CHAPTER XXIX.

“If they should fire on Pickens, let the Colonel in commandPut me upon the rampart, with the flagstaff in my hand:No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shells may fly;I’ll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die!I’m ready, General, so you let a post to me be given,Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest heaven,And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne;‘There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy’s Lane!’And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly,When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the sky,If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face,My soul would go to Washington’s, and not to Arnold’s place!”

“If they should fire on Pickens, let the Colonel in command

Put me upon the rampart, with the flagstaff in my hand:

No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shells may fly;

I’ll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die!

I’m ready, General, so you let a post to me be given,Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest heaven,And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne;‘There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy’s Lane!’

I’m ready, General, so you let a post to me be given,

Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest heaven,

And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne;

‘There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy’s Lane!’

And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly,When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the sky,If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face,My soul would go to Washington’s, and not to Arnold’s place!”

And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly,

When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the sky,

If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face,

My soul would go to Washington’s, and not to Arnold’s place!”

In June, the necessity of rest, and the desire to obtain it in such a way as to get pleasure and advantage from his release, influenced him to take a trip to his wife’s old home, and to spend a month at the country residence of a friend which was situated on slopes of the Thuringian Forest, not far from Weimar and Gotha. It was a lovely spot, and a pretty cottage, and about him were numberless reminders of Schiller and Goethe, with whose names he was so creditably to connect his own. Whether he gained the rest he needed or not, is a question still undecided. Certainly he did not gain as much as he would, had he left Goethe’s “Faust,” and his own new volume of poems behind him, and chafed much less under his great suspense concerning the results of the American War. He ran up the American flag to the ridge-pole of his cottage, and walked about uneasily, awaiting news from home. He talked of the war with his neighbors and visitors, wrote about it to whomsoever of his friends he thought might not understand the merits of the contest, and, at last, about the 1st of August, hastily broke up his cosy housekeeping, and returned to America.

CEDARCROFT, KENNETT SQUARE, PA.

When he again opened the doors of his dwelling at Kennett, which he had given the poetical name of“Cedarcroft,” it was to welcome to his fireside all who loved their country. But, as he afterwards proudly declared, no traitor ever crossed its threshold. Many distinguished men visited him, including members of Congress, and of the President’s Cabinet.

NICHOLAS BRIDGE

Appointed as Secretary of Legation.—Life in St. Petersburg.—Literary Labors.—His Home at Kennett.—Publication of his Poems.—Visits Iceland—His Poem at the Millennial Celebration.—Appointment as Minister to Berlin.—His Congratulations.—Reception at Berlin.—His Death.

In the summer of 1862, Mr. Taylor accepted the appointment as Secretary of Legation at St. Petersburg, Russia, for which he was indebted to his life-long friend, the Hon. George H. Boker, of Philadelphia, whose services to the nation as Minister Plenipotentiary, as well as his gifts as an author, have made his name familiar to the reading public of America.

It does not appear that the official duties connected with his office especially pleased Mr. Taylor, and it is believed by his friends that he regarded them in about the same light that Hawthorne looked upon his office. It was an honorable and responsible position, especially so during 1862 and 1863, when the United States was laboring so earnestly, and finally so successfully, to gain the friendship of Russia, and Mr. Taylor appreciated it. Certainly the American Legation at St. Petersburg was never more popular at the Court of the Emperor than during the term of Mr. Taylor’s sojourn.Whatever the credit which is due to the Minister during his stay, it is no disparagement to say that Mr. Taylor made many warm friends in St. Petersburg, who remember him, and weep for his untimely death. When the duties of the Legation devolved entirely upon him, ascharge d’affairs, he was treated with the greatest consideration, and for a time the court circles believed that the President of the United States would promote him to the office of Ambassador, as appeared to them to be his due.

But Mr. Taylor was in no wise an office-seeker, and cared more for the honor of writing a good book than for any office in the gift of the President. So the autumn, winter, and spring which Mr. Taylor spent in St. Petersburg were devoted to his studies of literature, so far as he could do so without neglecting his duties. He made several excursions into the interior of Russia, and made himself acquainted with the language and writings of Russian authors. Work! work! work! Incessantly writing, reading, or observing! Such was his life in St. Petersburg. His envious critics have said that his genius all lay in the ability to do hard work. But does not successful hard work exhibit genius in its greatest strength? Some may, in one dash, make themselves famous. Authors may concentrate all their power in a single leap, and reach the heights of fame at one bound. But of suchmen you seldom hear a second success. Their single work is all that they do well. Not so with Mr. Taylor. The publication of one book only left the way clear for a better successor. His Muse was not uncertain, his genius was not spasmodic. Two of his poems, written in Russia, namely, “The Neva,” and “A Thousand Years,” were afterwards translated into Russian, and received the hearty encomiums of the cultured nobility. His story of “Beauty and the Beast,” located at Novgorod, to which place Mr. Taylor made an excursion while connected with the American Legation at St. Petersburg, has also been translated into the Russian language, together with other selections from his writings, showing that his literary renown did not suffer by his residence in Russia.

