each other in every waking moment。 I had just learned to know Bjornson's
stories； and Boyesen told me of his poetry and of his drama； which in
even measure embodied the great Norse literary movement； and filled me
with the wonder and delight of that noble revolt against convention； that
brave return to nature and the springs of poetry in the heart and the
speech of the common people。 Literature was Boyesen's religion more than
the Swedenborgian philosophy in which we had both been spiritually
nurtured； and at every step of our mounting friendship we found ourselves
on common ground in our worship of it。 I was a decade his senior； but at
thirty…five I was not yet so stricken in years as not to be able fully to
rejoice in the ardor which fused his whole being in an incandescent
poetic mass。 I have known no man who loved poetry more generously and
passionately； and I think he was above all things a poet。 His work took
the shape of scholarship； fiction； criticism； but poetry gave it all a
touch of grace and beauty。 Some years after this first meeting of ours I
remember a pathetic moment with him； when I asked him why he had not
written any verse of late； and he answered； as if still in sad
astonishment at the fact； that he had found life was not all poetry。 In
those earlier days I believe he really thought it was！
Perhaps it really is； and certainly in the course of a life that
stretched almost to half a century Boyesen learned more and more to see
the poetry of the everyday world at least as the material of art。 He did
battle valiantly for that belief in many polemics； which I suppose gave
people a sufficiently false notion of him； and he showed his faith by
works in fiction which better illustrated his motive。 Gunnar stands at
the beginning of these works； and at the farthest remove from it in
matter and method stands 'The Mammon of Unrighteousness'。 The lovely
idyl won him fame and friendship； and the great novel added neither to
him； though he had put the experience and the observation of his ripened
life into it。 Whether it is too late or too early for it to win the
place in literature which it merits I do not know； but it always seemed
to me the very spite of fate that it should have failed of popular
effect。 Yet I must own that it has so failed； and I own this without
bitterness towards Gunnar； which embalmed the spirit of his youth as
'The Mammon of Unrighteousness' embodied the thought of his manhood。
III。
It was my pleasure； my privilege； to bring Gunnar before the public as
editor of the Atlantic Monthly； and to second the author in many a
struggle with the strange idiom he had cast the story in。 The proofs
went back and forth between us till the author had profited by every hint
and suggestion of the editor。 He was quick to profit by any hint； and he
never made the same mistake twice。 He lived his English as fast as he
learned it； the right word became part of him； and he put away the wrong
word with instant and final rejection。 He had not learned American
English without learning newspaper English； but if one touched a phrase
of it in his work； he felt in his nerves； which are the ultimate arbiters
in such matters； its difference from true American and true English。
It was wonderful how apt and how elect his diction was in those days；
it seemed as if his thought clothed itself in the fittest phrase without
his choosing。 In his poetry he had extraordinary good fortune from the
first； his mind had an apparent affinity with what was most native； most
racy in our speech； and I have just been looking over Gunnar and
marvelling anew at the felicity and the beauty of his phrasing。
I do not know whether those who read his books stop much to consider how
rare his achievement was in the mere means of expression。 Our speech is
rather more hospitable than most； and yet I can remember but five other
writers born to different languages who have handled English with
anything like his mastery。 Two Italians； Ruffini； the novelist； and
Gallenga； the journalist； two Germans； Carl Schurz and Carl Hillebrand；
and the Dutch novelist Maarten Maartens； have some of them equalled but
none of them surpassed him。 Yet he was a man grown when he began to
speak and to write English； though I believe he studied it somewhat in
Norway before he came to America。 What English he knew he learned the
use of here； and in the measure of its idiomatic vigor we may be proud of
it as Americans。
He had least of his native grace； I think； in his criticism； and yet as a
critic he had qualities of rare temperance； acuteness； and knowledge。
He had very decided convictions in literary art； one kind of thing he
believed was good and all other kinds less good down to what was bad； but
he was not a bigot； and he made allowances for art…in…error。 His hand
fell heavy only upon those heretics who not merely denied the faith but
pretended that artifice was better than nature； that decoration was more
than structure； that make…believe was something you could live by as you
live by truth。 He was not strongest； however； in damnatory criticism。
