OftheAmericanwritersLongfellowhasbeenmostapassionwithme，astheEnglish，andGerman，andSpanish，andRussianwritershavebeen。I
　　amsurethatthiswaslargelybymerechance。ItwasbecauseIhappened，insuchaframeandatsuchatime，tocomeuponhisbooksthatIlovedthemabovethoseofothermenasgreat。IamperfectlysensiblethatLowellandEmersonoutvaluemanyofthepoetsandprophetsIhavegivenmyheartto;Ihavereadthemwithdelightandwithadeepsenseoftheirgreatness，andyettheyhavenotbeenmylifelikethoseother，thoselesser，men。Butnoneofthepassionsarereasoned，andIdonottrytoaccountformyliterarypreferencesortojustifythem。
　　Idraggedalongthroughseveralmonthsofthatwinter，anddidmybesttocarryoutthatnotableschemeofnotmindingmyvertigo。Itrieddoinghalf—work，andhelpingmyfatherwiththecorrespondence，butwhenitappearedthatnothingwouldavail，heremainedinchargeofit，tillthecloseofthesession，andIwenthometotrywhatacompleteandprolongedrestwoulddoforme。Iwasnotfitforworkintheprinting—
　　office，butthatwasasimplermatterthantheliteraryworkthatwasalwaystemptingme。Icouldgetawayfromitonlybytakingmygunandtrampingdayafterdaythroughthedeep，primevalwoods。Thefatiguewaswholesome，andIwassobadashotthatnoothercreaturesufferedlossfrommygainexceptonehaplesswildpigeon。Thethawingsnowleftthefallenbeechnutsoftheautumnbeforeuncoveredamongthedeadleaves，andtheforestwasfullofthebeautifulbirds。InmostpartsofthemiddleWesttheyarenolongerseen，exceptintwosorthrees，butoncetheywerelikethesandsoftheseaformultitude。Itwasnotnowtheseasonwhentheyhidhalftheheavenswiththeirflightdayafterday;
　　buttheywereinmyriadsallthroughthewoods，wheretheiriridescentbreastsshonelikeasuddenuntimelygrowthofflowerswhenyoucameuponthemfromthefront。Whentheyroseinfright，itwasliketheupwardleapoffire，andwiththeroarofflame。Iuseimageswhich，afterall，arefalsetothethingIwishtoexpress;buttheymustserve。Itriedhonestlyenoughtokillthepigeons，butIhadnoluck，ortoomuch，tillIhappenedtobringdownoneofapairthatIfoundapartfromtherestinasoftytree—top。ThepoorcreatureIhadwidowedfollowedmetothevergeofthewoods，asIstartedhomewithmyprey，andIdonotcaretoknowmorepersonallythefeelingsofamurdererthanIdidthen。Itriedtoshootthebird，butmyaimwassobadthatIcouldnotdoherthismercy，andatlastsheflewaway，andIsawhernomore。
　　Thespringwasnowopening，andIwasabletokeepmoreandmorewithNature，whowaskindertomethanIwastoherotherchildren，orwishedtobe，andIgotthebetterofmymalady，whichgraduallyleftmefornomorereasonapparentlythanitcameuponme。ButIwasstillfarfromwell，andIwasindespairofmyfuture。Ibegantoreadagain——
　　IsupposeIhadreallyneveraltogetherstopped。IborrowedfrommyfriendthebookbinderaGermannovel，whichhadformeamessageoflastingcheer。Itwasthe’Afraja’ofTheodoreMugge，astoryoflifeinNorwayduringthelastcentury，andIrememberitasaverylovelystoryindeed，withhoneststudiesofcharacteramongtheNorwegians，andatenderpathosinthefateofthelittleLapheroineGula，whowasperhapssufficientlyromanced。TheherowasayoungDane，whowasgoingupamongthefiordstoseekhisfortuneinthenorthernfisheries;andbyaprocessinevitableinyouthIbecameidentifiedwithhim，sothatI
　　adventured，andenjoyed，andsufferedinhispersonthroughout。Therewasasuprememomentwhenhewassailingthroughthefiords，andfindinghimselfapparentlylockedinbytheirmountainwallswithoutsignorhopeofescape，butsomehowalwaysescapingbysomeunimaginedchannel，andkeepingon。Thelessonforhimwasoneoftrustandcourage;andI，whoseemedtobethenshutinuponamountain—walledfiordwithoutinletoroutlet，tookthelessonhomeandpromisedmyselfnottoloseheartagain。
　　Itseemsalittleoddthatthispassageofabook，bynomeansofthegreatest，shouldhavehadsuchaneffectwithmeatatimewhenIwasnolongersoyoungastobeundulyimpressedbywhatIread;butitistruethatIhaveneversincefoundmyselfincircumstanceswherethereseemedtobenogettingforwardorgoingback，withoutavisionofthatfiordscenery，andthenariseoffaith，thatifIkeptonIshould，somehow，comeoutofmyprisoningenvironment。
　　XXVI。GEORGEELIOT，HAWTHORNE，GOETHE，HEINE
　　Igotbackhealthenoughtobeofuseintheprintingofficethatautumn，andIwasquietlyatworktherewithnovisiblebreakinmysurroundingswhensuddenlythewholeworldopenedtomethroughwhathadseemedanimpenetrablewall。TheRepublicannewspaperatthecapitalhadbeenboughtbyanewmanagement，andtheeditorialforcereorganizeduponafootingofwhatwethenthoughtmetropolitanenterprise;andtomygreatjoyandastonishmentIwasaskedtocomeandtakeaplaceinit。Theplaceofferedmewasnotoneoflordlydistinction;infact，itwaspartlyofthecharacterofthatIhadalreadyrejectedinCincinnati，butIhopedthatinthesmallercityitsdutieswouldnotbesoodious;
　　andbythetimeIcametofillit，achangehadtakenplaceinthearrangementssothatIwasgivenchargeofthenewsdepartment。Thisincludedtheliterarynoticesandthebookreviews，andIamafraidthatIatoncegavemyprimeattentiontothese。
　　Itwasaneveningpaper，andIhadnearlyasmuchtimeforreadingandstudyasIhadathome。Butnowsocietybegantoclaimashareofthisleisure，whichIbynomeansbegrudgedit。SocietywasverycharminginColumbusthen，withaprettyconstantroundofdancesandsuppers，andaneasycordiality，whichIdaresayyoungpeoplestillfindiniteverywhere。Imetagreatmanycultivatedpeople，chieflyyoungladies，andtherewereseveralhouseswhereweyoungfellowswentandcamealmostasfreelyasiftheywereourown。Therewehadmusicandcards，andtalkaboutbooks，andlifeappearedtomerichlyworthliving;ifanyonehadsaidthiswasnotthebestplanetintheuniverseIshouldhavecalledhimapessimist，oratleastthoughthimso，forwehadnotthewordinthosedays。Aworldinwhichallthoseprettyandgraciouswomendwelt，amongthefiguresofthewaltzandthelancers，withchatbetweenaboutthelastinstalmentof’TheNewcomes，’wasgoodenoughworldforme;Iwasonlyafraiditwastoogood。Therewere，ofcourse，somegirlswhodidnotread，butfewopenlyprofessedindifferencetoliterature，andtherewasmuchlendingofbooksbackandforth，andmuchdebateofthem。Thatwasthedaywhen’AdamBede’wasanewbook，andinthisI
