f rontenac lEDition 
 
 LIFE OF FRANCIS PARK MAN 
 
jfrtrjttmsc 
 
 A Life of 
 
 Francis Parkman 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES HAIGHT FARNHAM 
 
 \i 
 
 BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN, & CO. 
 
 NEW YORK: J. F. TATLOR & CO, 
 1901 
 
Copyright, 1900, 1901, 
 BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 HENRY MORSE STEPHENS 
 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U. S A. 
 

 
 
 
 7 
 
 fflemoir is 
 
 TO 
 
 ELIZA W. S. PARKMAN 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF ESTEEM 
 
 AND 
 A MEMORIAL OF HER DEVOTION TO HER BROTHER. 
 
 C. H. F. 
 
PEEFACE 
 
 THE chief interest of Francis Parkman s life 
 was not his connection with the great events, 
 important questions, or celebrated people of his 
 time, his life being singularly devoid of external 
 and tangible elements available for a biography. 
 The main attraction of the subject lies in his 
 picturesque, manly character, his inspiring ex 
 ample of fortitude and perseverance, and his 
 training and achievements as historian. As a 
 man he was even greater and more interesting 
 than his work. It is therefore the man himself 
 that I have tried to keep everywhere in view, 
 as the chief object among the experiences of his 
 somewhat uneventful life. 
 
 This purpose early brought on a conflict be 
 tween a sentiment and a conviction, respect 
 for Parkman s extreme reserve and a belief that 
 this must be ignored by his biographer. He 
 never admitted any one to his inner life, nor did 
 anything to make himself known to the public ; 
 
x PREFACE 
 
 publication. Being obliged to save his strength 
 and sight for historical labors, he wrote very few 
 letters, diaries, or papers of general interest. 
 Moreover, while his external life was too un 
 eventful to serve as the main dependence, his 
 real inner life was never revealed to any one. 
 Nor is it easy to show his personality in his 
 works, for they are singularly impersonal ; he 
 kept to the facts of the story, avoiding all 
 expression of his philosophy, tastes, opinions, or 
 feelings. \Furthermore, he felt little sympathy 
 with the political, social, religious, or other 
 reforms of his time; and though his views 
 were very decided, he seldom had eyesight or 
 strength to expend in opposing these move 
 ments. Again, he held but little intercourse 
 with noted people. The singular lack of per 
 sonal elements in his life thus made it impracti 
 cable to paint him in a picture of his times 
 surrounded by important characters. He could 
 be presented only as he was a solitary, often a 
 pathetic, figure in the silence and shadow of his 
 study. And in turning thus to the most interior 
 source of interest the growth of his mental 
 and moral nature there was yet found com 
 paratively little to say ; for his opinions, tastes, 
 and character were formed when quite young, 
 his inelastic, conservative nature changed but 
 little with the passage of years, and he left no 
 
PREFACE xi 
 
 autobiographic record of the forces and methods 
 concerned in this development. Then, partly 
 because he was not one of those men who say 
 and do quotable things, reminiscences of his 
 friends were somewhat disappointing. They 
 could give few anecdotes, few witticisms, few 
 important thoughts, few noteworthy actions. 
 And lastly, my own personal intercourse with 
 him seemed too brief to justify his family in 
 selecting me as his biographer. Our acquaint 
 ance began in 1885, and my departure from 
 Boston in 1890 put a stop to our social relations. 
 In common with all his friends I often regretted 
 that his illness made frequent visits impossible. 
 I enjoyed, however, one exceptional privilege 
 and opportunity, in camping with him for a 
 month on the Batiscan river, near Quebec a 
 good occasion for getting data and impressions 
 of value. 
 
 But all these unfortunate hindrances to a com 
 plete knowledge of him were to some extent off 
 set by the strong picturesqueness of the man, 
 and by the distinct self-revelations made by his 
 unconscious, perhaps unwilling, pen. 
 