His spirit was too large； too generous to dwell in that； and it rose
rather to its full height in his appreciations of the great authors whom
he loved； and whom he commented from the plenitude of his scholarship as
well as from his delighted sense of their grandeur。 Here he was almost
as fine as in his poetry； and only less fine than in his more fortunate
essays in fiction。
After Gunnar he was a long while in striking another note so true。 He
did not strike it again till he wrote 'The Mammon of Unrighteousness'；
and after that he was sometimes of a wandering and uncertain touch。
There are certain stories of his which I cannot read without a painful
sense of their inequality not only to his talent； but to his knowledge of
human nature； and of American character。 He understood our character
quite as well as he understood our language； but at times he seemed not
to do so。 I think these were the times when he was overworked； and ought
to have been resting instead of writing。 In such fatigue one loses
command of alien words； alien situations； and in estimating Boyesen's
achievements we must never forget that he was born strange to our
language and to our life。 In 'Gunnar' he handled the one with grace and
charm； in his great novel he handled both with masterly strength。 I call
'The Mammon of Unrighteousness' a great novel； and I am quite willing to
say that I know few novels by born Americans that surpass it in dealing
with American types and conditions。 It has the vast horizon of the
masterpieces of fictions； its meanings are not for its characters alone；
but for every reader of it； when you close the book the story is not at
an end。
I have a pang in praising it； for I remember that my praise cannot please
him any more。 But it was a book worthy the powers which could have given
us yet greater things if they had not been spent on lesser things。
Boyesen could 〃toil terribly；〃 but for his fame he did not always toil
wisely； though he gave himself as utterly in his unwise work as in his
best； it was always the best he could do。 Several years after our first
meeting in Cambridge； he went to live in New York； a city where money
counts for more and goes for less than in any other city of the world；
and he could not resist the temptation to write more and more when he
should have written less and less。 He never wrote anything that was not
worth reading； but he wrote too much for one who was giving himself with
all his conscience to his academic work in the university honored by his
gifts and his attainments； and was lecturing far and near in the
vacations which should have been days and weeks and months of leisure。
The wonder is that even such a stock of health as his could stand the
strain so long； but he had no vices； and his only excesses were in the
direction of the work which he loved so well。 When a man adds to his
achievements every year； we are apt to forget the things he has already
done； and I think it well to remind the reader that Boyesen； who died at
forty…eight； had written； besides articles； reviews； and lectures
unnumbered； four volumes of scholarly criticism on German and
Scandinavian literature； a volume of literary and social essays； a
popular history of Norway； a volume of poems； twelve volumes of fiction；
and four books for boys。
Boyesen's energies were inexhaustible。 He was not content to be merely a
scholar； merely an author； he wished to be an active citizen； to take his
part in honest politics； and to live for his day in things that most men
of letters shun。 His experience in them helped him to know American life
better and to appreciate it more justly； both in its good and its evil；
and as a matter of fact he knew us very well。 His acquaintance with us
had been wide and varied beyond that of most of our literary men； and
touched many aspects of our civilization which remain unknown to most
Americans。 When be died he had been a journalist in Chicago； and a
teacher in Ohio； he had been a professor in Cornell University and a
literary free lance in New York； and everywhere his eyes and ears had
kept themselves open。 As a teacher he learned to know the more fortunate
or the more ambitious of our youth； and as a lecturer his knowledge was
continually extending itself among all ages and classes of Americans。
He was through and through a Norseman； but he was none the less a very
American。 Between Norsk and Yankee there is an affinity of spirit more
intimate than the ties of race。 Both have the common…sense view of life；
both are unsentimental。 When Boyesen told me that among the Norwegians
men never kissed each other； as the Germans； and the Frenchmen； and the
Italians do； I perceived that we stood upon common ground。 When he
explained the democratic character of society in Norway； I could well
understand how he should find us a little behind his own countrymen in
the practice； if not the theory of equality； though they lived under a
king and we under a president。 But he was proud of his American
citizenship； he knew all that it me