　　hadmyfirstknowledgeofthatgreatintellectforwhichIhadnopassion，indeed，butalwaysthedeepestrespect，thehighesthonor;andwhichhasfromtimetotimeprofoundlyinfluencedmebyitsethics。
　　Istatethesethingssimplyandsomewhatbaldly;Imighteasilyrefineuponthem，andstudythatsubtleeffectforgoodandforevilwhichyoungpeoplearealwaysreceivingfromthefictiontheyread;butthisitsnotthetimeorplacefortheinquiry，andIonlywishtoownthatsofarasIunderstandit，thechiefpartofmyethicalexperiencehasbeenfromnovels。ThelifeandcharacterIhavefoundportrayedtherehaveappealedalwaystotheconsciousnessofrightandwrongimplantedinme;
　　andfromnoonehasthisappealbeenstrongerthanfromGeorgeEliot。
　　Herinfluencecontinuedthroughmanyyears，andIcanquestionitnowonlyintheundueburdensheseemstothrowupontheindividual，andherfailuretoaccountlargelyenoughformotivefromthesocialenvironment。
　　Thereherworkseemstomeunphilosophical。
　　ItshareswhatevererrorthereisinitsperspectivewiththatofHawthorne，whose’MarbleFaun’wasanewbookatthesametimethat’AdamBede’wasnew，andwhosebooksnowcameintomylifeandgaveittheirtinge。Hewasalwaysdealingwiththeproblemofevil，too，andIfoundamorepotentcharminhismoreartistichandlingofitthanIfoundinGeorgeEliot。Ofcourse，Ithenpreferredtheregionofpureromancewherehelikedtoplacehisaction;butIdidnotfindhisinstancesthelessveritablebecausetheyshoneoutin"Thelightthatneverwasonseaorland。"
　　Ireadthe’MarbleFaun’first，andthenthe’ScarletLetter，’andthenthe’HouseofSevenGables，’andthenthe’BlithedaleRomance;’butI
　　alwayslikedbestthelast，whichismorenearlyanovel，andmorerealisticthantheothers。TheyallmovedmewithasortofeffectsuchasIhadnotfeltbefore。Theyveerssofarfromtimeandplacethat，althoughmostofthemrelatedtoourcountryandepoch，Icouldnotimagineanythingapproximatefromthem;andHawthornehimselfseemedaremoteandimpalpableagency，ratherthanapersonwhomonemightactuallymeet，asnotlongafterwardhappenedwithme。IdidnotholdthesortoffanciedconversewithhimthatIheldwithetherauthors，andIcannotpretendthatIhadtheaffectionforhimthatattractedmetothem。Butheheldmebyhispotentspell，andforatimehedominatedmeascompletelyasanyauthorIhaveread。MoretrulythananyotherAmericanauthorhehasbeenapassionwithme，andlatelyIheardwithakindofpangayoungmansayingthathedidnotbelieveIshouldfindthe’ScarletLetter’bearreadingnow。Ididnotassenttothepossibility，butthenotiongavemeashiverofdismay。Ithoughthowmuchthatbookhadbeentome，howmuchallofHawthorne’sbookshadbeen，andtohavepartedwithmyfaithintheirperfectionwouldhavebeensomethingI
　　wouldnotwillinglyhaveriskeddoing。
　　Ofcoursethereisalwayssomethingfatallyweakintheschemeofthepureromance，which，afterthecolorofthecontemporarymooddiesoutofit，leavesitindangeroftumblingintothedustofallegory;andperhapsthisinherentweaknesswaswhatthatboldcriticfeltinthe’ScarletLetter。’ButnoneofHawthorne’sfablesarewithoutaprofoundanddistantreachintotherecessesofnatureandofbeing。Hecamebackfromhisresearcheswithnosolutionofthequestion，withnomessage，indeed，buttheawfulwarning，"Betrue，betrue，"whichistheburdenoftheScarletLetter;yetinallhisbooksthereisthehueofthoughtsthatwethinkonlyinthepresenceofthemysteriesoflifeanddeath。
　　Itisnothisfaultthatthisisnotintelligence，thatitknotsthebrowinsorerdoubtratherthanshapesthelipstoutteranceofthethingsthatcanneverbesaid。SomeofhisshorterstoriesIhavefoundthinandcoldtomylaterreading，andIhavenevercaredmuchforthe’HouseofSevenGables，’buttheotherdayIwasreadingthe’BlithedaleRomance’again，andIfounditaspotent，assignificant，assadlyandstrangelytrueaswhenitfirstenthralledmysoul。
　　InthosedayswhenItriedtokindlemyheartatthecoldaltarofGoethe，Ididreadagreatdealofhisproseandsomewhatofhispoetry，butitwastobetenyearsyetbeforeIshouldgofaithfullythroughwithhisFaustandcometoknowitspower。Forthepresent，Iread’WilhelmMeister’andthe’Wahlverwandschaften，’andworshippedhimmuchatsecond—handthroughHeine。InthemeantimeIinvestedsuchGermansasImetwiththehalooftheirnationalpoetry，andtherewasoneladyofwhomIheardwithawethatshehadonceknownmyHeine。WhenIcametomeether，overaglassofthemildegg—nogwhichsheservedatherhouseonSundaynights，andshetoldmeaboutHeine，andhowhelooked，andsomefewthingshesaid，Isufferedanindescribabledisappointment;andifIcouldhavebeenfrankwithmyselfIshouldhaveownedtoafearthatitmighthavebeensomethinglikethat，ifIhadmyselfmetthepoetintheflesh，andtriedtoholdtheintimateconversewithhimthatIheldinthespirit。ButIshutmyhearttoallsuchmisgivingsandwentonreadinghimmuchmorethanIreadanyotherGermanauthor。Iwentonwritinghimtoo，justasIwentonreadingandwritingTennyson。Heinewasalwaysapersonalinterestwithme，andeverywordofhismademelongtohavehadhimsayittome，andtellmewhyhesaidit。InapoetofalienraceandlanguageandreligionIfoundagreatersympathythanI
　　haveexperiencedwithanyother。PerhapstheJewsarestillthechosenpeople，butnowtheybearthemessageofhumanity，whileoncetheyborethemessageofdivinity。IknewtheuglinessofHeine’snature：hisrevengefulness，andmalice，andcruelty，andtreachery，anduncleanness;
　　andyethewassupremelycharmingamongthepoetsIhaveread。ThetendernessIstillfeelforhimisnotareasonedlove，Imustown;but，asIamalwaysasking，whenwasloveeverreasoned？
