Part 2

The fashion of this world passed away, but the fashion of those things which belonged to the world of imagination--and it was most emphatically in that world that Mr. Browning had worked--endured and never passed. In 1848 Mr. Browning said in a preface to a collection of his poems that many of them were out of print and of the rest a great number had been withdrawn from circulation, which implied that even at that time the size of his public was very small. But he had fully demonstrated that he stood in no need of a Browning Society to reinforce his native vigor, for, in spite of the indifference of the public, he had constantly gone on, from that time to this, producing and deepening the impression which he had made upon all thinking minds. It had been said that he had no sense of form, but this question depended upon the meaning to be attached to that word. One thing he thought was certain, and that was that men who had discussed form most, as for instance Goethe, had not always been the most successful in producing examples of it. Certainly no one with any sense of form could call “Faust” other than formless. If form meant the use of adequate and harmonious means to produce a certain artistic end, then he knew no one who had given truer examples of it than the great poet after whom that society took its name. He thought there was one danger in a Browning Society, which was that it might lead them to be partisans, and he thought he had seen some symptoms of it. They might be apt to insist upon people admiring the inferior work of the artist with his better work, and this he thought would be an evil. Every one who read Browning with attention, and who loved him, must at the same time admit that he was occasionally whirled away by the sweep and torrent of his own abundance. But after making these deductions, there was no poet who had given us a greater variety or who had shown more originality. Mr. Browning abided with them. He was not a fashion, nor did he belong to any one period of their lives. What they felt more clearly than anything else was his strength. He was of all others a masculine, a virile poet.

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V.

AT THE UNVEILING OF THE GRAY MEMORIAL.

The following address was delivered on the occasion of the unveiling of the bust of the poet Gray in the hall of Pembroke College, Cambridge, May 26, 1885:

I have been asked to say a few words, but they must be very few, as the train is waiting for me that takes me back to keep an engagement. Mr. Gosse has told you he has been present at many memorial unveilings, and the newspapers inform me that I also have been present at the unveiling of perhaps too many. But never have I been present on any occasion with more pleasure than on this. You have now, in the words which Lord Houghton quoted, and which I would extend in a wider sense than he did, a beautiful memorial to Gray in permanent form. We also, thanks to Mr. Gosse, possess a photograph of this memorial in permanent form. But we have in our hearts and memories, I think, a memorial to the man quite as true and quite as permanent--that is, permanent for us. Very few words are fitting on an occasion which commemorates the one of the English poets who has written less and pleased more perhaps than any other. There is a certain appropriateness in my speaking here to-day. I come here to speak simply as the representative of several countrymen and countrywomen of mine who have renewed that affirmation, which I like always to renew, of the unity of our English race by giving something more solid than words in commemoration of the poet they loved. And, I think there is another claim which I perhaps have for speaking here to-day, and that is that the most picturesque anecdote relative to the life of Gray--perhaps the most picturesque related of the life of any poet, certainly of any English poet--belongs to the Western hemisphere; I mean the anecdote which connects the name of Wolfe with that of Gray. Nothing could have been more picturesque than the surroundings of that saying of Wolfe’s--of that English hero--and nothing could have been more momentous than the action and the consequence that followed from it, and which made the United States, which I have lately represented, possible. That, I think, gives me a certain right also to speak here.