 My thanks are due, first of all, to Mr. Park- 
 man s family, from whom I have received all 
 possible aid. I should like also to express my 
 gratitude to his many friends, both classmates 
 and those of later years, who have in different 
 
xii PREFACE 
 
 ways given me much valuable help. And I am 
 indebted to Dr. Titus M. Coan for assistance in 
 revising the manuscript. 
 
 The chief publications concerning his life are : 
 " Francis Parkman," by the Rev. 0. B. Frothing- 
 ham, written for the Massachusetts Historical 
 Society, 2d series, vol. viii. ; " Memoir of Francis 
 Parkman," by Edward Wheelwright, in the Pub 
 lications of the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, 
 vol. i. ; and by the same author a life of Mr. 
 Parkman in the history of Harvard College, 
 class of 1844 ; " Francis Parkman," by Barrett 
 Wendell, in the Proceedings of the American 
 Academy of Arts and Sciences, vol. xxix. ; the 
 remarks made at a special meeting of the Massa 
 chusetts Historical Society in November, 1893, 
 by Dr. George E. Ellis, Dr. Oliver Wendell 
 Holmes, Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, Hon. George 
 S. Hale, Hon. John Lowell, Hon. Martin Brim 
 mer, and Hon. Leverett Saltonstall ; an article 
 by Prof. John Fiske, and one by Mr. Justin 
 Winsor in the "Atlantic" for May, 1894; arti 
 cles by Rev. Julius H. Ward, in " McClure s 
 Magazine," January, 1894, and in the " Forum," 
 December, 1893 ; " Francis Parkman," by Abbe 
 H. R. Casgrain ; " Francis Parkman," by C. H. 
 Farnham, in the "Critic," February 27, 1886; 
 " Francis Parkman," the beginning of a biog 
 raphy by Lowell in the " Century " for Novem- 
 
PREFACE xm 
 
 ber, 1892; an obituary notice in the "Nation" 
 for November 16, 1893 ; an article by George 
 Willis Cooke, in the " New England Magazine," 
 November, 1889. 
 
 There is very little unpublished matter from 
 Parkman s hand. Though he kept a diary of 
 each of his vacation journeys from 1841 to 1846, 
 he used the best portions of them in writing the 
 " Scalp Hunter," " Exploring the Magalloway," 
 " A Convent at Rome," and " The Oregon 
 Trail." His letters are disappointing to the 
 biographer; few in number, they are still 
 more inadequate by their shortness, and by 
 their limitation to the seeking and copying of 
 historical material, or to the most external mat 
 ters connected with his condition and move 
 ments when travelling. But something has 
 been gleaned from Parkman s letters to Abbe 
 H. R. Casgrain and others in Quebec and else 
 where. 
 
 Fortunately there exist materials more help 
 ful. First should be mentioned the two ex 
 tremely interesting autobiographic letters to his 
 friends, Dr. George E. Ellis and the Hon. 
 Martin Brimmer. These papers are poignant 
 revelations of his experiences and of some of his 
 traits. Then the reader who has already some 
 knowledge of Parkman s character, will find 
 many autobiographical touches in the novel 
 
xiv PREFACE 
 
 " Vassall Morton." " The Oregon Trail " gives 
 some striking scenes in his life, the last of the 
 manly adventures he loved so much, and that he 
 gave up only on account of his subsequent 
 infirmities. The prefaces to certain of his books 
 contain personal references of value, especially 
 as to the difficulties and methods connected with 
 the writings of the histories ; while his few mis 
 cellaneous articles, on Universal Suffrage, on 
 Woman Suffrage, on Our Common Schools, give 
 direct glimpses on important lines of his thought 
 and feeling. 
 
 A word may be said about the plan of this 
 memoir. As in the case of many other scholars, 
 Parkman s external life was unimportant com 
 pared with the more interior interests of his 
 education, his method of work, his historical 
 productions, and the growth of his character. It 
 seemed advisable, therefore, to depart from the 
 tradition that accepts chronological narrative as 
 the backbone of biography. I have tried to 
 simplify the reader s labor and gain vividness of 
 portraiture, by confining chronology chiefly to 
 one chapter, thenceforth viewing facts and expe 
 riences as bearing mainly on achievement and 
 development. This method naturally leads to 
 some repetitions and returns ; but it enables one 
 to bring many of the details of mere biography 
 into closer and more significant relations with 
 
PREFACE XV 
 
 the deeper interests of life. The book thus 
 divides itself into three parts : (1) Parkman s 
 preparation, (2) the reflection of his personality 
 in his works, and (3) the story of his moral 
 growth. 
 
