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Baltimore, Md. (Maryland, United States) (search for this): chapter 10
sity for every nation, as for every age, to insist on setting its own standard, even to the resolute readjustment of well-established reputations. So long as it does not, it will find itself overawed and depressed, not as much by the greatness of some metropolis, as by its littleness. It is the calamity of a large city that its smallest men appear to themselves important simply because they dwell there; just as Travers, the New York wit, explained his stuttering more in that city than in Baltimore, on the ground that it was a larger place. The London literary journals seem to an American visitor to be largely filled with Epistoloe obscurorum virorum; and when I attended, some years since, the first meetings of the Association Litteraire Internationale in Paris, it was impossible not to be impressed by the multitude of minor literary personages, among whom a writer so mediocre as Edmond About towered as a giant. But no doubts of their own supreme importance to the universe appeare
Colorado (Colorado, United States) (search for this): chapter 10
en your sister or your neighbor praises your work, they may be suspected of partiality; when the newspapers commend, the critic may be very friendly or very juvenile; but when the post brings you a complimentary letter from a new-born village in Colorado, you become conscious of an audience. Now, suppose the intellectual aspirations of that frontier village to be so built up by schools, libraries, and galleries that it shall be a centre of thought and civilization for the whole of Colorado,—a SColorado,—a State which is in itself about the size of Great Britain or Italy, and half the size of Germany or France,—and we shall have a glimpse at a state of things worth more than a national metropolis. The collective judgment of a series of smaller tribunals like this will ultimately be worth more to an author, or to a literature, than that of London or Paris. History gives us, in the Greek states, the Italian Republics, the German university towns, some examples of such a concurrent intellectual jur<
Carcaso (France) (search for this): chapter 10
teach them humility. Little Pedlington at least shows itself apologetic and even uneasy; that is what saves it to reason and common-sense. But fancy a Parisian apologizing for Paris! The great fear of those who demand an intellectual metropolis is provincialism; but we must remember that the word is used in two wholly different senses, which have nothing in common. What an American understands by provincialism is best to be seen in the little French town, some imaginary Tarascon or Carcassonne, where the notary and the physician and the rentiers sit and play dominoes and feebly disport themselves in a benumbed world of petty gossip. But what the Parisian or the Londoner would assume to be provincial among us is an American town, perhaps of the same size, but which has already its schools and its public library well established, and is now aiming at a gallery of art and a conservatory of music. To confound these opposite extremes of development under one name is like confoundi
France (France) (search for this): chapter 10
papers commend, the critic may be very friendly or very juvenile; but when the post brings you a complimentary letter from a new-born village in Colorado, you become conscious of an audience. Now, suppose the intellectual aspirations of that frontier village to be so built up by schools, libraries, and galleries that it shall be a centre of thought and civilization for the whole of Colorado,—a State which is in itself about the size of Great Britain or Italy, and half the size of Germany or France,—and we shall have a glimpse at a state of things worth more than a national metropolis. The collective judgment of a series of smaller tribunals like this will ultimately be worth more to an author, or to a literature, than that of London or Paris. History gives us, in the Greek states, the Italian Republics, the German university towns, some examples of such a concurrent intellectual jurisdiction; but they missed the element of size, the element of democratic freedom, the element of an
Tarascon (France) (search for this): chapter 10
is nobody to teach them humility. Little Pedlington at least shows itself apologetic and even uneasy; that is what saves it to reason and common-sense. But fancy a Parisian apologizing for Paris! The great fear of those who demand an intellectual metropolis is provincialism; but we must remember that the word is used in two wholly different senses, which have nothing in common. What an American understands by provincialism is best to be seen in the little French town, some imaginary Tarascon or Carcassonne, where the notary and the physician and the rentiers sit and play dominoes and feebly disport themselves in a benumbed world of petty gossip. But what the Parisian or the Londoner would assume to be provincial among us is an American town, perhaps of the same size, but which has already its schools and its public library well established, and is now aiming at a gallery of art and a conservatory of music. To confound these opposite extremes of development under one name is l