　　Ihadaroom—matethatwinterinColumbuswhowasalreadyacontributortotheAtlanticMonthly，andwhoreadBrowningasdevotedlyasIreadHeine。Iwillnotsaythathewrotehimasconstantly，butifthathadbeenso，Ishouldnothavecared。WhatIcouldnotendurewithoutpangsofsecretjealousywasthatheshouldlikeHeine，too，andshouldreadhim，thoughitwasbutanarm’s—lengthinanEnglishversion。HehadfoundtheoriginsofthosetricksandturnsofHeine’sin’TristramShandy’andthe’SentimentalJourney;’andthisgalledme，asifhehadshownthatsomemistressofmysoulhadstudiedhergracesfromanothergirl，andthatitwasnotallherownhairthatshewore。IhidmyrancoraswellasIcould，andtookwhatrevengelayinmypowerbyinsinuatingthathemighthaveaverydifferentviewifhereadHeineintheoriginal。IalsomadehastetotrymyownfatewiththeAtlantic，andIsentofftoMr。LowellthatpoemwhichhekeptsolonginordertomakesurethatHeinehadnotwrittenit，aswellasauthorizedit。
　　XXVII。CHARLESREADE
　　ThiswasthewinterwhenmyfriendPiattandImadeourfirstliteraryventuretogetherinthose’PoemsofTwoFriends;’whichhardlypassedthecircleofouramity;anditwasaltogetheratimeofhighliteraryexaltationwithme。Iwalkedthestreetsofthefriendlylittlecitybydayandbynightwithmyheadsofullofrhymesandpoeticphrasesthatitseemedasiftheirbuzzingmighthavebeenheardseveralyardsaway;
　　andIdonotyetseequitehowIcontrivedtokeeptheirmusicoutofmynewspaperparagraphs。OutofthenewspaperIcouldnotkeepit，andfromtimetotimeIbrokeintoverseinitscolumns，tothegreatamusementoftheleadingeditor，whoknewmeforayoungmanwithaverysharptoothforsuchself—betrayalsinothers。Hewantedtoprintaburlesquereviewhewroteofthe’PoemsofTwoFriends’inourpaper，butIwouldnotsufferit。Imustallowthatitwasvery，funny，andthathewasalwaysagenerousfriend，whosewoundswouldhavebeenasfaithfulasanythatcouldhavebeendealtmethen。HedidnotindeedcaremuchforanypoetrybutthatofShakespeareandthe’IngoldsbyLegends;’andwhenonemorningaStateSenatorcameintotheofficewithavolumeofTennyson，andbegantoread，"Thepoetinagoldenclimewasborn，Withgoldenstarsabove;
　　Doweredwiththehateofhate，thescornofscornTheloveoflove，"
　　hehitchedhischairabout，andstartedinonhisleaderfortheday。
　　HemighthavebeenmorepatientifhehadknownthatthisStateSenatorwastobePresidentGarfield。Butwhocouldknowanythingofthetragicalhistorythatwassosoontofollowthatwinterof1859—60？
　　NotI;atleastIlistenedraptbythepoetandthereader，anditseemedtomeasifthemakingandthereadingofpoetryweretogoonforever，andthatwastobealltherewasofit。TobesureIhadmyhardlittlejournalisticmisgivingsthatitwasnotquitethethingforaStateSenatortocomeroundreadingTennysonatteno’clockinthemorning，andIdaresayIfeltmyselfsuperiorinmypointofview，thoughIcouldnotresistthecharmoftheverse。ImyselfdidnotbringTennysontotheofficeatthattime。IbroughtThackeray，andIrememberthatonedaywhenIhadreadhalfanhourorsointhe’BookofSnobs，’theleadingeditorsaidfrankly，Well，now，heguessedwehadhadenoughofthat。
　　Heapologizedafterwardsasifheweretoblame，andnotI，butIdaresayIwasanuisancewithmydifferentliterarypassions，andmusthavemademanyofmyacquaintancesverytiredofmyfavoriteauthors。Ihadsomeconsciousnessofthefact，butIcouldnothelpit。
　　Ioughtnottoomitfromthelistofthesefavoritesanauthorwhowasthenbeginningtohavehisgreatestvogue，andwhosomehowjustmissedofbeingaverygreatone。Wewereallreadinghisjaunty，nervy，knowingbooks，andsomeofuswerequestioningwhetherweoughtnottosethimaboveThackerayandDickensandGeorgeEliot，’tulliquanti’，sogreatwastheeffectthatCharlesReadehadwithourgeneration。Hewasamanwhostoodatthepartingofthewaysbetweenrealismandromanticism，andifhehadbeensomewhatmoreofamanhemighthavebeenthemasterofagreatschoolofEnglishrealism;but，asitwas，heremainedcontenttousethematerialsofrealismandproducetheeffectofromanticism。Hesawthatlifeitselfinfinitelyoutvaluedanythingthatcouldbefeignedaboutit，butitsrichnessseemedtocorrupthim，andhehadnottheclear，ethicalconsciencewhichforcedGeorgeEliottoberealisticwhenprobablyherartisticprepossessionswereromantic。
　　Asyet，however，therewasnoreasoningofthematter，andCharlesReadewaswritingbooksoftremendousadventureandexaggeratedcharacter，whichhepridedhimselfonderivingfromthefactsoftheworldaroundhim。Hewasintoxicatedwiththediscoveryhehadmadethatthetruthwasbeyondinvention，buthedidnotknowwhattodowiththetruthinartafterhehadfounditinlife，andtothisdaytheEnglishmostlydonot。Weyoungpeoplewereeasilytakenwithhisglitteringerror，andwereadhimwithmuchthesamefury，thathewrote。’NeverTooLatetoMend;’’LoveMeLittle，LoveMeLong;’’ChristieJohnstone;’’PegWoffington;’andthen，later，’HardCash，’’TheCloisterandtheHearth，’
　　’FoulPlay，’’PutYourselfinHisPlace’——howmuchtheyallmeantonce，orseemedtomean！
　　Thefirstofthem，andtheotherpoemsandfictionsIwasreading，meantmoretomethantherumorsofwarthatwerethenfillingtheair，andthatsosoonbecameitsawfulactualities。Touswhohaveourlivessolargelyinbooksthematerialworldisalwaysthefable，andtheidealthefact。Iwalkedwithmyfeetontheground，butmyheadwasintheclouds，aslightasanyofthem。Ineitherpraisenorblamethisfact;
　　butIfeelboundtoownit，forthattime，andforeverytimeinmylife，sincethewitcheryofliteraturebeganwithme。
　　ThosetwohappywintersinColumbus，whenIwasfindingopportunityandrecognition，weretheheydeyoflifeforme。Therehasbeennotimelikethemsince，thoughtherehavebeensmilingandprosperoustimesaplenty;
　　forthenIwasintheblossomofmyyouth，andwhatIhadnotIcouldhopeforwithoutunreason，forIhadsomuchofthatwhichIhadmostdesired。Thosetimespassed，andtherecameothertimes，longyearsofabeyance，andwaiting，anddefeat，whichIthoughtwouldneverend，buttheypassed，too。
　　IgotmyappointmentofConsultoVenice，andIwenthometowaitformypassportandtospendthelastdays，sofullofcivictrouble，beforeI
