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Turones (France) (search for this): chapter 6
g the same paved streets, the same dark, narrow alleys without sidewalks, the same dingy stone houses, each peeping into its neighbor's windows, the same eternal stone walls, shutting in from the eye of the stranger all the beauty of the place and opposing an inhospitable barrier to the lover of natural scenery. But when he finds himself among rural scenes, he has the delight felt by many an American boy since his days, as in the picture following:— From Orleans I started on foot for Tours on the fifth of October. October is my favorite month of the twelve. When I reflected that if I remained in Paris I should lose the only opportunity I might ever enjoy of seeing the centre of France in all the glory of the vintage and the autumn, I shut the book-lid and took wing, with a little knapsack on my back, and a blue cap,—not exactly like Quentin Durward, but perhaps a little more. More anon of him. I had gone as far as Orleans in the diligence because the route is through an unin
France (France) (search for this): chapter 6
wing:— From Orleans I started on foot for Tours on the fifth of October. October is my favorite month of the twelve. When I reflected that if I remained in Paris I should lose the only opportunity I might ever enjoy of seeing the centre of France in all the glory of the vintage and the autumn, I shut the book-lid and took wing, with a little knapsack on my back, and a blue cap,—not exactly like Quentin Durward, but perhaps a little more. More anon of him. I had gone as far as Orleans in fitting himself also for a literary career, we find from his letter to his father, May 15, 1829, that while hearing lectures in German and studying faithfully that language, he was, as he says, writing a book, a kind of Sketch-Book of scenes in France, Spain, and Italy. We shall presently encounter this book under the name of Outre-Mer. He connects his two aims by saying in the same letter, One must write and write correctly, in order to teach. Again he adds, The further I advance, the more
Gottingen (Lower Saxony, Germany) (search for this): chapter 6
uire; the parson; the little deacon; the farm-house kitchen. 3. Husking Frolic: song and tales; fellow who plays the fife for the dance; tale of the Quoddy Indians; description of Sacobezon, their chief. 5. Thanksgiving Day: its merry-making, and tales (also of the Indians). 7. Description of the White Mountains: tale of the Bloody Hand. 10. Reception of Lafayette in a country village. 13. Down East: the missionary of Acadie. Life, i. 165. A few days after, he wrote from Gottingen to his father, I shall never again be in Europe. We thus see his mind at work on American themes in Germany, as later on German themes in America, unconsciously predicting that mingling of the two influences which gave him his fame. His earlier books gave to studious Americans, as I can well recall, their first imaginative glimpses of Europe, while the poet's homeward-looking thoughts from Europe had shown the instinct which was to identify his later fame with purely American themes. It
Department de Ville de Paris (France) (search for this): chapter 6
me hear French conversation,—for the French are always talking. Besides, the conversation is the purest of French, inasmuch as persons from the highest circles in Paris are residing here, —amongst others, an old gentleman who was of the household of Louis the Sixteenth, and a Madame de Sailly, daughter of a celebrated advocate nages which I enjoy here, and you can easily imagine others which a country residence offers over that of a city, during the vacation of the literary institutions at Paris and the cessation of their lectures. It is to be noticed from the outset that the French villages disappointed him as they disappoint many others. In his letteowing:— From Orleans I started on foot for Tours on the fifth of October. October is my favorite month of the twelve. When I reflected that if I remained in Paris I should lose the only opportunity I might ever enjoy of seeing the centre of France in all the glory of the vintage and the autumn, I shut the book-lid and took w<
Vesuvius (Italy) (search for this): chapter 6
ng friend, Professor George W. Greene, who, in dedicating his The Life of Nathanael Greene to his friend, thus recalls an evening spent together at Naples in 1828:— We wanted, he says, to be alone, and yet to feel that there was life all around us. We went up to the flat roof of the house where, as we walked, we could look down into the crowded street, and out upon the wonderful bay, and across the bay to Ischia and Capri and Sorrento, and over the house-tops and villas and vineyards to Vesuvius. The ominous pillar of smoke hung suspended above the fatal mountain, reminding us of Pliny, its first and noblest victim. A golden vapor crowned the bold promontory of Sorrento, and we thought of Tasso. Capri was calmly sleeping, like a sea-bird upon the waters; and we seemed to hear the voice of Tacitus from across the gulf of eighteen centuries, telling us that the historian's pen is still powerful to absolve or to condemn long after the imperial sceptre has fallen from the withered h
New England (United States) (search for this): chapter 6
llages disappointed him as they disappoint many others. In his letters he recalls how fresh and cheerful and breezy a New England village is; how marked its features—so diferent from the town, so peculiar, so delightful. He finds a French village,lines together, yet he sends to Carey & Lea, the Philadelphia publishers, to propose a series of sketches and tales of New England life. These sketches, as given in his note-book, are as follows:— 1. New England Scenery: description of SebagoNew England Scenery: description of Sebago Pond; rafting logs; tavern scene; a tale connected with the Images. 2. A New England Village: country squire; the parson; the little deacon; the farm-house kitchen. 3. Husking Frolic: song and tales; fellow who plays the fife for the dance; tNew England Village: country squire; the parson; the little deacon; the farm-house kitchen. 3. Husking Frolic: song and tales; fellow who plays the fife for the dance; tale of the Quoddy Indians; description of Sacobezon, their chief. 5. Thanksgiving Day: its merry-making, and tales (also of the Indians). 7. Description of the White Mountains: tale of the Bloody Hand. 10. Reception of Lafayette in a countr
Auteuil (France) (search for this): chapter 6
He sailed on the ship Cadmus, Captain Allen, and wrote to his mother from Havre that his passage of thirty days had been a dreary blank, and that the voyage was very tiresome because of the continual talking of French and broken English, adding, For Frenchmen, you know, talk incessantly, and we had at least a dozen of them with us. In spite of this rather fatiguing opportunity, he was not at once at home in French, but wrote ere long, I am coming on famously, I assure you. He wrote from Auteuil, where he soon went, Attached to the house is an extensive garden, full of fruit-trees, and bowers, and alcoves, where the boarders ramble and talk from morning till night. This makes the situation an excellent one for me; I can at any time hear French conversation,—for the French are always talking. Besides, the conversation is the purest of French, inasmuch as persons from the highest circles in Paris are residing here, —amongst others, an old gentleman who was of the household of Loui
Europe (search for this): chapter 6
whose daring mind conceived the fearful vengeance of the Sicilian Vespers. We did not yet know Niccolini; but his grand verses had already begun their work of regeneration in the Italian heart. Virgil's tomb was not far off. The spot consecrated by Sannazaro's ashes was near us. And over all, with a thrill like that of solemn music, fell the splendor of the Italian sunset. Scudder's Men and Letters, 28, 29. As an illustration of this obvious fact that Longfellow, during this first European visit, while nominally training himself for purely educational work, was fitting himself also for a literary career, we find from his letter to his father, May 15, 1829, that while hearing lectures in German and studying faithfully that language, he was, as he says, writing a book, a kind of Sketch-Book of scenes in France, Spain, and Italy. We shall presently encounter this book under the name of Outre-Mer. He connects his two aims by saying in the same letter, One must write and write
Madrid (Spain) (search for this): chapter 6
ing but starvation would drive me to strike up at the entrance of a village, as Goldsmith did. Life, i.90, 91. Thus, wherever he goes, his natural good spirits prevail over everything. Washington Irving, in his diary, speaks of Longfellow at Madrid as having arrived safely and cheerily, having met with no robbers. Mrs. Alexander Everett, wife of the American minister at Madrid, writes back to America, His countenance is itself a letter of recommendation. He went into good Spanish society Madrid, writes back to America, His countenance is itself a letter of recommendation. He went into good Spanish society and also danced in the streets on village holidays. At the Alhambra, he saw the refinement of beauty within the halls, and the clusters of gypsy caves in the hillside opposite. After eight months of Spain he went on to Italy, where he remained until December, and passed to Germany with the new year. He sums up his knowledge of the languages at this point by saying, With the French and Spanish languages I am familiarly conversant so as to speak them correctly and write them with as much ease a
Orleans, Ma. (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 6
he beauty of the place and opposing an inhospitable barrier to the lover of natural scenery. But when he finds himself among rural scenes, he has the delight felt by many an American boy since his days, as in the picture following:— From Orleans I started on foot for Tours on the fifth of October. October is my favorite month of the twelve. When I reflected that if I remained in Paris I should lose the only opportunity I might ever enjoy of seeing the centre of France in all the glory of the vintage and the autumn, I shut the book-lid and took wing, with a little knapsack on my back, and a blue cap,—not exactly like Quentin Durward, but perhaps a little more. More anon of him. I had gone as far as Orleans in the diligence because the route is through an uninteresting country. I began the pedestrian part of my journey on one of those dull, melancholy days which you will find uttering a mournful voice in Sewall's Almanack: Expect—much—rain —about—this—time! Very mi
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