The Complete PG Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

O >> Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (The Physician and Poet not the Jurist) >> The Complete PG Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.


That girl will kill herself over me, Sir,--said the poor Little Gentleman
to me, one day,--she will kill herself, Sir, if you don't call in all the
resources of your art to get me off as soon as may be. I shall wear her
out, Sir, with sitting in this close chamber and watching when she ought
to be sleeping, if you leave me to the care of Nature without dosing me.

This was rather strange pleasantry, under the circumstances. But there
are certain persons whose existence is so out of parallel with the larger
laws in the midst of which it is moving, that life becomes to them as
death and death as life.--How am I getting along?--he said, another
morning. He lifted his shrivelled hand, with the death's-head ring on
it, and looked at it with a sad sort of complacency. By this one
movement, which I have seen repeatedly of late, I know that his thoughts
have gone before to another condition, and that he is, as it were,
looking back on the infirmities of the body as accidents of the past.
For, when he was well, one might see him often looking at the handsome
hand with the flaming jewel on one of its fingers. The single
well-shaped limb was the source of that pleasure which in some form or
other Nature almost always grants to her least richly endowed children.
Handsome hair, eyes, complexion, feature, form, hand, foot, pleasant
voice, strength, grace, agility, intelligence,--how few there are that
have not just enough of one at least of these gifts to show them that the
good Mother, busy with her millions of children, has not quite forgotten
them! But now he was thinking of that other state, where, free from all
mortal impediments, the memory of his sorrowful burden should be only as
that of the case he has shed to the insect whose "deep-damasked wings"
beat off the golden dust of the lily-anthers, as he flutters in the
ecstasy of his new life over their full-blown summer glories.

No human being can rest for any time in a state of equilibrium, where the
desire to live and that to depart just balance each other. If one has a
house, which he has lived and always means to live in, he pleases himself
with the thought of all the conveniences it offers him, and thinks little
of its wants and imperfections. But once having made up his mind to move
to a better, every incommodity starts out upon him, until the very
ground-plan of it seems to have changed in his mind, and his thoughts and
affections, each one of them packing up its little bundle of
circumstances, have quitted their several chambers and nooks and migrated
to the new home, long before its apartments are ready to receive their
coming tenant. It is so with the body. Most persons have died before
they expire,--died to all earthly longings, so that the last breath is
only, as it were, the locking of the door of the already deserted
mansion. The fact of the tranquillity with which the great majority of
dying persons await this locking of those gates of life through which its
airy angels have been going and coming, from the moment of the first cry,
is familiar to those who have been often called upon to witness the last
period of life. Almost always there is a preparation made by Nature for
unearthing a soul, just as on the smaller scale there is for the removal
of a milktooth. The roots which hold human life to earth are absorbed
before it is lifted from its place. Some of the dying are weary and want
rest, the idea of which is almost inseparable in the universal mind from
death. Some are in pain, and want to be rid of it, even though the
anodyne be dropped, as in the legend, from the sword of the Death-Angel.
Some are stupid, mercifully narcotized that they may go to sleep without
long tossing about. And some are strong in faith and hope, so that, as
they draw near the next world, they would fair hurry toward it, as the
caravan moves faster over the sands when the foremost travellers send
word along the file that water is in sight. Though each little party
that follows in a foot-track of its own will have it that the water to
which others think they are hastening is a mirage, not the less has it
been true in all ages and for human beings of every creed which
recognized a future, that those who have fallen worn out by their march
through the Desert have dreamed at least of a River of Life, and thought
they heard its murmurs as they lay dying.

The change from the clinging to the present to the welcoming of the
future comes very soon, for the most part, after all hope of life is
extinguished, provided this be left in good degree to Nature, and not
insolently and cruelly forced upon those who are attacked by illness, on
the strength of that odious foreknowledge often imparted by science,
before the white fruit whose core is ashes, and which we call death, has
set beneath the pallid and drooping flower of sickness. There is a
singular sagacity very often shown in a patient's estimate of his own
vital force. His physician knows the state of his material frame well
enough, perhaps,--that this or that organ is more or less impaired or
disintegrated; but the patient has a sense that he can hold out so much
longer,--sometimes that he must and will live for a while, though by the
logic of disease he ought to die without any delay.

