe his work will endure so long as the love of liberty shall endure. I gave my estimate of him at a meeting of the American Antiquarian Society, of which we were both chosen Vice-Presidents, in October, 1880, just after the completion of his eightieth year and of his "History of the United States," as follows:

"It is not usual to discuss the report of the committee to propose a list of officers. But one of the names reported gives special interest to the occasion. On the third of this month of October, our honored a.s.sociate Mr. Bancroft completed his eightieth year. At the same time he completed his 'History of the United States' to the formation of the Federal Const.i.tution.

"This Society, while it is national and continental in the scope of its investigations, strikes down its roots into the soil of this locality, where its founder dwelt, and where its collections are kept.

"For both these reasons we cherish our relations to Mr. Bancroft.

He was born within a few rods of this spot. He is descended by the mother's side from an old Worcester County family who were conspicuous in the administration of its public affairs long before the Revolution. His father was one of the six persons who pet.i.tioned for the act of incorporation of this Society, and one of its first members. His brother by marriage, Governor Davis, was your predecessor in the President' chair.

"These reasons would be enough to induce us to value our relation.

But he has filled a highly honorable and conspicuous place in public life. He is, I believe, the senior person living who has been a member of the Cabinet. He is the senior among living persons who have filled important diplomatic stations.

He has represented the United States at Berlin and at St. James.

"His history is, and doubtless will be, the great standard authority upon the important period which it covers. He is the only person living whose judgment would change the place in public estimation held by any of the great statesmen of the Revolutionary times. He has had the rare good fortune among men of letters, to have proposed to himself a great task, requiring a lifetime for its accomplishment, the successful achievement of which is enough to make any life ill.u.s.trious, and to have lived to complete it with powers of body and mind undiminished. It is his fate to know, while alive, the estimate in which he will be held by posterity. In his case, that knowledge can be only a source of pleasure and satisfaction.

"In this Mr. Bancroft resembles Gibbon. We all remember Gibbon's delightful account of the completion of his great work.

"In another thing, alone among great historians, Mr. Bancroft resembles Gibbon. As an artist he has accomplished that most difficult task of composing a history made up of many separate threads, which must keep on side by side, yet all be subordinate to one main and predominant stream. But his narrative never loses its constant and fascinating interest. No other historian, I believe, except Gibbon, has attempted this without becoming insufferably dull.

"Mr. Bancroft tells the story of thirteen States, separate, yet blending into one National life. It is one of the most wonderful things in our history, that the separate States having so much in common, have preserved so completely, even to the present time, their original and individual characteristics.

Rhode Island, held in the hollow of the hand of Ma.s.sachusetts; Connecticut, so placed that one would think it would become a province of New York; Delaware, whose chief city is but twenty-five miles from Philadelphia, yet preserve their distinctive characteristics as if they were states of the continent of Europe, whose people speak a different language. This shows how perfectly state rights and state freedom are preserved in spite of our National union, how little the power at the centre interferes with the important things that affect the character of a people. Why is it that little Delaware remains Delaware in spite of Pennsylvania, and little Rhode Island remains Rhode Island notwithstanding her neighbor Ma.s.sachusetts?

What makes the meadow flower its bloom unfold?

Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its roots, and in that freedom bold.

And so the grandeur of the forest tree Comes, not from casting in a formal mould, But from its own divine vitality.

"But Mr. Bancroft is more fortunate than Gibbon. Gibbon wrote of decline, of decay, of dissolution, and death; of the days, to use his own words, 'when giants were becoming pigmies.'

Bancroft tells the story of birth, and growth, and youth, and life. His name is to be inseparably a.s.sociated with a great and interesting period in the world's history; with what in the proud imagination of his countrymen must ever be the greatest and most interesting of all periods, when pigmy villages were becoming giant States. I am sure that it is a delight to this a.s.sembly of distinguished scholars, a.s.sembled near his birthplace, to send him, at the completion of his great work, and of his eightieth year, their cordial salutation."

I went to see Mr. Bancroft on the evening of the last Sunday in December, 1890. He was sitting in his library up stairs.

He received me in his usual emphatic manner, taking both my hands and saying, "My dear friend, how glad I am to see you!"

He was alone. He evidently knew me when I went in, and inquired about Worcester, as he commonly did, and expressed his amazement at its remarkable growth.

I stayed with him about twenty or thirty minutes. The topics of our conversation were, I believe, suggested by me, and the whole conversation was one which gave evidence of full understanding on his part of what we were talking about. It was not merely an old man's memory of the past, but the fresh and vigorous thought on new topics which were suggested to him in the course of the conversation. I think he exhibited a quickness and vigor of thought and intelligence and spoke with a beauty of diction that no man I know could have surpa.s.sed.

I asked him if he could account for the interest in historical study among the older Harvard graduates, and mentioned the fact that the princ.i.p.al historians of this country, including himself, Prescott, Sparks, Motley, Palfrey and Parkman, were all Harvard men and were eminent at a time when there were scarcely any other eminent historical scholars in America.

