Chapter II: Longfellow’s Character

As a young man Longfellow was pretty much like other young men, fond of society and fond of dress. At Cambridge the sober-minded were a little disturbed by the brilliancy of his waistcoats. In the Thirties it was permitted men, if they would, to array themselves like birds of paradise. Longfellow appears in some degree to have availed himself of the privilege. After a visit to Dickens in London in 1842 the novelist wrote Longfellow that boot-maker, hosier, trousers-maker, and coat-cutter had all been at the point of death. ‘The medical gentlemen agreed that it was exhaustion occasioned by early rising--to wait upon you at those unholy hours!’ An English visitor who saw Longfellow in 1850 thought him too fashionably dressed with his ‘blue frock-coat of Parisian cut, a handsome waistcoat, faultless pantaloons, and primrose colored “kids.”’

In middle age his social instinct was as strong as ever, but he cared less for ‘society.’ He restricted himself to the companionship of his friends, holding always in reserve time for his dependants, of whom he had more than a fair share.

Longfellow was large-hearted. He liked people if they were likable and sympathized with them if they were unattractive or unfortunate. He was open-handed, a liberal giver. Adventurers preyed upon him. He endured them with patient strength. When their exactions became outrageous, he made an effort to be rid of them. If unsuccessful, he laughed at his own want of skill and resigned himself to be imposed on a little longer. A weaker man would have sent these bores and parasites about their business at once.

Incapable of giving pain to any living creature, he could not understand the temper which prompts another to do so. Fortunately the violence or malignity of criticism had little effect on him. He could even be amused by it. Of Margaret Fuller’s ‘furious onslaught’ on him in the ‘New York Tribune,’ Longfellow said, ‘It is what ‘might be called a bilious attack.’

He disliked publicity whether in the form of newspaper chronicle of his doings or recognition in public places. He thought it absurd that because Fechter had dined with him this unimportant item must be telegraphed to Chicago and printed in the morning journals. Fond as he was of the theatre, he sometimes hesitated to go because of the interest his presence excited. It was thought extraordinary that he was willing to read his poem ‘Morituri Salutamus’ at the fiftieth anniversary of his class at Bowdoin. He was delighted when he found he was to stand behind the old-fashioned high pulpit; ‘Let me cover myself as much as possible. I wish it might be entirely.’

One trait of Longfellow’s character has been over-emphasized--his gentleness. He was indeed gentle; but continual harping on that string has created the impression that he was gentle rather than anything else. In consequence we have a legendary Longfellow in whom all other traits of character are subordinated to the one. His amiability, his sense of justice, his entire freedom from selfishness and vanity, and his genuine modesty, which led him even when he was right and his neighbor wrong to avoid giving needless pain by intimating to the neighbor how wrong he was--all contributed to hide the more forceful and emphatic qualities. But the qualities were there.

Nothing is easier than to multiply illustrations of this poet’s gracious traits of character. Holmes epitomized all eulogy when he said of Longfellow: ‘His life was so exceptionally sweet and musical that any voice of praise sounds almost like a discord after it.’