But his highest ambition in life was to publish a worthy translation of Goethe and Schiller, together with a biography of both. This had been his purpose from the time he first visited Weimar and Gotha. To this his other labors became gradually subordinated.

How he came to turn his attention to prose fiction can be accounted for on the supposition that he adopted that character for the purpose of testing his own powers, and securing an income which would enable him to prosecute his studies and investigations relating to Goethe and Schiller. He did not hope to be a leading novelist, and the public placed a much higher estimateon his novels than he did. The desire he had to immortalize his old home, the urgent appeals of friends, and the advice of acquaintances, pressed him into a field which he confessed in his lectures was uncongenial. Yet he had no more reason to be ashamed of “Hannah Thurston,” “John Godfrey’s Fortunes,” and the “Story of Kennett,” brought out soon after his return from Russia, than he had thirteen or fourteen years before to be ashamed of the Jenny Lind prize-song, or the poem delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard College.

After leaving Russia, he soon returned to the United States, and, with lecturing and writing, occupied the time until again called abroad by a desire to see some localities visited by Goethe, and describe the great Paris Exhibition of 1867. Then followed those years of work at home, and travel abroad and at home, as his duties as author, editor, and correspondent demanded. In 1866 appeared his poem, “Picture of St. John,” which was immediately translated into Italian by an admirer in Florence. His poem, “The Ballad of Abraham Lincoln,” appeared in 1869, “Goethe’s Faust,” in 1871, “The Masque of the Gods,” in 1872, “Lars, a Pastoral of Norway,” in 1873, “The Prophet, a Tragedy,” in 1874, and “Home Pastorals, Ballads, and Lyrics,” in 1875.

In the spring of 1874, Mr. Taylor visited Iceland asthe correspondent of the New York “Tribune.” He had visited Egypt, and was to return to America after a short stay in Europe, but the news of the Millennial Celebration, which was to take place on the island August 2d and 3d, called a large number of people to the festivities, and it was fitting that a great American newspaper should be represented. But neither the people of Iceland, nor the editors of the “Tribune,” nor Mr. Taylor, had any idea, when he set out, that his visit would be magnified into a recognition of the event by the people of the United States. His knowledge of the Danish language, and his study of the Icelandic tongue, according to his plan laid in Copenhagen eighteen years before, when on his way to the Northern Ocean, made him peculiarly fitted for the position in which he was, by a conjunction of unforeseen circumstances, unexpectedly thrown. But his genius was as spontaneous as it was persevering; for in a few moments of time, amid confusion, and conversation in which he took part, he wrote the poem, “America to Iceland,” which, when read to the Icelanders in their own language, on the occasion of their largest gathering, created the greatest enthusiasm. One verse ran thus,—

“Hail, mother-land of Skalds and heroes,By love of freedom hither hurled;Fire in their hearts as in their mountains,And strength like thine to shake the world!”

“Hail, mother-land of Skalds and heroes,

By love of freedom hither hurled;

Fire in their hearts as in their mountains,

And strength like thine to shake the world!”

Mr. Taylor’s printed description of the scenery, people, government, and geysers of Iceland, is a standard work on that almost unknown island, and is written in a vein readable and refined. As it shows rather the fruit of a cultured life than the processes of culture, its contents require no extended notice in a work like this.

In the winter (February) of 1878, President Hayes offered Mr. Taylor the vacant mission at Berlin, expressing, at the same time, his conviction that there was no other American living who could so nobly and creditably fill the position of Minister of the United States to the German Empire. Mr. Taylor’s fame as a German scholar; his relation, by marriage, to the German people; his popularity at home and in Germany; and his creditable performance of his duties in a like position at St. Petersburg, made it peculiarly fitting that he should represent the American people in that official capacity.

It was an office unsought by Mr. Taylor, but, nevertheless, it was most cheerfully accepted, as it would give him an opportunity to prosecute his studies of the life of Goethe and the life of Schiller, which could not be so well secured in any other way.

The announcement of the appointment was hailed by the people of the United States with the liveliest demonstrations of approval. Neither the appointmentof Mr. Bancroft or Mr. Motley received such universal approbation. All the newspapers, with no known exception, declared it to be one of the wisest appointments made by the administration. All parties applauded at home, and the leading journals of Europe mentioned it with words of praise.

Mr. Taylor was overwhelmed with congratulations, and President Hayes received letters from almost every State and city in the Republic, thanking him for making such a creditable selection, and commending his wisdom. Mr. Taylor was feasted, and “toasted” by his commercial and literary friends with an enthusiasm and liberality never known before on such an occasion. Ovation after ovation was given, and his departure in April from New York was witnessed by hosts of his friends.

His welcome at Berlin was scarcely less hearty. Authors and editors received him with earnest expressions of satisfaction. The Crown Prince, Prince Bismarck, and even the Emperor and Empress greeted him with most unusual marks of respect. With a world looking to him for yet greater things, but thankful for the noble deeds of the past, Mr. Taylor set up a home at Berlin in which he hoped to finish those books on Goethe and Schiller, to which he had already given some of the best years of his life. At last there was rest. Honored by his nation, holdinga literary position above the darts of envy, with a gifted wife and lovely daughter, he entered his home in Berlin, saying, “Here I can work in peace. Here we shall be very happy.”