The Little Gentleman continued to fail, until it became plain that his
remaining days were few. I told the household what to expect. There was
a good deal of kind feeling expressed among the boarders, in various
modes, according to their characters and style of sympathy. The landlady
was urgent that he should try a certain nostrum which had saved
somebody's life in jest sech a case. The Poor Relation wanted me to
carry, as from her, a copy of "Allein's Alarm," etc. I objected to the
title, reminding her that it offended people of old, so that more than
twice as many of the book were sold when they changed the name to "A Sure
Guide to Heaven." The good old gentleman whom I have mentioned before has
come to the time of life when many old men cry easily, and forget their
tears as children do.--He was a worthy gentleman,--he said,--a very
worthy gentleman, but unfortunate,--very unfortunate. Sadly deformed
about the spine and the feet. Had an impression that the late Lord Byron
had some malformation of this kind. Had heerd there was something the
matter with the ankle-j'ints of that nobleman, but he was a man of
talents. This gentleman seemed to be a man of talents. Could not always
agree with his statements,--thought he was a little over-partial to this
city, and had some free opinions; but was sorry to lose him,--and
if--there was anything--he--could--. In the midst of these kind
expressions, the gentleman with the diamond, the Koh-i-noor, as we called
him, asked, in a very unpleasant sort of way, how the old boy was likely
to cut up,--meaning what money our friend was going to leave behind.

The young fellow John spoke up, to the effect that this was a diabolish
snobby question, when a man was dying and not dead.--To this the
Koh-i-noor replied, by asking if the other meant to insult him. Whereto
the young man John rejoined that he had no particul'r intentions one way
or t'other.-The Kohi-noor then suggested the young man's stepping out
into the yard, that he, the speaker, might "slap his chops."--Let 'em
alone, said young Maryland,--it 'll soon be over, and they won't hurt
each other much.--So they went out.

The Koh-i-noor entertained the very common idea, that, when one quarrels
with another, the simple thing to do is to knock the man down, and there
is the end of it. Now those who have watched such encounters are aware
of two things: first, that it is not so easy to knock a man down as it is
to talk about it; secondly, that, if you do happen to knock a man down,
there is a very good chance that he will be angry, and get up and give
you a thrashing.

So the Koh-i-noor thought he would begin, as soon as they got into the
yard, by knocking his man down, and with this intention swung his arm
round after the fashion of rustics and those unskilled in the noble art,
expecting the young fellow John to drop when his fist, having completed a
quarter of a circle, should come in contact with the side of that young
man's head. Unfortunately for this theory, it happens that a blow struck
out straight is as much shorter, and therefore as much quicker than the
rustic's swinging blow, as the radius is shorter than the quarter of a
circle. The mathematical and mechanical corollary was, that the
Koh-i-noor felt something hard bring up suddenly against his right eye,
which something he could have sworn was a paving-stone, judging by his
sensations; and as this threw his person somewhat backwards, and the
young man John jerked his own head back a little, the swinging blow had
nothing to stop it; and as the Jewel staggered between the hit he got and
the blow he missed, he tripped and "went to grass," so far as the
back-yard of our boardinghouse was provided with that vegetable. It was
a signal illustration of that fatal mistake, so frequent in young and
ardent natures with inconspicuous calves and negative pectorals, that
they can settle most little quarrels on the spot by "knocking the man
down."

We are in the habit of handling our faces so carefully, that a heavy
blow, taking effect on that portion of the surface, produces a most
unpleasant surprise, which is accompanied with odd sensations, as of
seeing sparks, and a kind of electrical or ozone-like odor,
half-sulphurous in character, and which has given rise to a very vulgar
and profane threat sometimes heard from the lips of bullies. A person
not used to pugilistic gestures does not instantly recover from this
surprise. The Koh-i-noor exasperated by his failure, and still a little
confused by the smart hit he had received, but furious, and confident of
victory over a young fellow a good deal lighter than himself, made a
desperate rush to bear down all before him and finish the contest at
once. That is the way all angry greenhorns and incompetent persons
attempt to settle matters. It does n't do, if the other fellow is only
cool, moderately quick, and has a very little science. It didn't do this
time; for, as the assailant rushed in with his arms flying everywhere,
like the vans of a windmill, he ran a prominent feature of his face
against a fist which was travelling in the other direction, and
immediately after struck the knuckles of the young man's other fist a
severe blow with the part of his person known as the epigastrium to one
branch of science and the bread-basket to another. This second round
closed the battle. The Koh-i-noor had got enough, which in such cases is
more than as good as a feast. The young fellow asked him if he was
satisfied, and held out his hand. But the other sulked, and muttered
something about revenge.--Jest as ye like,--said the young man
John.--Clap a slice o' raw beefsteak on to that mouse o' yours 'n' 't'll
take down the swellin'. (Mouse is a technical term for a bluish, oblong,
rounded elevation occasioned by running one's forehead or eyebrow against
another's knuckles.) The young fellow was particularly pleased that he
had had an opportunity of trying his proficiency in the art of
self-defence without the gloves. The Koh-i-noor did not favor us with
his company for a day or two, being confined to his chamber, it was said,
by a slight feverish, attack. He was chop-fallen always after this, and
got negligent in his person. The impression must have been a deep one;
for it was observed, that, when he came down again, his moustache and
whiskers had turned visibly white about the roots. In short, it
disgraced him, and rendered still more conspicuous a tendency to
drinking, of which he had been for some time suspected. This, and the
disgust which a young lady naturally feels at hearing that her lover has
been "licked by a fellah not half his size," induced the landlady's
daughter to take that decided step which produced a change in the
programme of her career I may hereafter allude to.

I never thought he would come to good, when I heard him attempting to
sneer at an unoffending city so respectable as Boston. After a man
begins to attack the State-House, when he gets bitter about the
Frog-Pond, you may be sure there is not much left of him. Poor Edgar Poe
died in the hospital soon after he got into this way of talking; and so
sure as you find an unfortunate fellow reduced to this pass, you had
better begin praying for him, and stop lending him money, for he is on
his last legs. Remember poor Edgar! He is dead and gone; but the
State-House has its cupola fresh-gilded, and the Frog-Pond has got a
fountain that squirts up a hundred feet into the air and glorifies that
humble sheet with a fine display of provincial rainbows.

--I cannot fulfil my promise in this number. I expected to gratify your
curiosity, if you have become at all interested in these puzzles, doubts,
fancies, whims, or whatever you choose to call them, of mine. Next month
you shall hear all about it.

--It was evening, and I was going to the sick-chamber. As I paused
at the door before entering, I heard a sweet voice singing. It was
not the wild melody I had sometimes heard at midnight:--no, this was
the voice of Iris, and I could distinguish every word. I had seen
the verses in her book; the melody was new to me. Let me finish my
page with them.


HYMN OF TRUST.

O Love Divine, that stooped to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,
On Thee we cast each earthborn care,
We smile at pain while Thou art near!

Though long the weary way we tread,
And sorrow crown each lingering year,
No path we shun, no darkness dread,
Our hearts still whispering, Thou art near!

When drooping pleasure turns to grief,
And trembling faith is changed to fear,
The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf
Shall softly tell us, Thou art near!

On Thee we fling our burdening woe,
O Love Divine, forever dear,
Content to suffer, while we know,
Living and dying, Thou art near!




XII

A young fellow, born of good stock, in one of the more thoroughly
civilized portions of these United States of America, bred in good
principles, inheriting a social position which makes him at his ease
everywhere, means sufficient to educate him thoroughly without taking
away the stimulus to vigorous exertion, and with a good opening in some
honorable path of labor, is the finest sight our private satellite has
had the opportunity of inspecting on the planet to which she belongs. In
some respects it was better to be a young Greek. If we may trust the old
marbles, my friend with his arm stretched over my head, above there, (in
plaster of Paris,) or the discobolus, whom one may see at the principal
sculpture gallery of this metropolis,--those Greek young men were of
supreme beauty. Their close curls, their elegantly set heads, column-like
necks, straight noses, short, curled lips, firm chins, deep chests, light
flanks, large muscles, small joints, were finer than anything we ever
see. It may well be questioned whether the human shape will ever present
itself again in a race of such perfect symmetry. But the life of the
youthful Greek was local, not planetary, like that of the young American.
He had a string of legends, in place of our Gospels. He had no printed
books, no newspaper, no steam caravans, no forks, no soap, none of the
thousand cheap conveniences which have become matters of necessity to our
modern civilization. Above all things, if he aspired to know as well as
to enjoy, he found knowledge not diffused everywhere about him, so that a
day's labor would buy him more wisdom than a year could master, but held
in private hands, hoarded in precious manuscripts, to be sought for only
as gold is sought in narrow fissures, and in the beds of brawling
streams. Never, since man came into this atmosphere of oxygen and azote,
was there anything like the condition of the young American of the
nineteenth century. Having in possession or in prospect the best part of
half a world, with all its climates and soils to choose from; equipped
with wings of fire and smoke than fly with him day and night, so that he
counts his journey not in miles, but in degrees, and sees the seasons
change as the wild fowl sees them in his annual flights; with huge
leviathans always ready to take him on their broad backs and push behind
them with their pectoral or caudal fins the waters that seam the
continent or separate the hemispheres; heir of all old civilizations,
founder of that new one which, if all the prophecies of the human heart
are not lies, is to be the noblest, as it is the last; isolated in space
from the races that are governed by dynasties whose divine right grows
out of human wrong, yet knit into the most absolute solidarity with
mankind of all times and places by the one great thought he inherits as
his national birthright; free to form and express his opinions on almost
every subject, and assured that he will soon acquire the last franchise
which men withhold from man,--that of stating the laws of his spiritual
being and the beliefs he accepts without hindrance except from clearer
views of truth,--he seems to want nothing for a large, wholesome, noble,
beneficent life. In fact, the chief danger is that he will think the
whole planet is made for him, and forget that there are some
possibilities left in the debris of the old-world civilization which
deserve a certain respectful consideration at his hands.

The combing and clipping of this shaggy wild continent are in some
measure done for him by those who have gone before. Society has
subdivided itself enough to have a place for every form of talent. Thus,
if a man show the least sign of ability as a sculptor or a painter, for
instance, he finds the means of education and a demand for his services.
Even a man who knows nothing but science will be provided for, if he does
not think it necessary to hang about his birthplace all his days,--which
is a most unAmerican weakness. The apron-strings of an American mother
are made of India-rubber. Her boy belongs where he is wanted; and that
young Marylander of ours spoke for all our young men, when he said that
his home was wherever the stars and stripes blew over his head.

And that leads me to say a few words of this young gentleman, who made
that audacious movement lately which I chronicled in my last
record,--jumping over the seats of I don't know how many boarders to put
himself in the place which the Little Gentleman's absence had left vacant
at the side of Iris. When a young man is found habitually at the side of
any one given young lady,--when he lingers where she stays, and hastens
when she leaves,--when his eyes follow her as she moves and rest upon her
when she is still,--when he begins to grow a little timid, he who was so
bold, and a little pensive, he who was so gay, whenever accident finds
them alone,--when he thinks very often of the given young lady, and
names her very seldom,--

What do you say about it, my charming young expert in that sweet science
in which, perhaps, a long experience is not the first of qualifications?

--But we don't know anything about this young man, except that he is
good-looking, and somewhat high-spirited, and strong-limbed, and has a
generous style of nature,--all very promising, but by no means proving
that he is a proper lover for Iris, whose heart we turned inside out when
we opened that sealed book of hers.