Department de Ville de Paris (France) (search for this): chapter 10
, will probably proceed not from one focus, but from many. To one looking across from London or Paris this would seem impossible, for while living in a great city you come to feel as if that spot we the breadth of atmosphere that one expects from a world's capital. On the contrary, we find in Paris, in Berlin, in London, a certain curious narrowness, an immense exaggeration of its own petty anI attended, some years since, the first meetings of the Association Litteraire Internationale in Paris, it was impossible not to be impressed by the multitude of minor literary personages, among whom uneasy; that is what saves it to reason and common-sense. But fancy a Parisian apologizing for Paris! The great fear of those who demand an intellectual metropolis is provincialism; but we must like this will ultimately be worth more to an author, or to a literature, than that of London or Paris. History gives us, in the Greek states, the Italian Republics, the German university towns, som
England (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 10
icked one, as an apple includes its core. One does not need to be a very great author in America to find that his voice is heard across a continent—a thing more stimulating and more impressive to the imagination than the morning drum-beat of Great Britain. The whole vast nation, but a short time since, was simultaneously following the Rise of Silas Lapham, or The Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine. In a few years the humblest of the next generation of writers will be appealing to asuppose the intellectual aspirations of that frontier village to be so built up by schools, libraries, and galleries that it shall be a centre of thought and civilization for the whole of Colorado,—a State which is in itself about the size of Great Britain or Italy, and half the size of Germany or France,—and we shall have a glimpse at a state of things worth more than a national metropolis. The collective judgment of a series of smaller tribunals like this will ultimately be worth more to an<
ater advantage of writing for an audience which is, so to speak, unpicked, and which, therefore, includes the picked one, as an apple includes its core. One does not need to be a very great author in America to find that his voice is heard across a continent—a thing more stimulating and more impressive to the imagination than the morning drum-beat of Great Britain. The whole vast nation, but a short time since, was simultaneously following the Rise of Silas Lapham, or The Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine. In a few years the humblest of the next generation of writers will be appealing to a possible constituency of a hundred millions. He who writes for a metropolis may unconsciously share its pettiness; he who writes for a hundred millions must feel some expansion in his thoughts, even though his and theirs be still crude. Keats asked his friend to throw a copy of Endymion into the heart of the African desert; is it not better to cast your book into a vaster region that
Silas Lapham (search for this): chapter 10
metropolis has the immeasurably greater advantage of writing for an audience which is, so to speak, unpicked, and which, therefore, includes the picked one, as an apple includes its core. One does not need to be a very great author in America to find that his voice is heard across a continent—a thing more stimulating and more impressive to the imagination than the morning drum-beat of Great Britain. The whole vast nation, but a short time since, was simultaneously following the Rise of Silas Lapham, or The Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine. In a few years the humblest of the next generation of writers will be appealing to a possible constituency of a hundred millions. He who writes for a metropolis may unconsciously share its pettiness; he who writes for a hundred millions must feel some expansion in his thoughts, even though his and theirs be still crude. Keats asked his friend to throw a copy of Endymion into the heart of the African desert; is it not better to cast
John Keats (search for this): chapter 10
Great Britain. The whole vast nation, but a short time since, was simultaneously following the Rise of Silas Lapham, or The Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine. In a few years the humblest of the next generation of writers will be appealing to a possible constituency of a hundred millions. He who writes for a metropolis may unconsciously share its pettiness; he who writes for a hundred millions must feel some expansion in his thoughts, even though his and theirs be still crude. Keats asked his friend to throw a copy of Endymion into the heart of the African desert; is it not better to cast your book into a vaster region that is alive with men? Cliques lose their seeming importance where one has the human heart at his door. That calamity which Fontenelle mourned, the loss of so many good things by their being spoken only into the ear of some fool, can never happen to what is written for a whole continent. There will be a good auditor somewhere, and the farther off,
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