Who can foretell the future; or, in the words of Goethe’s “Mephistopheles,”—

“Who knows how yet the dice may fall?”

That drear December, of which he had written so much, and which ever seemed to him the saddest of all the year, found him dangerously ill with the dropsy. He tried to be quiet, as the physician directed. He tried to resume the old Arabic resignation which had so often served him in the place of substantial accomplishment. But the habit of years, the overmastering desire to labor, the “passion for work” which made his life successful, held sway over him still.

His nation had commissioned him to serve at the Court of Berlin. There was a call for him at the Legation. He could not refuse to go, if he had the strength to move. So he rises from his bed, and goes forth to fulfil the desires of his people. It is his last work. His beloved America receives his dying attention! The next day (Dec. 19, 1878), just after the messenger had left at his door the first printed copy of his new work, “Deukalion,” the poet, traveller, scholar, patriot, brother, husband, and father, left his work unfinished to enter upon the Eternal Rest.

He had long suffered from a mild form of a kidneydisease, but neither he nor his physicians attached any importance to that complaint. On the day that he died, he arose from his bed, dressed, and received visitors. Feeling tired, at noon, he concluded to lie down and rest. He slept for a short time, quietly, but on awakening, his mind wandered, and his symptoms became at once alarming. Dr. Lowe Kalbe, who was Mr. Taylor’s physician, and an old friend, was with him, together with Mrs. Taylor and their daughter Lillian. But he sank rapidly, and at four o’clock in the afternoon, peacefully passed away.

How like a voice from a living Past came to us his own sad lines, when they said to us in sadness,—“Bayard Taylor is dead!”

“I never knew the autumnal eves could wear,With all their pomp, so drear a hue of Death;I never knew their still and solemn breathCould rob the breaking heart of strength to bear,Feeding the blank submission of despair.Yet, peace, sad soul! Reproach and pity shine,Suffused through starry tears: bend thou in prayer,Rebuked by Love divine.”“Why art thou dead? Upon the hills once moreThe golden mist of waning Autumn lies;The slow-pulsed billows wash along the shore,And phantom isles are floating in the skies.They wait for thee: a spirit in the sandHushes, expectant for thy coming tread;The light wind pants to lift thy trembling hair;Inward, the silent landLies with its mournful woods;—why art thou dead,When Earth demands that thou shalt call her fair?”

“I never knew the autumnal eves could wear,

With all their pomp, so drear a hue of Death;

I never knew their still and solemn breath

Could rob the breaking heart of strength to bear,

Feeding the blank submission of despair.

Yet, peace, sad soul! Reproach and pity shine,

Suffused through starry tears: bend thou in prayer,

Rebuked by Love divine.”

“Why art thou dead? Upon the hills once moreThe golden mist of waning Autumn lies;The slow-pulsed billows wash along the shore,And phantom isles are floating in the skies.They wait for thee: a spirit in the sandHushes, expectant for thy coming tread;The light wind pants to lift thy trembling hair;Inward, the silent landLies with its mournful woods;—why art thou dead,When Earth demands that thou shalt call her fair?”

“Why art thou dead? Upon the hills once more

The golden mist of waning Autumn lies;

The slow-pulsed billows wash along the shore,

And phantom isles are floating in the skies.

They wait for thee: a spirit in the sand

Hushes, expectant for thy coming tread;

The light wind pants to lift thy trembling hair;

Inward, the silent land

Lies with its mournful woods;—why art thou dead,

When Earth demands that thou shalt call her fair?”

His Friends.—The Multitude of Mourners.—His London Acquaintances.—Tennyson, Cornwall, Browning, Carlyle.—German Popularity.—Auerbach.—Humboldt.—French Authors.—Early American Friends.—Stoddard, Willis, Kane, Bryant, Halleck, Powers, Greeley, Mrs. Kirkland, Whittier, Longfellow, Holmes, Emerson, Lowell, Dana, Alcott, Aldrich, Whipple, Curtis, Fields, Boker, Chandler.—Relatives.

Seldom has the death of a single individual wounded the hearts of so many personal friends. Men have attained to greater renown, and have been, perhaps, as extensively known by their writings and their fame; but rare, indeed, can be found in history the name of one who had so many intimate companions. The number of those who claimed the right to be his friends is beyond computation, at this time,—within a few weeks after his death,—but it includes many of the most noted men of the world.

Alfred Tennyson, the poet-laureate of England, was an acquaintance and correspondent of Mr. Taylor’s, their first meeting being at Mr. Tennyson’s house, Farringford, on the Isle of Wight.

William Makepeace Thackeray was one of Mr. Taylor’s warmest literary friends, from the time when they met at a dinner of the Century Club, in New York, in1856, until Mr. Thackeray’s death, in 1863. The friendship was kept alive by Mr. Thackeray’s daughters, who first met Mr. Taylor in London, in 1858, and who at that time most hospitably entertained him, together with his brother and sisters.

