A History of American LiteratureBoynton, Percy Holmes
History
A History of American Literature
Boynton, Percy Holmes
American literature -- History and criticism
Throughout the most fruitful years of Emerson's life he lived quietly
in Concord, writing without hurry in the mornings, walking and talking
with his friends who lived there and with the increasing number of
more and less distinguished men who came to receive his inspiration.
But three winter months of each year he gave to lecturing, giving
frequent series in New York and Boston and going out into the West as
far as Wisconsin and Missouri. In these months, as a combined prophet
and man of business, he earned a fair share of his income and exerted
his widest influence. What he meant to his auditors has been best said
by Lowell in his brief essay on "Emerson the Lecturer." Recalling the
days when he was a college student, sixteen years younger than Emerson,
Lowell wrote:
We used to walk in from the country [Cambridge, four miles out from
Boston] to the Masonic Temple (I think it was) through the crisp
winter night, and listen to that thrilling voice of his, so charged
with subtle meaning and subtle music, as shipwrecked men on a raft to
the hail of a ship that came with unhoped-for food and rescue.... And
who that saw the audience will ever forget it, where everyone still
capable of fire, or longing to renew in himself the half-forgotten
sense of it, was gathered?... I hear again that rustle of sensation,
as they turned to exchange glances over some pithier thought, some
keener flash of that humor which always played about the horizon
of his mind like heat-lightning.... To some of us that long-past
experience remains as the most marvellous and fruitful we have ever
had.... Did they say he was disconnected? So were the stars, that
seemed larger to our eyes, as we walked homeward with prouder stride
over the creaking snow. And were not _they_ knit together by a higher
logic than our mere senses could master? Were we enthusiasts? I hope
and believe we were, and am thankful to the man who made us worth
something for once in our lives. If asked what was left? what we
carried home? we should not have been careful for an answer. It would
have been enough if we had said that something beautiful had passed
that way.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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