　　shouldsetoutformypost。IfIhopedtoservemycountrythereandsweeptheConfederatecruisersfromtheAdriatic，Iamafraidmyprimeintentwastoaddtoherliteratureandtomyowncredit。Iintended，whilekeepingasleeplesseyeoutforprivateers，towritepoems。
　　concerningAmericanlifewhichshouldeclipseanythingyetdoneinthatkind，andinthemeantimeIreadvoraciouslyandperpetually，tomakethedaysgoswiftlywhichIshouldhavebeensogladtohavelinger。InthismonthIdevouredallthe’Waverleynovels，’butImusthavebeendevouringagreatmanyothers，forCharlesReade’s’ChristieJohnstone’
　　isassociatedwiththelastmomentofthelastdays。
　　AfewmonthsagoIwasattheoldhome，andIreadthatbookagain，afternotlookingatitformorethanthirtyyears;andIreaditwithamazementatitsprevailingartisticvulgarity，itsprevailingaestheticerrorshothereandtherewithgleamsoflight，andofthetruththatReadehimselfwasalwaysdimlygropingfor。Thebookiswrittenthroughoutonthevergeofrealism，withdivinationsandconjecturesacrossitsborder，andwithlapsesintothefool’sparadiseofromanticism，andanapparentcontentwithitsinanityandimpossibility。
　　Butthenitwasbrilliantlynewandsurprising;itseemedtobethelastwordthatcouldbesaidforthetruthinfiction;andithadaspellthathelduslikeananestheticabovetheacheofparting，andtheanxietyfortheyearsthatmustpass，withalltheirredoubledchances，beforeourhomecirclecouldbemadewholeagain。Ireadon，andtherestlistened，tillthewheelsoftheoldstagemadethemselvesheardintheirapproachthroughtheabsolutesilenceofthevillagestreet。Thenweshutthebookandallwentdowntothegatetogether，andpartedunderthepaleskyoftheOctobernight。TherewasoneofthehomegroupwhomIwasnottoseeagain：theyoungbrotherwhodiedintheblossomofhisyearsbeforeIreturnedfrommyfarandstrangesojourn。Hewastooyoungthentoshareourreadingofthenovel，butwhenIranuptohisroomtobidhimgood—byIfoundhimawake，and，withachinghearts，webadeeachothergood—byforever！
　　XXVIII。DANTE
　　IranthroughanItaliangrammaronmywayacrosstheAtlantic，andfrommyknowledgeofLatin，Spanish，andFrench，Isoonhadareadingacquaintancewiththelanguage。IhadreallywantedtogotoGermany，thatImightcarryforwardmystudiesinGermanliterature，andIfirstappliedfortheconsulateatMunich。ThepowersatWashingtonthoughtitquitethesamethingtooffermeRome;butIfoundthattheincomeoftheRomanconsulatewouldnotgivemealiving，andIwasforcedtodeclineit。ThenthePresident’sprivatesecretaries，Mr。JohnNicolayandMr。
　　JohnHay，whodidnotknowmeexceptasayoungWesternerwhohadwrittenpoemsintheAtlanticMonthly，askedmehowIwouldlikeVenice，andpromisedthattheywouldhavethesalaryputuptoathousandayear，underthenewlawtoembarrassprivateers。Itwasreallyputuptofifteenhundred，andwiththisincomeassuredmeIwentouttothecitywhoseinfluencechangedthewholecourseofmyliterarylife。
　　Noprivateersevercame，thoughIoncehadnoticefromTurinthattheFloridahadbeensightedoffAncona;andIhadnearlyfouryearsofnearlyuninterruptedleisureatVenice，whichImeanttoemployinreadingallItalianliterature，andwritingahistoryoftherepublic。
　　Thehistory，ofcourse，Iexpectedwouldbealongaffair，andIdidnotquitesupposethatIcoulddespatchtheliteratureinanyshorttime;
　　besides，Ihadseveralconsiderablepoemsonhandthatoccupiedmeagooddeal，andworkedattheseaswellasadvancedmyselfinItalian，preparatorytotheeffortsbeforeme。
　　IhadalreadyaslightgeneralnotionofItalianlettersfromLeighHunt，andfromotheragreeableEnglishItalianates;andIknewthatIwantedtoreadnotonlythefourgreatpoets，Dante，Petrarch，Ariosto，andTasso，butthatwholegroupofburlesquepoets，Pulci，Berni，andtherest，who，fromwhatIknewofthem，Ithoughtwouldbeevenmoretomymind。Asamatteroffact，andintheprocessoftime，Ididreadsomewhatofallthese，butratherintheminorthanthemajorway;andIsoonwentofffromthemtothestudyofthemodernpoets，novelists，andplaywrightswhointerestedmesomuchmore。AftermywontedfashionIreadhalfadozenoftheseauthorstogether，sothatitwouldbehardtosaywhichI
　　beganwith，butIhadreallyadevotiontoDante，thoughnotatthattime，oreverforthewholeofDante。DuringmyfirstyearinVeniceI
　　metaningeniouspriest，whohadbeenatutorinapatricianfamily，andwhowaswillingtoleadmyfalteringstepsthroughthe"Inferno。"Thispartofthe"DivineComedy"Ireadwithabeginner’scarefulness，andwitharaptureinitsbeauties，whichIwillwhisperthereaderdonotappearineveryline。
　　AgainIsayitisagreatpitythatcriticismisnothonestaboutthemasterpiecesofliterature，anddoesnotconfessthattheyarenoteverymomentmasterly，thattheyareoftendullandtoughanddry，asiscertainlythecasewithDante’s。Someday，perhaps，weshallhavethiswayoftreatingliterature，andthentheloverofitwillnotfeelobligedtobrowbeathimselfintothebeliefthatifheisnotalwaysenjoyinghimselfitishisownfault。AtanyrateIwillpermitmyselftheluxuryoffranklysayingthatwhileIhadadeepsenseofthemajestyandgrandeurofDante’sdesign，manypointsofitsexecutionboredme，andthatIfoundtheintermixtureofsmalllocalfactandneighborhoodhistoryinthefabricofhisloftycreationnopartofitsnoblesteffect。WhatismarvellousinitisitsexpressionofDante’spersonality，andIcanneverthinkthathispersonalitiesenhanceitsgreatnessasaworkofart。Ienjoyedthem，however，andIenjoyedthemthemore，astheinnumerableperspectivesofItalianhistorybegantoopenallaboutme。Then，indeed，IunderstoodtheoriginsifIdidnotunderstandtheaimsofDante，whichthereisstillmuchdisputeaboutamongthosewhoprofesstoknowthemclearly。WhatIfinallyperceivedwasthathispoemcamethroughhimfromtheheartofItalianlife，suchasitwasinhistime，andthatwhateveritteaches，hispoemexpressesthatlife，inallitssplendorandsqualor，itsbeautyanddeformity，itsloveanditshate。