Ah, my dear young friend! When your mamma then, if you will believe it,
a very slight young lady, with very pretty hair and figure--came and told
her mamma that your papa had--had--asked No, no, no! she could n't say
it; but her mother--oh the depth of maternal sagacity!--guessed it all
without another word!--When your mother, I say, came and told her mother
she was engaged, and your grandmother told your grandfather, how much did
they know of the intimate nature of the young gentleman to whom she had
pledged her existence? I will not be so hard as to ask how much your
respected mamma knew at that time of the intimate nature of your
respected papa, though, if we should compare a young girl's
man-as-she-thinks-him with a forty-summered matron's man-as-she-finds-him,
I have my doubts as to whether the second would be a facsimile of the
first in most cases.

The idea that in this world each young person is to wait until he or she
finds that precise counterpart who alone of all creation was meant for
him or her, and then fall instantly in love with it, is pretty enough,
only it is not Nature's way. It is not at all essential that all pairs
of human beings should be, as we sometimes say of particular couples,
"born for each other." Sometimes a man or a woman is made a great deal
better and happier in the end for having had to conquer the faults of the
one beloved, and make the fitness not found at first, by gradual
assimilation. There is a class of good women who have no right to marry
perfectly good men, because they have the power of saving those who would
go to ruin but for the guiding providence of a good wife. I have known
many such cases. It is the most momentous question a woman is ever
called upon to decide, whether the faults of the man she loves are beyond
remedy and will drag her down, or whether she is competent to be his
earthly redeemer and lift him to her own level.

A person of genius should marry a person of character. Genius does not
herd with genius. The musk-deer and the civet-cat are never found in
company. They don't care for strange scents,--they like plain animals
better than perfumed ones. Nay, if you will have the kindness to notice,
Nature has not gifted my lady musk-deer with the personal peculiarity by
which her lord is so widely known.

Now when genius allies itself with character, the world is very apt to
think character has the best of the bargain. A brilliant woman marries a
plain, manly fellow, with a simple intellectual mechanism;--we have all
seen such cases. The world often stares a good deal and wonders. She
should have taken that other, with a far more complex mental machinery.
She might have had a watch with the philosophical compensation-balance,
with the metaphysical index which can split a second into tenths, with
the musical chime which can turn every quarter of an hour into melody.
She has chosen a plain one, that keeps good time, and that is all.

Let her alone! She knows what she is about. Genius has an infinitely
deeper reverence for character than character can have for genius. To be
sure, genius gets the world's praise, because its work is a tangible
product, to be bought, or had for nothing. It bribes the common voice to
praise it by presents of speeches, poems, statues, pictures, or whatever
it can please with. Character evolves its best products for home
consumption; but, mind you, it takes a deal more to feed a family for
thirty years than to make a holiday feast for our neighbors once or twice
in our lives. You talk of the fire of genius. Many a blessed woman, who
dies unsung and unremembered, has given out more of the real vital heat
that keeps the life in human souls, without a spark flitting through her
humble chimney to tell the world about it, than would set a dozen
theories smoking, or a hundred odes simmering, in the brains of so many
men of genius. It is in latent caloric, if I may borrow a philosophical
expression, that many of the noblest hearts give out the life that warms
them. Cornelia's lips grow white, and her pulse hardly warms her thin
fingers,--but she has melted all the ice out of the hearts of those young
Gracchi, and her lost heat is in the blood of her youthful heroes. We
are always valuing the soul's temperature by the thermometer of public
deed or word. Yet the great sun himself, when he pours his noonday beams
upon some vast hyaline boulder, rent from the eternal ice-quarries, and
floating toward the tropics, never warms it a fraction above the
thirty-two degrees of Fahrenheit that marked the moment when the first
drop trickled down its side.

How we all like the spirting up of a fountain, seemingly against the law
that makes water everywhere slide, roll, leap, tumble headlong, to get as
low as the earth will let it! That is genius. But what is this
transient upward movement, which gives us the glitter and the rainbow, to
that unsleeping, all-present force of gravity, the same yesterday,
to-day, and forever, (if the universe be eternal,)--the great outspread
hand of God himself, forcing all things down into their places, and
keeping them there? Such, in smaller proportion, is the force of
character to the fitful movements of genius, as they are or have been
linked to each other in many a household, where one name was historic,
and the other, let me say the nobler, unknown, save by some faint
reflected ray, borrowed from its lustrous companion.