Robert Browning often invited Mr. Taylor to join his select company in London, their acquaintance having begun in 1851; and Barry Cornwall (Bryan Waller Procter), treated Mr. Taylor with the greatest kindness and hospitality, writing frequently, until he died, in 1874, to inquire after Mr. Taylor’s progress in the translation of “Faust.”

Thomas Carlyle and John Bright were numbered among his correspondents, although it so happened that he met them but seldom.

Among the leaders of English literature whose friendship he enjoyed, there is a very large circle of literary and scientific men who knew Mr. Taylor through their frequent meetings on social and formal occasions, and who were well acquainted with Mr. Taylor’s books. From many of these there came the expressions of great grief, when the fact of Mr. Taylor’s death was announced in London.

In Germany he was quite as well known as their native poets of his time, and he secured the respect and love of nearly every distinguished literary man and woman in that Empire. One of the sweetest friendships of his life was with that most fascinating descriptive writer, Berthold Auerbach, whose “Villaon the Rhine” was given to the American public in 1869, by Mr. Taylor. These two authors were like twin brothers in their authorship, and some of Auerbach’s letters, descriptive of European scenes and people, could be inserted in Mr. Taylor’s books, verbatim, and the interpolation be scarcely detected. Their regard for each other equalled their gifts, and one of the sincerest mourners at the funeral of Mr. Taylor, was that gifted scholar, Berthold Auerbach.

Mr. Taylor’s first acquaintance with Alexander von Humboldt, was in 1856, when Mr. Taylor called upon the great naturalist at his home in Berlin. The reading of Humboldt’s works had been of great benefit to Mr. Taylor, as a correspondent, and he so informed the Professor, at which he seemed much pleased. Humboldt took great pains to secure all of Mr. Taylor’s letters, as they appeared from time to time in the “Tribune,” and most warmly praised him for the remarkable manner in which he pictured the scenes he visited. The acquaintance was frequently renewed, and when Humboldt died, in 1859, Mr. Taylor is said to have been numbered among the mourning friends, by those in charge of the funeral, although he was in the United States at the time. For years the public in America was led to believe that Humboldt ridiculed Mr. Taylor’s writings, although what could have been the motive of the one who originated the falsehood it is hard to conjecture.

With the French authors he did not have a veryextended personal acquaintance, although he had met many of them, and frequently exchanged books with Victor Hugo and Guillaume Lejean.

His acquaintances in America included nearly every living author of his generation, and he numbered among his intimate friends the most gifted men in the land. Nearest to him, perhaps, stood Richard H. Stoddard, of New York, and his talented wife, Elizabeth Barstow Stoddard. Both were born in Massachusetts, and have frequently spent the summer months at Mrs. Stoddard’s old home in Mattapoisett, in company with Mr. Taylor and his family. A jolly household it was, when the Taylors and the Stoddards united their families, as they frequently did, in the city, or on the seashore. One of Mr. Stoddard’s many books, viz., the Life of Humboldt, contains an introduction by Mr. Taylor, and many of Mr. Taylor’s poems were submitted to Mr. and Mrs. Stoddard for their criticism, before he published them. With them, and with Mr. George Ripley, he appears to have maintained the most confidential relations to the day of his death.

Many of his early friends have preceded him to that “silent shore,” and many tears did he shed over their graves. Nathaniel P. Willis, his earliest friend in the great city, who encouraged him and introduced him into a literary life, died at his home of “Idlewild,” in 1867. Washington Irving, who in his old ago was earnest enough to leave his home at “Sunnyside” and go to New York, to urge Mr. Taylor to persevere inhis poetical undertakings, and whose advice assisted Mr. Taylor so much in his various trips into Spain, died in 1873.

Dr. E. K. Kane, who aided Mr. Taylor in laying out his route through Norway, and whose letters of introduction and commendation to George Peabody, the great banker, and to other influential men in England, opened the way for Mr. Taylor into the best society of that capital, did not live to meet Mr. Taylor on his return from Norway, as had been arranged, but died alone, at Havana, in 1857.

William Cullen Bryant, whose master-pieces were Mr. Taylor’s study, and whose personal friendship was so much valued, that Mr. Taylor visited the Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts, wherein the “Thanatopsis” had its birth, to note “if the scenes would have the same influence on a stranger, that they appeared to have had on a native,”—he whose counsel and companionship had, through many years, been counted among the “richest boons of life,” died a few months before Mr. Taylor, and the shadow had not passed from Mr. Taylor’s brow, and his poetical tribute to Bryant was hardly in print, before he was called “to join the caravan that moves to that mysterious realm.”

Fitz-Greene Halleck, who used to caution the young poet, and who took pride in every new achievement of the traveller, died in 1867.

Horace Greeley, the editor of the Tribune, whose friendship was of the most steady and substantial kind,and for whom Mr. Taylor felt the respect due to a parent, expired in 1872. It was when writing of Mr. Greeley’s death that Mr. Taylor gave the following sketch of their friendship:—

“My own intercourse with him, though often interrupted by absence or divergence of labor, was frank at the start, and grew closer and more precious with every year. In all my experience of men, I have never found one whose primitive impulses revealed themselves with such marvellous purity and sincerity. His nature often seemed to me as crystal-clear as that of a child. In my younger and more sensitive days, he often gave me a transient wound; but such wounds healed without a scar, and I always found, afterward, that they came from the lance of a physician, not from the knife of an enemy.“I first saw Mr. Greeley in June, 1844, when I was a boy of nineteen. I applied to him for an engagement to write letters to the ‘Tribune’ from Germany. His reply was terse enough. ‘No descriptive letters!’ he said; ‘I am sick of them. When you have been there long enough to know something, send to me, and, if there is anything in your letters, I will publish them.’ I waited nearly a year, and then sent seventeen letters, which were published. They were shallow enough, I suspect; but what might they not have been without his warning?“Toward the end of 1847, while I was engaged in the unfortunate enterprise of trying to establish a weekly paper at Phœnixville, Penn., I wrote him—foreseeing the failure of my hopes—asking his assistance in procuring literary work in New York. He advised me (as I suspect he hasadvised thousands of young men), to stay in the country. But Ihadstayed in the country, and a year too long; so another month found me in New York, in his office, with my story of disappointment, and my repeated request for his favorable influence. ‘I think you are mistaken,’ he said; ‘but I will bear you in mind, if I hear of any chance.’“Six weeks afterward, to my great surprise (for I supposed he had quite forgotten me), he sent for me and offered me a place on the ‘Tribune.’ I worked hard and incessantly during the summer of 1848, hearing never a word of commendation or encouragement; but one day in October he suddenly came to my desk, laid his hand on my shoulder, and said, ‘You have been faithful; but now you need rest. Take a week’s holiday, and go into New England.’ I obeyed, and found, on my return, that he had ordered my salary to be increased.”

“I first saw Mr. Greeley in June, 1844, when I was a boy of nineteen. I applied to him for an engagement to write letters to the ‘Tribune’ from Germany. His reply was terse enough. ‘No descriptive letters!’ he said; ‘I am sick of them. When you have been there long enough to know something, send to me, and, if there is anything in your letters, I will publish them.’ I waited nearly a year, and then sent seventeen letters, which were published. They were shallow enough, I suspect; but what might they not have been without his warning?

“Toward the end of 1847, while I was engaged in the unfortunate enterprise of trying to establish a weekly paper at Phœnixville, Penn., I wrote him—foreseeing the failure of my hopes—asking his assistance in procuring literary work in New York. He advised me (as I suspect he hasadvised thousands of young men), to stay in the country. But Ihadstayed in the country, and a year too long; so another month found me in New York, in his office, with my story of disappointment, and my repeated request for his favorable influence. ‘I think you are mistaken,’ he said; ‘but I will bear you in mind, if I hear of any chance.’

“Six weeks afterward, to my great surprise (for I supposed he had quite forgotten me), he sent for me and offered me a place on the ‘Tribune.’ I worked hard and incessantly during the summer of 1848, hearing never a word of commendation or encouragement; but one day in October he suddenly came to my desk, laid his hand on my shoulder, and said, ‘You have been faithful; but now you need rest. Take a week’s holiday, and go into New England.’ I obeyed, and found, on my return, that he had ordered my salary to be increased.”

Hiram Powers, the American sculptor, who so heartily welcomed the young pedestrian to Florence, Italy, and who through the years which followed, showed a most kindly spirit, making Taylor his guest and confidant, passed away from the contemplation of beautiful earthly forms to figures angelic, in 1873.

Mrs. Kirkland, on whose magazine, in 1848, he began to regain the literary prestige which the failure of the “Phœnixville Pioneer” took from him, and who, with Halleck, so kindly opened the way for him to teach a school in New York, to repair his shattered fortunes, was gone, together with a large number of their mutual acquaintances in the literary circles of New York.

Although the ranks were so sadly depleted, there are still living a most brilliant company of his early literary friends.

John G. Whittier, who still resides in Amesbury, his patriotism unabated, his Quaker simplicity unchanged, and his fame as a poet increasing, as civilization and freedom extend. To him Mr. Taylor dedicated his poem of “Lars,” and in it thus mentioned his first meeting with Whittier:—

“Though many years my heart goes back,Through checkered years of loss and gain,To the fair landmark on its track,When first, upon the Merrimack,Upon the cottage roof I heard the autumn rain.A hand that welcomed and that cheered,To one unknown didst thou extend;Thou gavest hope to song that feared;But now by Time and Faith endeared,I claim the right to call the Poet, Friend!”

“Though many years my heart goes back,

Through checkered years of loss and gain,

To the fair landmark on its track,

When first, upon the Merrimack,

Upon the cottage roof I heard the autumn rain.

A hand that welcomed and that cheered,

To one unknown didst thou extend;

Thou gavest hope to song that feared;

But now by Time and Faith endeared,

I claim the right to call the Poet, Friend!”

Thus did a Quaker write of a Quaker in dedicating a Quaker poem.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lives and sings as in those days when Taylor read the story of “Hyperion” and the poetry of “Voices of the Night,” and resolved to visit Boppart and to be a poet. Mr. Longfellow had a name to be envied in the annals of literature, when the man of whom we write was a rollicking, mischievious boy. Yet Taylor has appeared on the stage of life, has enacted a very important part, and is gone. His friend and benefactor remains, loved and honored in the old Washington mansion at Cambridge.

That marvellously versatile and skilful man, Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, though born long before Taylor, still walks the halls of learning, and, while enjoying the deserved rewards of “The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table,” “Old Ironsides,” and the numerous other publications in the shape of essays, poems, and medical text-books, was not ashamed to be called the friend of Mr. Taylor, and recalls his association with him in the most affectionate terms.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, the poet and essayist, who, like Mr. Holmes, enjoys a world-wide reputation as a man of letters and thoughts, moves among men as of yore, while his younger acquaintance has passed on before.

James Russell Lowell, upon whose brilliant literary career Mr. Taylor said he often “gazed with bewilderment,” but who was among his much-loved literary friends, adorns the court of Spain, as the Minister of the United States, while the life of his colleague which began much later, has ceased to move his hands to friendly grasps, and his lips to living words.

Richard H. Dana, Sr., the “eldest poet,” has been dead but a few days. Amos Bronson Alcott retains his home in Concord, appearing much as he did when George Ripley, Margaret Fuller, and Theodore Parker were with him on the “Dial,” which the Taylors read in Pennsylvania; but he who came to their homes so short a time ago, will cross their thresholds no more.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich remains, and writes on forthe love of it, while his friend and early companion in New York,—Taylor, who praised his “Babie Bell” and “Daisie’s Necklace,” has laid down his pen forever, and will sit down with him no more at social boards.

George William Curtis, who was born the year before Mr. Taylor, and whose travels, books, and correspondence for the New York “Tribune,” gave him such a similar experience, now stands at the front in American oratory, and looks forward to wider fields of usefulness, as though life had just begun. As a representative American in literature and in political influence, he has lost in Mr. Taylor an earnest and efficient comrade.

Edwin P. Whipple still lives on Beacon Hill in Boston, and, together with his brilliant wife, recalls the face and words of Taylor with the affectionate regard of appreciative minds and loving hearts.

James T. Fields, of Boston, comes and goes, an authority on literary excellence, and an attractive expounder and biographer, while the boy who came to him long, long ago, to learn if Ticknor & Fields would publish a little poem, has grown into manhood, into fame, and passed on to the Hereafter. The friendship of many years,—so beautiful a sight between publisher and poet,—which the pressure and uncertainty of business could not sever or decrease, is broken, ah! so rudely, by the hand of death.

The Hon. George H. Boker, of Philadelphia, still counts his useful years; while the boy whose poems hepurchased, and whose ambition he directed, has seen a long and eventful life, using but a part of the time in which his benefactor has lived. Of him Mr. Taylor wrote in 1855:—

“You were the mate of my poetic spring;To you its buds, of little worth, concealedMore than the summer years have since revealed,Or doubtful autumn from the stem shall fling.But here they are, the buds, the blossoms blown,Or rich or scant the wreath is at your feet;And though it were the freshest ever grown,To you its incense could not be more sweet,Since with it goes a love to match your own,A heart, dear friend, that never falsely beat.”

“You were the mate of my poetic spring;

To you its buds, of little worth, concealed

More than the summer years have since revealed,

Or doubtful autumn from the stem shall fling.

But here they are, the buds, the blossoms blown,

Or rich or scant the wreath is at your feet;

And though it were the freshest ever grown,

To you its incense could not be more sweet,

Since with it goes a love to match your own,

A heart, dear friend, that never falsely beat.”

George H. Boker, Jr., and Mrs. Taylor are, by the terms of Mr. Taylor’s will, his literary executors.

The Hon. J. R. Chandler still resides in the same old home at Philadelphia, into which the trembling youth came for the loan of fifty dollars with which to see Europe on foot. After a long and honorable life he sees no act more creditable than the simple-hearted generosity which he displayed toward that ambitious stripling.

His brother, J. Howard Taylor, M.D., and his cousin, Franklin Taylor, M.D., are both at their official posts of honor in Philadelphia, while the sisters and parents survive, still in that haze of doubt which precedes the hard realization that Bayard is dead.

Mr. Whitelaw Reid may search long before he supplies to the “Tribune’s” readers all the characteristics ofMr. Taylor’s writings; the literati of Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, will long wait for the congenial companion to take his seat; and the thousands of loving hearts in all the civilized countries of the world and in many uncivilized lands, will not cease to be sore, until

“The stern genius, to whose hollow trampEcho the startled chambers of the soul,Waves his inverted torch o’er that pale camp,Where the archangel’s final trumpets roll.”

“The stern genius, to whose hollow tramp

Echo the startled chambers of the soul,

Waves his inverted torch o’er that pale camp,

Where the archangel’s final trumpets roll.”