He did not directly answer this question, but said that his own inclination toward history, he thought, was due very much to the influence of his father. He said his father would have been a very eminent historian, if he had had material at his command, and that he had a remarkably judicious mind.

He spoke of some clergymen, especially the Unitarian clergymen, so many of whom belonged to Harvard at his time. He said he had little sympathy for the Unitarianism of his day, "for its theology, no; for its spirituality, yes."

He asked me about the Election Bill pending in the Senate.

I spoke of the great storm of abuse I had had to encounter for advocating it, but said I thought on the whole the feeling between the different sections of the country and different political parties was better than it ever had been before in this country, and much better than that which now existed between different political parties in foreign countries.

He cordially agreed to this, and made some observations which I do not now recall, but which were interesting and bright.

After we had talked together for some time, he said: "My memory is very poor: I cannot remember your first name."

I said: "It is the same as yours, Mr. Bancroft--George."

He paused a moment with an amused and puzzled look, and said: "What is your last name?" He had evidently known me very well during most of the preceding part of the interview.

I told his son about this conversation the day after Mr.

Bancroft's death. He said that the presence of a visitor acted in this way as a stimulant, but that he had not lately shown much intelligence in the family, seeming lost and feeble.

CHAPTER XIX VISITS TO ENGLAND [1860, 1868, 1871]

I was born within a mile of the spot where the War of the Revolution began. My ancestors and other kindred on both sides took an active and prominent part in the struggle with England. I am descended from the early Puritans of Ma.s.sachusetts in every line of descent. So it will readily be believed that all my feeling and sympathy have been on the side of my country in the great controversy with England, which began with the exile of the Pilgrims in 1620 and continued, with little interruption, until our last great quarrel with her, which ended with the arbitration at Geneva. Yet I am a pa.s.sionate lover of England. Before I ever went abroad, I longed to visit the places famous in her history, as a child longs to go home to his birthplace.

I have visited Europe six times. On each occasion I devoted the largest part of my time to Great Britain. The desire to see England again has increased with every visit. Certainly there is nothing like England, and there never has been anything like England in the world. Her wonderful history, her wonderful literature, the beauty of her architecture, the historic and poetic a.s.sociations which cl.u.s.ter about every street and river and mountain and valley, her vigorous life, the sweetness and beauty of her women, the superb manhood of her men, her navy, her gracious hospitality, her courage and her lofty pride--although some single race of people may have excelled here in a single particular--make up a combination never equalled in the world. I am, of course, not to be understood to bring my own country into the comparison.

The first time I went abroad was in 1860. I had for a companion my friend from infancy, George M. Brooks, of Concord. We travelled like a couple of Bohemians, never riding where we could walk; lunching or dining where he happened to find ourselves when we were hungry; taking second or third cla.s.s carriages on the railroads, and getting into conversation with anybody who would talk to us. I doubt whether I shall ever have in this world, or in another, a sensation more delicious than that I had when the old steamer, "America," steamed up the Channel toward the mouth of the Mersey, with the green sh.o.r.es of Ireland on one side and England on the other. I am afraid if I were to relate the story of that journey, it would be only to please myself by reviving its recollections, and not for the delight of my readers, so many of whom have a similar memory of their own.

We heard John Bright and Lord John Russell and Lord Palmerston in a great debate in the House of Commons on the paper duties, and saw Lord Brougham walking backward and forward on the terrace by Brougham Castle, near Penrith. We saw Edinburgh and the Trosachs, and Abbotsford and Stirling. I had been a loving reader of Scott from my childhood, and was almost as much at home in Scotland as if I had been born in the Canongate or the Saltmarket. I had had a special fancy for reading and studying topographical books on London, and found myself, pretty soon, so much at home there that I think I could have made a very decent living as a guide.

We spent a month in Switzerland. I made the journey over the mountain pa.s.ses on foot, keeping up with my companion, who had a horse or a mule. I could walk twenty-five or thirty miles a day without great fatigue.

Augustus Flagg of the famous book-selling firm of Little & Brown, with whom I had dealt a great deal, was on the s.h.i.+p when I went out. He went abroad to purchase books for his house. In those days the book-stalls in London were mines of rare treasures. They had not been much examined by collectors or dealers, and the men who kept them did not know the value of books that were almost priceless in the eyes of virtuosos.

Mr. Flagg and I spent together a good many days in ransacking the old book-stalls and shops, some of them in out-of-the- way places in the old city, even below the Tower. I could not afford to buy a great many books then. But I knew something about them, and the experience was like having in my hands the costliest rubies or diamonds.

The journey each way, which now takes six or seven days, then took fourteen. The Cunard steamer, whose successor, with its bilge keel and its vastly greater size, is as comfortable, even in very rough weather, as the first cla.s.s city hotel, was as disagreeable in rough weather, to a man unaccustomed to the ocean, as a fis.h.i.+ng smack. But the pa.s.sengers got well acquainted with one another. There was agreeable society on board, and the days pa.s.sed pleasantly.