　　Criticismmaytormentthissenseorthatsenseoutofit，butattheendoftheendsthe"DivineComedy"willstandforthepatriotismofmedievalItaly，asfarasitsethicsisconcerned，andforaprofoundandloftyidealofbeauty，asfarasitsaestheticsisconcerned。Thisisvagueenoughandslightenough，Imustconfess，butImustconfessalsothatIhadnotevenaconceptionofsomuchwhenIfirstreadthe"Inferno。"Iwentatitverysimply，andmyenjoymentofitwasthatsortwhichfindsitsaccountinthefinepassages，thebrilliantepisodes，thestrikingpictures。ThiswastheeffectwithmeofallthecriticismwhichIhadhithertoread，andIamnotsureyetthatthecriticismwhichtriestobeofalargerscope，andtoseethings"whole，"
　　isofanydefiniteeffect。Asamatteroffactweseenothingwhole，neitherlifenorart。Wearesomade，insoulandinsense，thatwecandealonlywithparts，withpoints，withdegrees;andtheendeavortocompassanyentiretymustinvolveadiscomfortandadangerverythreateningtoourintellectualintegrity。
　　Orifthispostulateisasuntenableasalltheothers，stillIamverygladthatIdidnotthenloseanyfactofthemajesty，andbeauty，andpathosofthegreatcertainmeasuresforthesakeofthatfourthdimensionofthepoemwhichisnotyetmadepalpableorvisible。Itookmysadheart’sfillofthesadstoryof"PaoloandFrancesca，"whichI
　　alreadyknewinLeighHunt’sadorabledilution，andmostofthelinesreadthemselvesintomymemory，wheretheylingeryet。IsuppedonthehorrorsofUgolino’sfatewiththestronggustofyouth，whichfindsevery，exerciseofsympathyapleasure。Mygoodpriestsatbesidemeintheserichmoments，knottinginhislapthecalicohandkerchiefofthesnuff—taker，andenteringwithtremulouseagernessintomyjoyinthingsthathehadoftenbeforeenjoyed。Nodoubthehadaninexhaustiblepleasureinthemapartfrommine，forIhavefoundmypleasureinthemperennial，andhavenotfailedtotasteitasoftenasIhavereadorrepeatedanyofthegreatpassagesofthepoemtomyself。Thispleasurecameoftenfromsomevitalphrase，ormerelytheinspiredmusicofaphrasequiteapartfromitsmeaning。Ididnotgetthen，andIhavenotgotsince，adistinctconceptionofthejourneythroughHell，andasoftenasIhavetriedtounderstandthetopographyofthepoemIhavefatiguedmyselftonopurpose，butIdonotthinktheessentialmeaningwaslostuponme。
　　Idaresaymypriesthadhisnotionofthegeneralshapeandpurport，thegrossmaterialbodyofthething，buthedidnottroublemewithit，whilewesattrancedtogetherinthepresenceofitssoul。Heseemed，attimes，solostinthebeatificvision，thatheforgotmystumblingsinthephilologicaldarkness，tillIappealedtohimforhelp。ThenhewouldreadaloudwiththatmagnificentrhythmtheItalianshaveinreadingtheirverse，andtheobscuredmeaningwouldseemtoshineoutofthemeremusicofthepoem，likethecolortheblindfeelinsound。
　　Idonotknowwhathasbecomeofhim，butifheisliketherestofthestrangegroupofmyguides，philosophers，andfriendsinliterature——theprinter，theorgan—builder，themachinist，thedrug—clerk，andthebookbinder——Iamafraidheisdead。Infact，IwhowasthenI，mightbesaidtobedeadtoo，solittleismypastselflikemypresentselfinanythingbutthe"increasingpurpose"whichhaskeptmeoneinmyloveofliterature。Hewasagentleandkindlyman，withalifeandalonging，quiteapartfromhisvocation，whichwereneverlivedorfulfilled。
　　IdidnotseehimafterheceasedtoreadDantewithme，andinfactI
　　wasinstructedbythesuspicionsofmyItalianfriendstobecarefulhowIconsortedwithapriest，whomightverywellbeanAustrianspy。
　　Ipartedwithhimfornosuchpicturesquereason，forIneverbelievedhimotherthanthetruestandfaithfulestoffriends，butbecauseIwasthengivingmyselfmoreentirelytoworkinwhichhecouldnothelpme。
　　Naturallyenoughthiswasalongpoemintheterzarimaofthe"DivinaCommedia，"anddealingwithastoryofourcivilwarinafashionsoremotethatnoeditorwouldprintit。ThiswasthefirstfruitsandthelastofmyreadingofDante，inverse，anditwasnotsolikeDanteasI
　　wouldhavelikedtomakeit;butDanteisnoteasytoimitate;heistoounconscious，andtoosingle，toobentuponsayingthethingthatisinhim，withwhateverbeautyinheresinit，toputonthegracesthatothersmaycatch。
　　XXIX。GOLDONI，MANZONI，D’AZEGLIO
　　However，thispoemonlysharedthefateofnearly，alltheothersthatI
　　wroteatthistime;theycamebacktomewithunfailingregularityfromallthemagazineeditorsoftheEnglish—speakingworld;IhadnosuccesswithanyofthemtillIsentMr。LowellapaperonrecentItaliancomedyfortheNorthAmericanReview，whichheandProfessorNortonhadthenbeguntoedit。IwasinthemeantimeprintingthematerialofVenetianLifeandtheItalianJourneysinaBostonnewspaperafteritsrejectionbythemagazines;andmyliterarylife，almostwithoutmywillingit，hadtakenthecourseofcriticalobservanceofbooksandmenintheiractuality。
　　Thatistosay，Iwasstudyingmanners，intheeldersenseoftheword，whereverIcouldgetattheminthefranklifeofthepeopleaboutme，andinsuchliteratureofItalyaswasthenmodern。InthispursuitI
　　madeadiscoverythatgreatlyinterestedme，andthatspecializedmyinquiries。IfoundthattheItalianshadnonovelswhichtreatedoftheircontemporarylife;thattheyhadnomodernfictionbutthehistoricalromance。IfoundthatifIwishedtoknowtheirlifefromtheirliteratureImustgototheirdrama，whichwaseventhenendeavoringtogivetheir，stageafaithfulpictureoftheircivilization。Therewaseventheninthenewcircumstanceofapeoplejustliberatedfromeveryvarietyofintellectualrepressionandpoliticaloppression，agroupofdramaticauthors，whoseplayswerenotonlydelightfultoseebutdelightfultoread，workinginthegoodtraditionofoneofthegreatestrealistswhohaseverlived，andproducingadramaofvitalstrengthandcharm。Oneofthem，whomIbynomeansthoughtthebest，hasgivenusaplay，knowntoalltheworld，whichIamalmostreadytothinkwithZolaisthegreatestplayofmoderntimes;orifitisnotso，Ishouldbepuzzledtonamethemoderndramathatsurpasses"LaMorteCivile"ofPaoloGiacometti。Ilearnedtoknowallthedramatistsprettywell，inthewholerangeoftheirwork，onthestageandinthecloset，andIlearnedtoknowstillbetter，andtolovesupremely，thefine，amiablegeniuswhom，asoneofthemsaid，theydidnotsomuchimitateaslearnfromtoimitatenature。
　　ThiswasCarloGoldoni，oneofthefirstoftherealists，butantedatingconsciousrealismsolongastohavebeenbornatVeniceearlyintheeighteenthcentury，andtohavecometohishand—to—handfightwiththeromanticismofhisdayalmostbeforethatcenturyhadreacheditsnoon。
　　IntheearlysixtiesofourowncenturyIwasnomoreconsciousofhisrealismthanhewashimselfahundredyearsbefore;butIhadeyesinmyhead，andIsawthatwhathehadseeninVenicesolongbeforewassotruethatitwastheverylifeofVeniceinmyownday;andbecauseI
　　havelovedthetruthinartaboveallotherthings，IfellinstantlyandlastinglyinlovewithCarloGoldoni。Iwasreadinghismemoirs，andlearningtoknowhissweet，honest，simplenaturewhileIwaslearningtoknowhiswork，andIwishthateveryonewhoreadshisplayswouldreadhislifeaswell;onemustknowhimbeforeonecanfullyknowthem。I
　　believe，infact，thathisautobiographycameintomyhandsfirst。But，atanyrate，bothareassociatedwiththefervorsandlanguorsofthatfirstsummerinVenice，sothatIcannotnowtakeupabookofGoldoni’swithoutarenewedsenseofthatsunlightandmoonlight，andofthesoundsandsilencesofacitythatisatoncethestillestandshrillestintheworld。
　　PerhapsbecauseIneverfoundhisworkofgreatethicaloraestheticalproportions，butrecognizedthatitpretendedtobegoodonlywithinitsstrictlimitations，Irecurtoitnowwithoutthatpainfulfeelingofadiminishedgrandeurinit，whichattendsussooftenwhenwegobacktosomethingthatoncegreatlypleasedus。ItseemedtomeatthetimethatImusthavereadallhiscomediesinVenice，butIkeptreadingnewonesafterIcamehome，andstillIcantakeavolumeofhisfromtheshelf，andwhenthirtyyearsarepast，findaplayortwothatImissedbefore。
　　Theirnumberisverygreat，butperhapsthosethatIfancyIhavenotread，Ihavereallyreadonceormoreandforgotten。Thatmightveryeasilybe，forthereisseldomanythingmorepoignantinanyoneofthemthanthereisintheaveragecourseofthings。Theplaysarelightandamusingtranscriptsfromlife，forthemostpart，andwhereattimestheydeepenintopowerfulsituations，orexpressstrongemotions，theydosowithpersonssolittledifferentfromtheaverageofouracquaintancethatwedonotrememberjustwhothepersonsare。
　　Thereisnodoubtbutthekindlyplaywrighthadhisconscience，andmeanttomakepeoplethinkaswellaslaugh。Iknowofnoneofhisplaysthatisofwrongeffect，orthatviolatestheinstinctsofpurity，orinsultscommonsensewiththeromanticpretencethatwrongwillberightifyouwillonlypaintitrose—color。Heisatsomeobviouspainsto"punishviceandrewardvirtue，"butIdonotmeanthateasymoralitywhenI
　　praisehis;Imeanthemoredifficultsortthatrecognizesineachman’ssoulthearbiternotofhisfatesurely，butsurelyofhispeace。Henevermakesafoolofthespectatorbyfeigningthatpassionisareasonorjustification，orthatsufferingofonekindcanatoneforwrongofanother。Thatwasleftfortheromanticistsofourowncenturytodiscover;eventheromanticistswhomGoldonidrovefromthestage，wereofthatsimplereighteenth—centurysortwhohadnotyetliberatedtheindividualfromsociety，butheldhimaccountableintheoldway。AsforGoldonihimself，heapparentlyneverdreamsoftransgression;heisofratheranexplicitconventionalityinmostthings，andhedealswithsocietyassomethingfinallysettled。Howartfullyhedealswithit，howdecently，howwholesomely，thosewhoknow，Venetiansocietyoftheeighteenthcenturyhistorically，willperceivewhentheyrecalltheadequateimpressionhegivesofitwithoutoffenceincharacterorlanguageorsituation。Thisistheperpetualmiracleofhiscomedy，thatitsayssomuchtoexperienceandworldlywisdom，andsolittletoinexperienceandworldlyinnocence。NodoubttheSerenestRepublicwasverystrictwiththetheatre，andsufferedittoholdthemirroruptonatureonlywhennaturewasbehavingwell，oratleastbehavingasifyoungpeoplewerepresent。YettheItaliansareratherplain—spoken，andtheyrecognizefactswhichourcompanymannersatleastdonotadmittheexistenceof。IshouldsaythatGoldoniwasalmostEnglish，almostAmerican，indeed，inhisobservanceoftheproprieties，andIlikethisinhim;thoughtheproprietiesarenotvirtues，theyareverygoodthings，andatleastarebetterthantheimproprieties。
　　This，however，Imustown，hadnotagreatdealtodowithmylikinghimsomuch，andIshouldbepuzzledtoaccountformypassion，asmuchinhiscaseasinmostothers。Iftherewasanyreasonforit，perhapsitwasthathehadthepoweroftakingmeoutofmylife，andputtingmeintothelivesofothers，whomIfelttobehumanbeingsasmuchasmyself。Tomakeoneliveinothers，thisisthehighesteffectofreligionaswellasofart，andpossiblyitwillbethehighestblissweshalleverknow。Idonotpretendthatmytranslationwasthroughmyunselfishness;itwasdistinctlythroughthatselfishnesswhichperceivesthatselfismisery;andImayaswellconfessherethatIdonotregardtheartisticecstasyasinanysortnoble。Itisnotnobletolovethebeautiful，ortoliveforit，orbyit;anditmayevennotberefining。
　　Iwouldnothaveanyreaderofmine，lookingforwardtosomeaestheticcareer，supposethatthisloveisanymeritinitself;itmaybethegrossestegotism。Ifyoucannotlookbeyondtheendyouaimat，andseekthegoodwhichisnotyourown，allyoursacrificeistoyourselfandnotofyourself，andyoumightaswellbegoingintobusiness。Initselfandforitselfitisnomorehonorabletowinfamethantomakemoney，andthewishtodotheoneisnomoreelevatingthanthewishtodotheother。
　　ButinthedaysIwriteofIhadnoconceptionofthis，andIamsurethatmyblindnesstosoplainafactkeptmeevenfromseekingandknowingthehighestbeautyinthethingsIworshipped。IbelievethatifIhadbeensensibleofitIshouldhaysreadmuchmoreofsuchhumaneItalianpoetsandnovelistsasManzoniandD’Azeglio，whomIperceivedtobedelightful，withoutdreamingoftheminthelengthandbreadthoftheirgoodness。Nowandthenitsextentflasheduponme，buttheglimpsewaslosttomyretrovertedvisionalmostassoonaswon。ItisonlyinthinkingbacktotherethatIcanrealizehowmuchtheymightalwayshavemeanttome。TheywerebothlivinginmytimeinItaly，andtheyweretwomenwhomIshouldnowlikeverymuchtohaveseen，ifIcouldhavedonesowithoutthatfutilitywhichseemstoattendeveryefforttopayone’sdutytosuchmen。