 SILVER BAY, LAKE GEORGE, 
 June, 1900. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 CHRONOLOGICAL H 
 
 PART I. PREPARATION ^ 2 
 
 " II. PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS . . 139 
 
 44 III. SPIRITUAL GROWTH 298 
 
 APPENDIX A 
 
 359 
 
 B 365 
 
 C 
 
 374 
 
 INDEX 379 
 
Illustrations 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN Frontispiece 
 
 From a photograph taken in 1889. 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN S RESIDENCE, FROM 1838 UNTIL HIS 
 
 MARRIAGE, BOWDOIN SQUARE, BOSTON Page 11 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN S HOUSE AND GROUNDS, JAMAICA 
 
 PLAIN 29 
 
 From a photograph. 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN 144 
 
 From a daguerreotype taken about 18^. 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN S STUDY, JAMAICA PLAIN .... 175 
 
 From, a photograph. 
 
 THE LANDING, JAMAICA POND, AND MR. PARKMAN S 
 
 BOAT . ,,312 
 
 From a photograph. 
 
A LIFE 
 
 OP 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
A LIFE OF 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 IF we seek to trace Francis Parkman s individ 
 uality to its source in any of his ancestors, we shall 
 be disappointed. Whether regarded as the outcome 
 of his antecedents or as a member of his community, 
 he was an original man, marked indeed by some of 
 the strongest antipathies for the nature, training, and 
 pursuits of his progenitors. Like many other dis 
 tinguished New Englanders, he sprang from a cler 
 ical family, all members of the early Puritan colonies. 
 Many of them were people of energy, capacity, and 
 position ; a goodly number were scholars and divines 
 graduated from Harvard College. 1 
 
 1 Mr. Parkman s descent in the paternal line, through eight gen 
 erations, is as follows : 
 
 1. Thomas Parkman, of Sidmouth, Devon, England. 
 
 2. Elias Parkman, born in England, settled in Dorchester, Massachusetts, 
 
 1633, married Bridget . 
 
 3. Elias, b. in Dorchester, Mass., 1635, m. Sarah Trask, of Salem. 
 
 4. William, b. in Salem, Mass., 1658, m. Eliza Adams, of Boston. 
 
 5. Ebenezer, b. in Boston, 1703, minister at Westborough, Mass., m. 
 
 (2d) Hannah Breck. 
 
"2 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Parkman s great-grandfather, the Rev. Ebenezer 
 Parkman, a graduate of Harvard, 1721, was a man of 
 note. " He is spoken of as a good example of the 
 New England minister of the olden time. He mag 
 nified his calling, and was careful not to lower its 
 dignity, wielding almost despotic power with firmness 
 guided by discretion and tempered with kindness. 
 He was largely concerned in making the history of 
 the town, and also in writing it. The records of 
 the church were kept by him on diminutive pages 
 and in a microscopic hand during the whole of his 
 pastorate. He also kept during the same period a 
 private diary written in the same almost undecipher 
 able characters. A portion of this diary is preserved 
 in the library of the American Antiquarian Society 
 
 6. Samuel, b. in Westborough, m. (2d) Sarah Rogers. 
 
 7. Francis, b. in Boston, 1788, m. (2d) Caroline Hall. 
 
 8. Francis, b. in Boston, 1823. 
 
 The following is his descent on the mother s side, through the 
 same number of generations, from John Cotton : 
 
 1. John Cotton, b. in England, 1585, m. (2d) Sarah Hankredge, of 
 
 Boston, England, widow of William Story. Came to Boston, 1633. 
 
 2. John Cotton, b. in Boston, Mass., 1639, m. Joanna Rossiter. 
 
 3. Rowland Cotton, b. in Plymouth, 1667, m. Elizabeth Saltonstall, 
 
 widow of Rev. John Denison. 
 
 4. Joanna Cotton, b. in Sandwich, 1719, m. Rev. John Brown, of 
 
 Haverhill, Mass. (H. C. 1714). 
 
 5. Abigail Brown, b. in , m. Rev. Edward Brooks, of Medford. 
 
 6. Joanna Cotton Brooks, b. in , 1772, m. Nathaniel Hall, of 
 
 Medford, 
 
 7. Caroline Hall, b. in Medford, 1794, m. Rev. Francis Parkman, of 
 
 Boston. 
 
 8. Francis Parkman, b. in Boston, 1823. 
 
 (From Memoir of Francis Parkman, by Edward Wheelwright, in 
 Publications of the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, vol. i. pp. 304-305.) 
 
INTRODUCTORY 3 
 
 at Worcester; other portions have been distributed 
 among his descendants. Its quaint humor was a 
 never-ceasing delight to his great-grandson, the 
 historian." 1 
 
 This excellent divine was worthy of the colonial 
 times, not only for his masterful spirit, but also in 
 being the father of sixteen children. His third son, 
 William, was the boy of seventeen who is mentioned 
 by Lowell, and who at Ticonderoga, in 1758, as Park- 
 man tells us, " kept in his knapsack a dingy little 
 notebook in which he jotted down what passed each 
 day." Another son, Breck, was one of the minute 
 men who marched from Westborough on the 19th of 
 April, 1775. 
 
 Samuel Parkman, the twelfth child of this minis 
 ter, was the grandfather of the historian.. He came 
 to Boston as a poor boy, and by his assiduity and 
 talent rose to eminence and opulence among the 
 merchants of Boston. He was a liberal benefactor 
 of Harvard University. 
 
 The Rev. Francis Parkman, father of the historian, 
 was born in Boston in 1788, graduated from Harvard 
 in 1807, received the degree of Sanctce Theologice Doc 
 tor in 1843, and was installed in 1813 as pastor of 
 the New North Church in Boston, corner of Hanover 
 and Clark streets. This charge he retained to the 
 end of his pastorate in 1849. From 1819 to 1849 he 
 was one of the Overseers of Harvard University. He 
 added a donation to his father s gift to the College, 
 
 1 Mr. Wheelwright s Memoir. 
 
4 A LIFE OF FRANCIS TARKMAN 
 
 and thus helped to found the Parkman Professorship 
 of Theology. As a student he showed " a strong 
 desire for knowledge and an aptitude to avail 
 himself of all means which presented for general 
 improvement." 1 
 
 " Every aspect of suffering touched him tenderly. 
 There was no hard spot in his breast. His house was 
 the centre of countless mercies to various forms of want; 
 and there were few solicitors of alms, local or itinerant, 
 and whether for private necessity or public benefactions, 
 that his doors did not welcome and send away satisfied. 
 The processes of his mind were practical, however, rather 
 than speculative. His style was not wanting in force, 
 but distinguished rather for clearness and ease. For many 
 years he has been widely known and esteemed for his 
 efficient interest in some of our most conspicuous and 
 useful institutions of philanthropy. Harvard Univer 
 sity . . . was very near to his heart, and its concerns 
 touched his personal pride." 2 
 
 Another writer says of him : 
 
 " Whether he conversed on theology or politics or man 
 ners or individual character, or recorded some sad or 
 pleasant experience of his own, the wise and genial 
 humorist was always observable, softening, enlivening, 
 enriching everything he touched; his practical discern 
 ments were so sure and keen, his knowledge of the world 
 was so extensive and his perception of character and 
 motives was so quick and deep that it was impossible to 
 impose on him by any pretense or deception." 8 
 
 1 Dr. Isaac Hurd. 2 Bishop Huntington. 
 
 8 Edwin P. Whipplc. 
 
INTRODUCTORY 5 
 
 Lowell says of him : l 
 
 "He still survives in traditions of an abundant and 
 exquisite humor, provoked to wilder hazards, and set in 
 stronger relief (as in Sterne) by the decorum of his 
 cloth." 
 
 His genial temper, however, was often shadowed 
 by attacks of melancholy. In spite of a nature that 
 was generous, free even to eccentricity in certain 
 directions, he was very conservative in feeling and 
 opinions, an excellent Bostonian of those days. 
 
 When he died, in 1852, the Boston Association 
 celebrated him as "one who loved his calling and 
 discharged all its duties with untiring devotedness. 
 As a preacher he was practical and evangelical; as 
 a pastor tender and affectionate. He was a man of 
 active and useful charities, a friend to learning, a 
 punctual member or an energetic officer of many 
 literary, philanthropic, and religious associations, as 
 well as a true friend of the worthy poor." One of 
 the best tributes paid to him was Dr. Ephraim Pea- 
 body s saying that he was particularly kind to the 
 unattractive. And finally, it is pleasant to add that 
 " He was a kind and indulgent father, and though 
 he did not sympathize with all his son s aspirations 
 and pui uits, he never thwarted or opposed them." 2 
 
 Francis Parkman s maternal branch sprang from 
 the good old Puritans, John Cotton of Boston and 
 of Plymouth. His great-grandfather was the Rev. 
 
 1 The Century, November, 1892. 
 
 2 Mr. Wheelwright s Memoir. 
 
6 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMA5T 
 
 Edward Brooks, of Medford, Massachusetts, who 
 graduated at Harvard in 1757, and was "called to 
 the church at North Yarmouth, Maine, where, how 
 ever, he remained only five years, having been dis 
 missed on account of his too liberal views." 1 This 
 is the only person among Parkman s ancestors who 
 is mentioned as having liberal tendencies. " On the 
 19th of April, 1775, he went over to Lexington, on 
 horseback, with his gun on his shoulder, and in his 
 full-bottomed wig." 2 His chief exploit on that 
 eventful day appears to have been saving the life 
 of a wounded British officer. Parkman records that 
 through the sister of Peter Chardon Brooks he him 
 self shared in the Huguenot blood that often played 
 so prominent a part in the history of New England. 
 
 Parkman derived more traits from his mother than 
 from any other of his ancestors. She was Caroline, 
 daughter of Nathaniel Hall, of Medford, Massachu 
 setts. Mr. Frothingham wrote of her : 3 " She was 
 a fine example of the best type of New England 
 woman . . . She was a Unitarian by inheritance, but 
 quite uninterested in speculative or dogmatic matters. 
 With questions of doctrine she did not concern her 
 self, and took no part in the controversies that were 
 raging around her, though she had a profound re 
 spect for spiritual things and an undoubting faith 
 in the cardinal principles of religion. Her devotion 
 
 1 Mr. Wheelwright s Memoir. 
 8 Peter Chardon Brooks. 
 
 3 Francis Parkman, by the Rev. 0. B. Frothingham, Boston, 
 1894. Proceedings of the Hist. Soc. of Mass., vol. viii. p. 521. 
 
INTRODUCTORY 7 
 
 to her husband and children was with her a sacred 
 duty. Humility, charity, truthfulness were her prime 
 characteristics. Her conscience was firm and lofty, 
 though never austere. She had a strong sense of 
 right, coupled with perfect charity toward other 
 people ; inflexible in principle, she was gentle in 
 practice. Intellectually she could hardly be called 
 brilliant or accomplished, but she had a strong vein 
 of common sense and practical wisdom, great pene 
 tration into character, and a good deal of quiet 
 humor." And Miss Parkman says of her : " She 
 had a strong unselfish and gentle nature, a calm and 
 steady temperament, with deep feeling, yet great, 
 though never cold reserve. She had abundant com 
 mon sense and excellent judgment, great penetra 
 tion in discerning character, shrewd and humorous, 
 but never sharp in her criticism of it. She was too 
 retiring and self -distrustful to share her husband s 
 marked social tastes, but in her large circle of friends 
 and relations she was a great favorite. She was very 
 simple in her tastes, loved her home, and never 
 wanted to leave it, and was its centre, the sure and 
 loving dependence of all in it. The strength and 
 sweetness of her nature were all expressed in her 
 face. Whatever characteristics Frank inherited from 
 his parents came from her. He was like her in 
 many ways, and the expression of his face grew more 
 and more like hers. She had, I think, always a 
 peculiar tenderness toward him, her oldest child." 
 Mrs. Parkman brought into the family most fortu- 
 
8 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 nate elements, a mental steadiness and moral ear 
 nestness that elevated and purified as much as it 
 sweetened. 
 