I know that sometimes criticisms are made upon Gray. I think I have often heard him called by some of our juniors “commonplace.” Upon my word, I think it a compliment. I think it shows a certain generality of application in what Gray has done, for if there is one thing more than another--I say this to the young men whom I see seated around both sides of the hall--which insures the lead in life, it is the commonplace. I have to measure my poets, my authors, by their lasting power, and I find Gray has a great deal of it. He not only pleases my youth and my age, but he pleases other people’s youth and age; and I cannot help thinking this is a proof that he touches on human nature at a great many periods and at a great many levels, and, perhaps, that is as high a compliment as can be paid to the poet. There is, I admit, a certain commonplaceness of sentiment in his most famous poem, but I think there is also a certain commonplaceness of sentiment in some verses that have been famous for more than 3000 years. I think that when Homer saw somebody smiling through her tears he said, on the whole, a commonplace thing, but it touched our feelings for a great many centuries; and I think that in the “Elegy in a Country Churchyard” Gray has expressed a simple sentiment, and as long as there are young men and middle-aged men, Gray’s poem will continue to be read and loved as in the days when it was written. There is a Spanish proverb which rebukes those people who ask something better than bread. Let those who ask for something better get something better than what Gray produced. For my own part I ask nothing better. He was, perhaps, the greatest artist in words that English literature has possessed. In conclusion, let me say one word for myself. This will probably be the last occasion on which I shall have the opportunity of addressing Englishmen in public; and I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude for the kindness which has surrounded me both in my official and private life, and to say that while I came here as a far-off cousin, I feel you are sending me away as something like a brother.

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VI.

BEFORE THE TOWN COUNCIL OF THE CITY OF WORCESTER.

The following reply from the Hon. J. RUSSELL LOWELL to an address presented to him by the Mayor of Worcester on behalf of the citizens was read at the meeting of the Worcester Town Council on the evening of June 2, 1885, and ordered to be recorded on the minutes:

MR. MAYOR AND GENTLEMEN,--While I cannot but feel highly honored by the beautiful proof you have just given me that I am not forgotten by the ever-faithful city, I value even more the kindly sentiment which prompted it, and to which you have given such graceful expression. I am well aware that it is to what I represent far more than to any merit of my own that I owe this distinction, and that consciousness makes it doubly grateful to me. They who endured exile and danger and every form of hardship to found the great kindred commonwealth beyond the sea--and what that exile must have been they only can feel who know how beautiful and how justly dear was the land they left--took with them, not only such seeds as would bear good fruit for the body, but those also of many a familiar flower that could serve only as food for sentiment and affection. Yet the most precious gems of all were those of memory and tradition, that had the gift of fern-seed to go with them invisibly.

They could not forget the land of their birth, nor can we, their descendants, forget the land of our ancestry. They fondly gave the old names to the new hamlets they were planting in the wilderness. The central county of my native State is a namesake of yours. It calls itself proudly the heart of the Commonwealth, and its beautiful chief city is Worcester. You knew how to touch a chord of tenderest association when, four years ago, you claimed me as of Worcestershire because my forefathers (the Lowells) had been so. You have been pleased, Sir, to say that I have done something to strengthen the good feeling between the two great households of the English family. I am glad to think that I in any way deserve this praise, for I look upon that good feeling as of vital interest to the best hopes and aspirations of mankind. I am sure that you will find my excellent successor animated by the same sentiment, and as happy as I have always been, while warmly loyal to the country that is and should be the dearest of all, to recognize ties of blood, of language, and of kindred institutions which make England the next dearest.

As for me, Sir, the precious gift you have brought me, truly illuminated by its charming picture of buildings, some of them dear for their beauty, some because they recall your kindness or that of friends who have made me feel as if, when I went to Worcester, I was going home, is only another witness of that universal kindness (may I not say affection?) by which the land of my fathers has gone near to make me fancy that I was a son rather than a far-off cousin. As such it will always be justly dear to me and mine.

Wishing continued prosperity to the city of Worcester, I remain, etc.,

J. R. LOWELL.

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VII.

ON INTERNATIONAL ARBITRATION.

A numerous deputation from the Workmen’s Peace Association, headed by Mr. W. R. Cremer, waited on Mr. LOWELL, at the official residence in Albemarle street, on the evening of June 6, 1885, for the purpose of presenting to him an address preparatory to his leaving England for the United States. Mr. LOWELL, in reply, said:

I have been exceedingly touched latterly by the kindness which I have received here in England from all classes, but never have I been more profoundly touched than by the deputation that has now waited upon me to express the kind wishes of the English Workingmen. I have twice had the pleasure of addressing working men since I have been in England, and I have been gratified to find that, among all the audiences to whom I have spoken, there were none more intelligent. They were exceedingly quick to catch all points and exceedingly agreeable to talk to.

