Authors at home: Personal and biographical sketches of well-known American writers
General
Authors at home: Personal and biographical sketches of well-known American writers
Authors, American -- Homes and haunts -- United States; Literary landmarks -- United States; United States -- Intellectual life
The surroundings are delightful. On all sides the walls are filled with
book-cases reaching almost to the ceiling; the windows are hung with
heavy curtains decorated with Arabic designs; and in winter a fire of
soft coal burns in the large grate at one side of the apartment. The
books that glisten from the shelves are cased in bindings and covers of
the finest sort, made by the best artists of England and France. As to
their contents, the strength lies in a collection of old English drama
and poetry and a complete set of the Latin classics. It must be said
here, however, that Mr. Boker’s books are by no means confined to the
library. The presence of books is visible all through the house, and
one can trace at various points the fact that the owner of these books
has always aimed to collect the best editions. In later days Mr. Boker
has, in a measure, been exiled from the companionship of the choicest
books in his study; because, in order to obtain uninterrupted quiet,
he has been obliged to retire to a small room on the floor above his
library, where he is more secure from disturbance.
The dining-room is a noteworthy apartment, not only because many
distinguished persons have been entertained in it, but also because it
is beautifully finished with a ceiling and walls of black oak, framing
scarlet panels, that set off the buffets and side-cases full of silver
services. If any one fancies, however, that the appointments of the
dining-room and the library indicate a too Sybaritic taste, he should
ascend to the top floor of the house, where Mr. Boker had a workshop
containing a complete outfit for a turner in metals. Mr. Boker always
had a taste for working at what he called his “trade” of producing
various articles in metal, on his turning-lathe. In younger days it
used to be his boast that he could go into the shop of any machinist,
take off his coat, and earn his living as a skilled workman. He still
practiced at the bench in his own workshop, at the age of sixty-five.
It seems to me that he was unique among American authors, in uniting
with the grace and fire of a genuine poet the diversions of a rich
society man, the functions of a public official, and a capacity for
practical work as a mechanic.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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