Translations of “Faust.”—A Life-work.—Discouragements.—The Scenes in “Faust.”—The Difficulties.—Magnitude of the Work.—Perseverance.—The Lives of Goethe and Schiller.—Years in the Work.—The Estimate by Scholars.—Dies with the Work Unfinished.

“Who hath not won a name, and seeks not noble works,Belongs but to the elements.”—Faust.

“Who hath not won a name, and seeks not noble works,Belongs but to the elements.”

“Who hath not won a name, and seeks not noble works,

Belongs but to the elements.”

—Faust.

Some portions of Bayard Taylor’s life have been but lightly touched upon in the previous chapters, because the writer felt that if mentioned in their chronological order, he would be compelled to repeat them when he should reach this chapter. In fact, the history of Taylor’s translation of “Faust,” which we propose here to outline, so far as we have been able to learn it, necessarily includes the whole life of Mr. Taylor, from his first visit to Germany to the day when his mortal body gave way under its accumulated load of work. “Faust” was intimately interwoven with all the threads of his life; and whenever Messrs. Houghton, Osgood & Co. publish another edition of Taylor’s translation, they could not better please and instruct the public than by prefacing it with a synopsis of Mr. Taylor’s life, wherein “Faust” was his inspiration and guide.

It appears that when he began the study of the German language at Heidelberg, one of the books used by him contained a selection from the First Part of Goethe’s “Faust.” His instructors and companions there were delighted with Goethe’s works, and, with pride, mentioned him as Germany’s greatest man. Meeting him, as it did, on the very threshold of the language, at a time when there was a romance about the country, and a fascination in the language which only youthful ambition could give, he was ambitious to know more about the master-mind, and sought those works which contained the requisite information.

At Frankfort, he found the works of Goethe and Schiller, and was fortunately a member of a household where those authors were admired and often quoted. He was told, as he afterwards declared, that if he knew enough of German to read Goethe and Schiller, it was all that he would need to know of the language. How much that remark included he did not at the time comprehend, and declared, when his translation was in print, that he did not feel sure that he was able to read all of Goethe as Goethe intended it should be read, and that there were very few Germans who understood the wonderful figures and metaphors found in Goethe’s “Faust.” Being of an ambitious temperament, which would not be satisfied with any half-performed task, but which, nevertheless, aimed at the highest achievements, he conceived the idea, as early as 1850, of translating into Englishthe greatest work of Goethe. He could not at that time comprehend how vast an undertaking he had assumed. It required something more than a mere knowledge of words to be able to translate accurately and fully; and it was no light task for a person to master the common meaning of all the words and compounds which Goethe so recklessly used.

But when it became necessary not only to be able to give the meaning of each word by substituting in its stead one of another language, but also to give the sense and shades of meaning which the words in combination convey to a reader of the original, then the task became formidable. But that was not all. As Goethe, like every great genius, had many eccentricities, as he drew many of his illustrations from events in his own experience and scenes which he had visited, it was necessary to a full understanding of the great theme, to study Goethe’s characteristics, habits of thought, education, and experience.

In short, if one were to translate Goethe, he must be like Goethe in experience and mental composition. He must know what Goethe knew; must look upon man and his complicated life as Goethe looked upon it in his time and circumstances. To the work of education and self-discipline Mr. Taylor applied himself most assiduously.

Twice, when some new difficulty presented itself which he had not foreseen, he became discouraged and resolved to give up the enterprise. Once was whenthe appearance of Rev. Charles T. Brooks’ translation seemed to forestall him in his hope for a profitable sale of the book; and once when he saw with unusual clearness the great difficulty of obtaining words in the English language which should not only express the meaning, but do so in acceptable rhyme.

But those discouraging facts were soon surmounted or forgotten in the great passion of his literary life and the study of the language, manners, and beliefs of the German people was not abandoned.

He found in the first volume many references to the superstitions of the German people, and he set about learning the history of witches, fairies, sprites, and the Devil, as known to German literature. This, in itself, is no small task. He then encountered what he thought was, perhaps, a kind of burlesque on the government and its laws, and to feel sure that it was so or was not so, he studied the history of the German principalities, especially of Weimar, where Goethe resided.

He found many illustrations from the landscapes of Italy, Switzerland, Greece and Germany, and it became necessary not only to visit those countries, but to look upon the landscapes mentioned in order to be sure of the exact meaning of the words of description as they were used by the great poet. Hence, in Spain, France, Italy, Egypt, Greece, and Germany, he sought the places mentioned by Goethe in his works, and noted the correctness or error of his reading.The mountain scenes, more especially of the Hartz Mountains, and “The Brocken,” were peculiarly difficult passages in view of the possibly double meaning of many words when found in any connection, and in view of the peculiar use which Goethe so independently made of them. Hence, Mr. Taylor made frequent excursions in Europe during the last eighteen years, with the purpose in view of obtaining a more accurate knowledge of Goethe’s thoughts. Frequent references are made to customs now obsolete, to theological opinions now unknown, and words inserted long out of use or wholly made by the poet himself. All these required much study.

To know the poet necessitated a thorough insight into the history of his time, a knowledge of his companions and the circumstances under which the poem was planned and written. This led to the study of Schiller’s life, who was Goethe’s bosom friend, and to trips to the localities where Goethe resided. Thus the work opened wider and wider at each stage in his acquirements, until at last the poem he had thought to be able to read understandingly in a year, was as yet untranslated after a score of years.

He was probably assisted much by the previous translations, and had them to criticise and improve upon. But his work was higher than theirs, as he not only purposed to give the meaning and rhyme, but he intended, as far as possible, to retain the rhythmical arrangement, and secure to the English all thecharms of arrangement and sound of the German original.

In this work he was often interrupted by the calls of an editorial profession, and the cares of a correspondent. His greatest delays were occasioned, however, by the production of poems on other themes. He is said to have had the “Deukalion” in mind for more than fifteen years, and upon that last work of a notable character which he has completed he bestowed much careful thought. It is a poem which, like those of Shakespeare and Goethe, grows valuable in proportion to the study bestowed upon it.

He began this translation in 1850 in a vague, uncertain way, and has continued it through all those years and did not lost sight of it throughout all his various duties, cares, and diversions. Meantime, he had published the following works: “A Journey to Central Africa,” “The Lands of the Saracen,” and “Poems and Ballads,” in 1855. “Visit to India, China, and Japan,” “Poems of the Orient,” and “Poems of Home and Travel,” in 1855. “Cyclopedia of Modern Travel,” edited in 1856. “Northern Travel—Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and Lapland,” 1857. “Travels in Greece and Russia,” “At Home and Abroad,” first series, in 1859. “At Home and Abroad,” second series, and “The Poet’s Journal,” in 1862. “Hannah Thurston,” a novel, in 1863. “John Godfrey’s Fortunes,” a novel, in 1864. “The Story of Kennett,” a novel, and “The Picture of Saint John,” a poem, in1866. “Colorado, a Summer Trip,” and edited a translation of the “Frithjof Saga,” from the Swedish, in 1867. “The Byways of Europe,” and the “Ballad of Abraham Lincoln,” and an edited edition of Auerbach’s “Villa on the Rhine,” in 1869. “Joseph and His Friends,” a novel, in 1870. Then appeared “Goethe’s Faust,” in 1871, followed by “The Masque of the Gods” (1872), and a collected and carefully edited edition of the “Illustrated Library of Travel, Exploration and Adventure,” and “Lars,” a poem, in 1873;—all of which were in his mind, more or less distinctly, previous to the publication of “Faust.” But “The History of Germany,” “The Boys of other Countries,” “Egypt and Iceland,” a volume of travel, “The Prophet,” and “Home Pastorals,” poems, as well as the recent poem of “Deukalion,” and “The Echo Club,” were subsequently conceived and written.

Thus, it will be seen, how full of interruptions the work of translation must have been when so many volumes, so many thousands miles of travel, so much editorial work, so many lectures, such need of money, and so much attention given to the construction of a home, all intervened to distract and discourage.

Yet, with a perseverance most laudable and remarkable, he kept ever before him Goethe and his works. Of the merits of his translation no final judgment can be given until the public have had more time to study the work, and until a greater number of scholars have compared it with the original. It has received greatcommendation; but such a work requires age, and much thought. Its beauties lie deep, and are hidden from superficial minds, and it was Mr. Taylor’s plan to follow the translation with a companion edition of the lives of Goethe and Schiller, which would in a pleasant way serve to expound and make attractive that great poem.

That his translation is regarded by the most distinguished scholars as an excellent production and worthy of an exalted position in literature, is shown by the fact that he has been so often urged by them to go on with his purposed biography of that great poet. No sooner had Mr. Taylor allowed the fact to become known, that he was engaged on such a book, than he was the recipient of many letters from all parts of the world where English-speaking people live, expressing their satisfaction that he had undertaken it, and encouraging him in many ways. This fact, however, rather delayed than assisted the work, for the appearance of so many great writers awaiting with impatience the publication of the book, startled him and magnified the importance of his labors. He felt that the combined biography of Goethe and Schiller would be the crowning work of his life, and more than once expressed the thought that it might be his last. To supply the demand for present publications, perform the duties which devolved upon him in his high office, and keep steadily advancing with the greater work, required more strength than one frame could supply.He felt the strain, and sometimes thought it best to leave everything in the line of labor, and rest. The need of such a course did not, however, seem imperative until he was too near his end to ward off the blow. Death came to him in the midst of his work, and in the most sudden manner. One day he is seen at his work; the next he is numbered among those that have lived—but are gone. His wife and daughter (Lillian), with most devoted nursing, had seen the invalid of the previous weeks reviving and gaining strength, until able again to attend to business, when, almost without warning, he sinks and dies within a few hours.

The book for reference, the packages of manuscript, the letters from admirers of Goethe and Schiller, the notes and extracts, slips and pictures, lay where he placed them, accessible to his hand; but the pen is unmoved, the author is dead, and the Lives of Goethe and Schiller are incomplete.

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