　　TheloveofcountryinalltheItalianpoetsandromancersofthelongperiodofthenationalresurrectionennobledtheirartinameasurewhichcriticismhasnotyettakenaccountof。Iconceivedofitseffectthen，butIconceivedofitasamisfortune，afatality;nowIambynomeanssurethatitwasso;hereafterthecreationofbeauty，aswecallit，forbeauty’ssake，maybeconsideredsomethingmonstrous。Thereisforeverapoignantmeaninginlifebeyondwhatmerelivinginvolves，andwhyshouldnottherebethisreferenceinarttotheendsbeyondart？
　　Thesituation，thelongpatience，thehopeagainsthope，dignifiedandbeautifiedthenatureoftheItalianwritersofthatday，andevokedfromthemaqualitywhichIwastoolittletrainedintheirschooltoappreciate。ButinasortIdidfeelit，Ididknowitinthemall，sofarasIknewanyofthem，andinthetragediesofManzoni，andintheromancesofD’Azeglio，andyetmoreinthesimpleandmodestrecordsofD’Azeglio’slifepublishedafterhisdeath，Iprofitedbyit，andunconsciouslypreparedmyselfforthatpointofviewwhencealltheartsappearonewithalltheuses，andthereisnothingbeautifulthatisfalse。
　　IamverygladofthatexperienceofItalianliterature，whichIlookbackuponasaltogetherwholesomeandsanative，aftermyexcessesofHeine。NodoubtitwasallaminoraffairascomparedwithequalknowledgeofFrenchliterature，andsofaritwasalossoftime。Itisidletodisputethegeneralpositionsofcriticism，andthereisnousefulgainsayingitsjudgmentthatFrenchliteratureisamajorliteratureandItalianaminorliteratureinthiscentury;butwhetherthisverdictwillstandforalltime，theremaybeareasonabledoubt。
　　Criterionsmaychange，andhereafterpeoplemaylookatthewholeaffairsodifferentlythataliteraturewhichwenttothemakingofapeoplewillnotbeaccountedaminorliterature，butwilltakeitsplacewiththegreatliterarymovements。
　　Idonotinsistuponthispossibility，andIamfarfromdefendingmyselfforlikingthecomediesofGoldonibetterthanthecomediesofMoliere，uponpurelyaestheticgrounds，wherethereisnoquestionastotheartisticquality。PerhapsitisbecauseIcametoMoliere’scomedieslater，andwithmytasteformedforthoseofGoldoni;butagain，itishereamatterofaffection;IfindGoldoniformemoresympathetic，andbecauseheismoresympatheticIcannotdootherwisethanfindhimmorenatural，moretrue。Iwillallowthatthisisvulnerable，andasIsay，Idonotdefendit。MolierehasaplaceinliteratureinfinitelyloftierthanGoldoni’s;andhehassuppliedtypes，characters，phrases，tothecurrencyofthought，andGoldonihassuppliednone。Itis，therefore，withoutreasonwhichIcanallegethatIenjoyGoldonimore。Iamperfectlywillingtoberatedlowformypreference，andyetIthinkthatifithadbeenGoldoni’slucktohavehadthegreatageofamightymonarchyforhisscene，insteadofthedeclineofanoutwornrepublic，hisplaceinliteraturemighthavebeendifferent。
　　XXX。"PASTORFIDO，""AMINTA，""ROMOLA，""YEAST，""PAULFERROLL"
　　Ihavealwayshadagreatlovefortheabsolutelyunreal，thepurelyfancifulinallthearts，aswellasoftheabsolutelyreal;Iliketheoneonafarlowerplanethantheother，butitdelightsme，asapantomimeatatheatredoes，oracomicopera，whichhasitsbeingwhollyoutsidetherealmoftheprobabilities。WhenIoncetransportmyselftothissphereIhavenolongeranycareforthem，andifIcouldIwouldnotexactofthemanallegiancewhichhasnoconcernwiththem。ForthisreasonIhavealwaysvastlyenjoyedtheartificialitiesofpastoralpoetry;andinVeniceIreadwithapleasurefewseriouspoemshavegivenmethe"PastorFido"ofGuarini。Icamelaterbutnotwithfainterzesttothe"Aminta"ofTasso，withoutwhich，perhaps，the"PastorFido"wouldnothavebeen，andIrevelledintheprettyimpossibilitiesofboththesecharmingeffectsoftheliberatedimagination。
　　Idonottheleastcondemnthatsortofthing;onedoesnotlivebysweets，unlessoneiswillingtospoilone’sdigestion;butonemaynowandthenindulgeone’sselfwithoutharm，andasugar—plumortwoafterdinnermayevenbeofadvantage。WhatIobjecttoistheromanticthingwhichaskstobeacceptedwithallitsfantasticalityonthegroundofreality;thatseemstomehopelesslybad。ButIhavebeenabletodwellintheircharmingout—landorno—landwiththeshepherdsandshepherdessesandnymphs，satyrs，andfauns，ofTassoandGuarini，andI
　　takethefinestpleasureintheircompany，theirDresdenchinalovesandsorrows，theirairyraptures，theirpainlessthroes，theirpoliteanguish，theirtearsnottheleastsalt，butflowingassweetasthepurlingstreamsoftheirenamelledmeadows。Iwishthereweremoreofthatsortofwriting;Ishouldlikeverymuchtoreadit。
　　ThegreaterpartofmyreadinginVenice，whenIbegantofindthatI
　　couldnothelpwritingabouttheplace，wasinbooksrelatingtoitslifeandhistory，whichImadeuseofratherthanfoundpleasurein。MystudiesinItalianliteraturewerefullofthemostcharminginterest，andifIhadtoreadagoodmanybooksforconscience’sake，therewereagoodmanyothersIreadfortheirownsake。Theywerechieflypoetry;
　　andafterthefirstessaysinwhichItastedtheclassicpoets，theywerechieflythebooksofthemodernpoets。
　　ForthepresentIwentnofartherinGermanliterature，andIrecurredtoitinlateryearsonlyfordeeperandfullerknowledgeofHeine;mySpanishwasignored，asallfirstlovesarewhenonehasreachedtheageoftwenty—six。MyEnglishreadingwasalmostwhollyintheTauchnitzeditions，forotherwiseEnglishbookswerenoteasilycomeatthenandthere。GeorgeEliot’s’Romola’wasthennew，andIreaditagainandagainwiththesenseofmoralenlargementwhichthefirstfictiontoconceiveofthetruenatureofevilgaveallofuswhowereyounginthatday。TitoMalemawasnotonlyalesson，hewasarevelation，andI
　　trembledbeforehimasinthepresenceofawarningandamessagefromtheonlyveritableperdition。Hislife，inwhichsomuchthatwasgoodwasmixed，withsomuchthatwasbad，lightedupthewholedomainofegotismwithitsglare，andmadeonefeelhownearthebestandtheworstweretoeachother，andhowtheysometimestouchedwithoutabsolutedivisionintextureandcolor。Thebookwasundoubtedlyafavoriteofmine，andIdidnotseethentheartisticfalteringsinitwhichwereafterwardsevidenttome。
　　TherewerenotRomolastoreadallthetime，though，andIhadtodevolveuponinferiorauthorsformyfictionthegreaterpartofthetime。Ofcourse，Ikeptupwith’OurMutualFriend，’whichDickenswasthenwriting，andwith’Philip，’whichwastobethelastofThackeray。IwasnotyetsufficientlyinstructedtoappreciateTrollope，andIdidnotreadhimatall。
　　IgotholdofKingsley，andread’Yeast，’andIthinksomeothernovelsofhis，withgreatrelish，andwithoutsensibilitytohisCharlesReadeishlapsesfromhisartintothematerialofhisart。ButofalltheminorfictionthatIreadatthistimenoneimpressedmesomuchasthreebookswhichhadthenalreadyhadtheirvogue，andwhichIknewsomewhatfromreviews。TheywerePaulFerroll，’WhyPaulFerrollKilledHisWife，’and’DayafterDay。’Thefirsttwowere，ofcourse，relatedtoeachother，andtheywereallthreefullofunwholesomeforce。AstotheiraestheticmeritIwillnotsayanything，forIhavenotlookedateitherofthebooksforthirtyyears。Ifancy，however，thattheirstrengthwasratherofthetetanicthanthetitanicsort。Theymadeyoursympathiesgowiththehero，whodeliberatelyputshiswifetodeathforthelieshetoldtobreakoffhismarriagewiththewomanhehadloved，andwhothenmarriesthistenderandgentlegirl，andlivesingreathappinesswithhertillherdeath。MurderinthefirstdegreeisflatteredbyhisfateuptothepointoflettinghimdiepeacefullyinBostonafterthesedealingsofhisinEngland;andaltogetherhisstorycouldnotbecommendedtopeoplewithamorbidtasteforbloodshed。
　　Naturallyenoughthebookswerewrittenbyaperfectlygoodwoman，thewifeofanEnglishclergyman，whosefriendsweregreatlyscandalizedbythem。Asasortofatonementshewrote’DayafterDay，’thestoryofadismalandjoylessorphan，whodiestothesoundofangelicmusic，faintandfarheard，fillingthewholechamber。Acarefullerstudyofthephenomenonrevealsthefactthattheseraphicstrainsareproducedbythesteamescapingfromthehot—waterbottlesatthefeetoftheinvalid。
　　Asusual，Iamnotablefullytoaccountformylikingofthesebooks，andIamsofarfromwishingtojustifyitthatIthinkIoughtrathertoexcuseit。ButsinceIwasreallygreatlyfascinatedwiththem，andreadthemwithanevergrowingfascination，theonlyhonestthingtodoistoownmysubjectiontothem。Itwouldbeaninterestingandimportantquestionforcriticismtostudy，thatquestionwhycertainbooksata。
　　certaintimegreatlydominateourfancy，andothersmanifestlybetterhavenoinfluencewithus。AcuriousproofofthesubtletyofthesePaulFerrollbooksintheappealtheymadetotheimaginationisthefactthatIcametothemfreshfrom’Romolo，’andfullofhorrorformyselfinTito;yetIsympathizedthroughoutwithPaulFerroll，andwasgladwhenhegotaway。
　　XXXI。ERCKMANN—CHATRIAN，BJORSTJERNEBJORNSON
　　OnmyreturntoAmerica，myliterarylifeimmediatelytooksuchformthatmostofmyreadingwasdoneforreview。Iwroteatfirstagoodmanyofthelightercriticismsin’TheNation’，atNewYork，andafterIwenttoBostontobecometheassistanteditorofthe’AtlanticMonthly’Iwrotetheliterarynoticesinthatperiodicalforfourorfiveyears。
　　ItwasonlywhenIcameintofullchargeofthemagazinethatIbegantosharetheselaborswithothers，andIcontinuedtheminsomemeasureaslongasIhadanyrelationtoit。Myreadingforreading’ssake，asI
　　hadhithertodoneit，wasatanend，andIreadprimarilyforthesakeofwritingaboutthebookinhand，andsecondarilyforthepleasureitmightgiveme。Thiswasalwaysconsiderable，andsometimessogreatthatI
　　forgotthecriticinit，andreadonandonforpleasure。IwasmastertoreviewthisbookorthatasIchose，andgenerallyIreviewedonlybooksIlikedtoread，thoughsometimesIfeltthatIoughttodoabook，anddiditfromasenseofduty;theseperfunctorycriticismsIdonotthinkwereveryuseful，butItriedtomakethemhonest。
　　Inalongsickness，whichIhadshortlyafterIwenttoliveinCambridge，afriendbroughtmeseveralofthestoriesofErckmann—
　　Chatrian，whompeoplewerethenreadingmuchmorethantheyarenow，I
　　believe;andIhadagreatjoyinthem，whichIhaverenewedsinceasoftenasIhavereadoneoftheirbooks。TheyhavemuchthesamequalityofsimpleandsincerelymoralizedrealismthatIfoundafterwardsintheworkoftheearlySwissrealist，JeremiasGotthelf，andverylikelyitwasthisthatcaptivatedmyjudgment。Asformyaffections，batteredandexhaustedastheyoughttohavebeeninmanyliterarypassions，theyneverwentoutwithfresherenjoymentthantheydidtothecharmingstoryof’L’AmiFritz，’which，whenImerelynameit，breathesthespringsunandairaboutme，andfillsmysenseswiththebeautyandsweetnessofcherryblossoms。Itisoneoftheloveliestandkindestbooksthateverwaswritten，andmyheartbelongstoitstill;tobesureitbelongstoseveralhundredsofotherbooksinequalentirety。
　　ItbelongstoallthebooksofthegreatNorwegianBjorstjerneBjornson，whose’Arne，’andwhose’HappyBoy，’andwhose’FisherMaiden’Ireadinthissamefortunatesickness。IhavesincereadeveryotherbookofhisthatIcouldlayhandson：’SinnoveSolbakken，’and’Magnhild，’and’CaptainManzanca，’and’Dust，’and’InGod’sWays，’and’Sigurd，’andplayslike"TheGlove"and"TheBankrupt。"Hehasnever，assomeauthorshave，dwindledinmysense;whenIopenhispage，thereIfindhimaslarge，andfree，andboldasever。Heisagreattalent，aclearconscience，abeautifulart。Hehasmylovenotonlybecauseheisapoetofthemostexquisiteverity，butbecauseheisaloverofmen，withafaithinthemsuchascanmovemountainsofignorance，anddulness，andgreed。HeisnexttoTolstoyinhiswillingnesstogivehimselfforhiskind;ifhewouldrathergivehimselfinfightingthaninsufferingwrong，Idonotknowthathisself—sacrificeislessindegree。