You must not think that I have forgotten the part taken by the working men of England during our civil war--I won’t say on behalf of the North, because now we are a united people--on the side of good order and freedom; and on the only occasion when I had an opportunity of saying so--that was when speaking to the provincial press in London--I alluded to the subject. I agree with you entirely on the importance of a good understanding and much more between England and the United States, and between the two chief branches of the Anglo-Saxon race. I think you exaggerate a good deal of my own merit in relation to anything of that sort, but I have always had a feeling about me that a war between the two countries would be a civil war, and I believe a cordial understanding between them to be absolutely essential, not only to the progress of reasonable liberty, but its preservation and its extension to other races. (_Hear, hear._)

It is a particular pleasure to me on another account to meet English workmen. I notice that, however ardent they may be in their aspirations and however theoretical on some points, they are always reasonable. The individual man may set the impossible before him as something to be obtained, but I think those communities of men have prospered the best who have aimed at what is possible. We see daily illustrations of that, and anybody who has studied the history of France would be convinced that, though England has a form of Government not so free as that country, yet you have made a greater advance towards good will among men and towards peace than France has done. I do not wish you to suppose that I am out of sympathy with what I call the French Revolution--although I consider it an enormous misfortune, which might have been prevented, and France saved from many evil consequences that followed--but the manner in which it took place we ought all to regard.

Since I have been in England I have done something, I trust, to promote a cordial feeling between this country and the United States. That has been my earnest desire always, and I hope I have to some extent succeeded. You will allow me to thank you warmly for this address, which I shall always feel to be among my most precious possessions, and I shall carry to the workmen on the other side of the Atlantic the message expressive of your sympathy and hope. I hope the occasion will not ever arise even for arbitration. I think if we can talk together face to face we shall be able to settle all differences. I am certain that the relations between the two countries are now of a most amicable and friendly kind, and I am sure that my successor is as strongly impressed as I could be with the necessity of strengthening those friendly relations. I trust the necessity for arbitration may never arise between us; I do not think it will.

You will again allow me to give you my most hearty and profound thanks for the kindness you have done me and to wish you all manner of prosperity. I trust also that that reign of peace to which you allude may come soon and last long. I appreciate extremely what Mr. Cremer said as to your sympathy with the Northern States in the Civil War, with whom no one could help sympathizing if they went to the root of the matter. I believe in peace as strongly as any man can do, but I believe also that there are occasions when war is less disastrous than peace; that there are times when one must resort to what goes before all law, and what, indeed, forms the foundation of it--the law of the strongest; and that, as a general rule, the strongest deserve to get the best of the struggle. They say satirically that God is on the side of the strong battalions, but I think they are sometimes in the right, and my experience goes to prove that.

[The address, engrossed on vellum, was afterwards transmitted to Mr. LOWELL in America.]

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VIII.

AT A ROYAL ACADEMY DINNER.

On Saturday evening, May 3, 1886, the annual dinner of the Royal Academy was held at Burlington House, the chair being occupied by the president, Sir Frederic Leighton. On his right hand were the Prince of Wales, and the Duke of Cambridge, Prince Christian, Prince Henry of Battenberg, the Duke of Teck, the Lord Chancellor, and the Archbishop of York; and on his left hand were Prince Albert Victor of Wales, the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador, the Italian Ambassador, etc., etc.

Mr. LOWELL, in responding for “Literature,” said:

YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESSES, MY LORDS, AND GENTLEMEN,--I think I can explain who the artist might have been who painted the reversed rainbow of which the professor has just spoken. I think, after hearing the too friendly remarks made about myself, that he was probably some artist who was to answer for his art at a dinner of the Royal Society (_laughter_); and, naturally, instead of painting the bow of hope, he painted the reverse, the bow of despair. (_Laughter._) When I received your invitation, Mr. President, to answer for “Literature,” I was too well aware of the difficulties of your position not to know that your choice of speakers must be guided much more by the necessities of the occasion than by the laws of natural selection. (_Laughter and cheers._) I remembered that the dictionaries give a secondary meaning to the phrase “to answer for,” and that is the meaning which implies some expedient for an immediate necessity, as for example, when one takes shelter under a tree from a shower one is said to make the tree answer for an umbrella. (_Laughter._) I think even an umbrella in the form of a tree has certainly one very great advantage over its artificial namesake--viz., that it cannot be borrowed (_laughter_), not even for the exigencies for which the instrument made of twilled silk is made use of, as those certainly will admit who have ever tried it during one of those passionate paroxysms of weather to which the Italian climate is unhappily subject. (_Laughter._) I shall not attempt to answer for literature, for it appears to me that literature, of all other things, is the one which is most naturally expected to answer for itself. It seems to me that the old English phrase with regard to a man in difficulties, which asks “What is he going to do about it?” perhaps should be replaced in this period of ours, when the foundations of everything are being sapped by universal discussion, with the more pertinent question, “What is he going to say about it?” (_“Hear, hear,” and laughter._) I suppose that every man sent into the world with something to say to his fellow men could say it better than anyone else if he could only find out what it was. (_Laughter._) I am sure that the ideal after-dinner speech is waiting for me somewhere with my address upon it, if I could only be so lucky as to come across it. (_Laughter._) I confess that hard necessity, or perhaps, I may say, too soft good nature, has compelled me to make so many unideal ones that I have almost exhausted my natural stock of universally applicable sentiment and my acquired provision of anecdote and allusion. (_Laughter._) I find myself somewhat in the position of Heine, who had prepared an elaborate oration for his first interview with Goethe, and when the awful moment arrived could only stammer out that the cherries on the road to Weimar were uncommonly fine. (_Laughter._)

But, fortunately, the duty which is given to me to-night is not so onerous as might be implied in the sentiment which has called me up. I am consoled not only by the lexicographer as to the meaning of the phrase “to answer for,” but also by an observation of mine, which is that speakers on an occasion like this are not always expected to allude except in distant and vague terms to the subject on which they are specially supposed to talk. Now, I have a more pleasing and personal duty, it appears to me, on this my first appearance before an English audience on my return to England. It gives me great pleasure to think that in calling upon me, you call upon me as representing two things which are exceedingly dear to me, and which are very near to my heart. One is that I represent in some sense the unity of English literature under whatever sky it may be produced (_cheers_); and the other is that I represent also that growing friendliness of feeling, based on a better understanding of each other, which is growing up between the two branches of the British stock. (_Cheers._) I could wish that my excellent successor here as American Minister could fill my place to-night, for I am sure that he is as fully inspired as I ever was with a desire to draw closer the ties of friendship between the mother and daughter, and could express it in a more eloquent and more emphatic manner than even I myself could do,--at any rate in a more authoritative manner.

For myself I have only to say that I come back from my native land confirmed in my love of it and in my faith in it. I come back also full of warm gratitude for the feeling that I find in England; I find in the old home a guest chamber prepared for me and a warm welcome. (_Cheers._) Repeating what his Royal Highness the commander-in-chief has said, that every man is bound in duty if he were not bound in affection and loyalty to put his own country first, I may be allowed to steal a leaf out of the book of my adopted fellow-citizens in America; and while I love my native country first, as is natural, I may be allowed to say I love the country next best which I cannot say has adopted me, but which I will say has treated me with such kindness, where I have met with such universal kindness from all classes and degrees of people, that I must put that country at least next in my affection. (_Cheers._) I will not detain you longer. I know that the essence of speaking here is to be brief, but I trust I shall not lay myself open to the reproach that in my desire to be brief I have resulted in making myself obscure. (_Laughter._) I hope I have expressed myself explicitly enough; but I would venture to give another translation of Horace’s words, and say that I desire to be brief, and therefore I efface myself. (_Laughter and cheers._)

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IX.

AT THE STRATFORD MEMORIAL FOUNTAIN PRESENTATION.

The memorial fountain presented to Stratford-on-Avon by Mr. George W. Childs, of Philadelphia, was inaugurated Monday, October 17, 1887. Mr. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL sent the following letter: