The Poet at the Breakfast-TableHolmes, Oliver Wendell
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The Poet at the Breakfast-Table
Holmes, Oliver Wendell
American fiction -- 19th century; Conversation -- Fiction; Poetry
The reader must not suppose that I even attempt to reproduce everything
exactly as it took place in our conversations, or when we met to listen
to the Master's prose or to the Young Astronomer's verse. I do not
pretend to give all the pauses and interruptions by question or
otherwise. I could not always do it if I tried, but I do not want
to, for oftentimes it is better to let the speaker or reader go on
continuously, although there may have been many breaks in the course of
the conversation or reading. When, for instance, I by and by reproduce
what the Landlady said to us, I shall give it almost without any
hint that it was arrested in its flow from time to time by various
expressions on the part of the hearers.
I can hardly say what the reason of it was, but it is very certain that
I had a vague sense of some impending event as we took our seats in
the Master's library. He seemed particularly anxious that we should be
comfortably seated, and shook up the cushions of the arm-chairs himself,
and got them into the right places.
Now go to sleep--he said--or listen,--just which you like best. But I am
going to begin by telling you both a secret.
Liberavi animam meam. That is the meaning of my book and of my literary
life, if I may give such a name to that party-colored shred of human
existence. I have unburdened myself in this book, and in some other
pages, of what I was born to say. Many things that I have said in my
ripe days have been aching in my soul since I was a mere child. I say
aching, because they conflicted with many of my inherited beliefs, or
rather traditions. I did not know then that two strains of blood were
striving in me for the mastery,--two! twenty, perhaps,--twenty thousand,
for aught I know,--but represented to me by two,--paternal and maternal.
Blind forces in themselves; shaping thoughts as they shaped features
and battled for the moulding of constitution and the mingling of
temperament.
Philosophy and poetry came--to me before I knew their names.
Je fis mes premiers vers, sans savoir les ecrire.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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