Familiar Studies of Men Books | Page 6

candid to revolt. I was here
on the horns of a dilemma; and between these horns I squeezed myself
with perhaps some loss to the substance of the paper. Seeing so much
in Whitman that was merely ridiculous, as well as so much more that
was unsurpassed in force and fitness, - seeing the true prophet doubled,
as I thought, in places with the Bull in a China Shop, - it appeared best
to steer a middle course, and to laugh with the scorners when I thought
they had any excuse, while I made haste to rejoice with the rejoicers
over what is imperishably good, lovely, human, or divine, in his
extraordinary poems. That was perhaps the right road; yet I cannot help
feeling that in this attempt to trim my sails between an author whom I
love and honour and a public too averse to recognise his merit, I have
been led into a tone unbecoming from one of my stature to one of
Whitman's. But the good and the great man will go on his way not
vexed with my little shafts of merriment. He, first of any one, will
understand how, in the attempt to explain him credibly to Mrs. Grundy,
I have been led into certain airs of the man of the world, which are
merely ridiculous in me, and were not intentionally discourteous to
himself. But there is a worse side to the question; for in my eagerness
to be all things to all men, I am afraid I may have sinned against

proportion. It will be enough to say here that Whitman's faults are few
and unimportant when they are set beside his surprising merits. I had
written another paper full of gratitude for the help that had been given
me in my life, full of enthusiasm for the intrinsic merit of the poems,
and conceived in the noisiest extreme of youthful eloquence. The
present study was a rifacimento. From it, with the design already
mentioned, and in a fit of horror at my old excess, the big words and
emphatic passages were ruthlessly excised. But this sort of prudence is
frequently its own punishment; along with the exaggeration, some of
the truth is sacrificed; and the result is cold, constrained, and grudging.
In short, I might almost everywhere have spoken more strongly than I
did.
THOREAU. - Here is an admirable instance of the "point of view"
forced throughout, and of too earnest reflection on imperfect facts.
Upon me this pure, narrow, sunnily-ascetic Thoreau had exercised a
great charm. I have scarce written ten sentences since I was introduced
to him, but his influence might be somewhere detected by a close
observer. Still it was as a writer that I had made his acquaintance; I
took him on his own explicit terms; and when I learned details of his
life, they were, by the nature of the case and my own PARTI-PRIS,
read even with a certain violence in terms of his writings. There could
scarce be a perversion more justifiable than that; yet it was still a
perversion. The study indeed, raised so much ire in the breast of Dr.
Japp (H. A. Page), Thoreau's sincere and learned disciple, that had
either of us been men, I please myself with thinking, of less temper and
justice, the difference might have made us enemies instead of making
us friends. To him who knew the man from the inside, many of my
statements sounded like inversions made on purpose; and yet when we
came to talk of them together, and he had understood how I was
looking at the man through the books, while he had long since learned
to read the books through the man, I believe he understood the spirit in
which I had been led astray.
On two most important points, Dr. Japp added to my knowledge, and
with the same blow fairly demolished that part of my criticism. First, if
Thoreau were content to dwell by Walden Pond, it was not merely with
designs of self-improvement, but to serve mankind in the highest sense.
Hither came the fleeing slave; thence was he despatched along the road

to freedom. That shanty in the woods was a station in the great
Underground Railroad; that adroit and philosophic solitary was an
ardent worker, soul and body, in that so much more than honourable
movement, which, if atonement were possible for nations, should have
gone far to wipe away the guilt of slavery. But in history sin always
meets with condign punishment; the generation passes, the offence
remains, and the innocent must suffer. No underground railroad could
atone for slavery, even as no bills in Parliament can redeem the ancient
wrongs of Ireland. But here at least is a new light shed on the Walden
episode.