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Memoirs By: Charles Godfrey Leland (1824-1903) |
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MEMOIRS
BY
CHARLES GODFREY LELAND
(HANS BREITMANN) WITH PORTRAIT Second Edition LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
1894
[ All rights reserved ] FIRST EDITION ( 2 Volumes ), October 1893.
PREFACE.
It happened once in Boston, in the year 1861 or 1862, that I was at a
dinner of the Atlantic Club, such as was held every Saturday, when the
question was raised as to whether any man had ever written a complete and
candid autobiography. Emerson, who was seated by me at the right,
suggested the "Confessions" of Rousseau. I objected that it was full of
untruths, and that for plain candour it was surpassed by the "Life of
Casanova." Of this work (regarding which Carlyle has said, "Whosoever
has looked therein, let him wash his hands and be unclean until even")
neither Emerson nor Lowell, nor Palfrey nor Agassiz, nor any of the
others present seemed to have any knowledge, until Dr. Holmes, who was
more adventurous, admitted he knew somewhat thereof. Now, as I had read
it thrice through, I knew it pretty well. I reflected on this, but came
to the conclusion that perhaps the great reason why the world has so few
and frank autobiographies is really because the world exacts too much. It
is no more necessary to describe everything cynically than it is to set
forth all our petty diseases in detail. There are many influences which,
independent of passion or shame, do far more to form character. Acting from this reflection, I wrote this book with no intention that it
should be published; I had, indeed, some idea that a certain friend might
use it after my death as a source whence to form a Life. Therefore I
wrote, as fully and honestly as I could, everything which I could
remember which had made me what I am. It occurred to me as a leading
motive that a century or two hence the true inner life of any man who
had actually lived from the time when railroads, steamboats, telegraphs,
gas, percussion caps, fulminating matches, the opera and omnibuses,
evolution and socialism were quite unknown to his world, into the modern
age, would be of some value. So I described my childhood or youth
exactly as I recalled, or as I felt it. Such a book requires very
merciful allowance from humane reviewers. It seemed to me, also, that though I have not lived familiarly among the
princes, potentates, and powers of the earth, yet as I have met or seen
or corresponded with about five hundred of the three thousand set down in
"Men of the Time," and been kindly classed among them, it was worth while
to mention my meetings with many of them. Had the humblest scribbler of
the age of Elizabeth so much as mentioned that he had ever exchanged a
word with, or even looked at, any of the great writers of his time, his
record would now be read with avidity. I have really never in my life
run after such men, or sought to make their acquaintance with a view of
extending my list; all that I can tell of them, as my book will show, has
been the result of chance. But what I have written will be of some
interest, I think at least "in the dim and remote future." I had laid the manuscript by, till I had time to quite forget what I had
written, when I unexpectedly received a proposal to write my memoirs. I
then read over my work, and determined "to let it go," as it was. It
seemed to me that, with all its faults, it fulfilled the requisition of
Montaigne in being ung livre de bonne foye . So it has gone forth into
print. Jacta est alea . The story of what is to me by far the most interesting period of my life
remains to be written. This embraces an account of my labour for many
years in introducing Industrial Art as a branch of education in schools,
my life in England and on the Continent for more than twenty years, my
travels in Russia and Egypt, my researches among Gypsies and Algonkin
Indians, my part in Oriental and Folklore and other Congresses, my
discovery of the Shelta or Ogham tongue in Great Britain, and the long
and very strangely adventurous discoveries, continued for five years,
among witches in Italy, which resulted in the discovery that all the
names of the old Etruscan gods are still remembered by the peasantry of
the Toscana Romagna, and that ceremonies and invocations are still
addressed to them... Continue reading book >>
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