 This superficial account of Parkman s ancestry, 
 is, however, almost useless, nor would a much fuller 
 one help us where we most desire help, in compre 
 hending the personality we are about to study ; our 
 data and insight are still utterly inadequate to a 
 solution of the mysteries of heredity, and we can 
 not trace many of Parkman s peculiarities to their 
 sources. Yet there is a certain interest, if no cer 
 tain knowledge, in these glimpses ; they enable us 
 to mark some traits that might be overlooked with 
 out such hints to arouse and direct curiosity. They 
 will enable us to see how vigorously and independ 
 ently he disagreed with many of the tendencies and 
 traditions of his family ; how, on the other hand, he 
 faithfully adhered to many of them ; and again, how 
 he often wished to free himself from some of the 
 most fundamental inherited forces of his character. 
 
 A biography to be worth anything should have its 
 basis in a thorough knowledge of the subject s char 
 acter, since all the practical accomplishments of his 
 life spring from that source. The fundamentals of 
 his physical and mental being are the only keys to 
 his aims, tastes, abilities, limitations, and achieve 
 ments. We need these keys at the start, justly to 
 appreciate, as we go along, the life to be described. 
 Parkman s physical organism was strangely com 
 pounded of strength and weakness. It lacked that 
 
INTRODUCTORY 9 
 
 equilibrium of forces which secures health and makes 
 consecutive labor possible. His eyes failed him in 
 college, and ever afterwards refused their usual ser 
 vice; his brain was affected by some disorder that 
 limited, and often entirely prevented intellectual 
 activity; in short, he had to endure a great deal of 
 pain and suffering nearly all his life. In the inti 
 mate question of the body s relation to mental action, 
 it must be noted that his senses were not highly 
 developed ; he was more or less insensible to delicate 
 impressions from sound, color, odors, taste, and touch. 
 His physical organism thus imposed on him many 
 limitations, although it gave him the advantages of 
 exceptional energy, a great love of activity, and a 
 very tenacious vitality and power of endurance. 1 
 
 The mental make-up of the man corresponded with 
 his physical development, his character being marked 
 by a few simple and elementary powers rather than 
 by delicacy, subtlety, and variety of sensibilities and 
 emotions. His entire personality was moulded by 
 the master quality of manliness. Impetuosity, cour 
 age, honesty, energy, reserve, a practical turn of 
 mind, and an iron will were his chief forces. A lack 
 
 1 " In personal appearance Mr. Parkman was distinctly notice 
 able. He was about five feet eleven in height, square-shouldered,, 
 and firm-set. He had a strong, clear-cut face, always closely shaved, 
 with a chin and jaw of marked vigor of outline. His forehead was 
 rugged and broad ; his whole carriage and expression was that of a 
 modest but resolute man, capable, spite of whatever drawbacks 
 and infirmities, of hard work and the persistent prosecution of 
 difficult undertakings." (E. L. Godkin, in the New York Evening 
 Post, Nov. 9, 1893.) 
 
10 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 of certain elements of spirituality constituted his 
 chief defect ; a matter to be more fully dwelt on in 
 a later chapter. 
 
 These, then, were the raw materials of the human 
 entity, Francis Parkman the marble that his gifts, 
 ambition, and experience were to carve into the his 
 torian, the citizen, the friend, the father. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 CHRONOLOGICAL 
 
 FBANCIS PARKMAN, eldest son of the Rev. Francis 
 Parkman and Caroline (Hall) Parkman, was born in 
 Boston, Mass., on the 16th of September, 1823. He 
 was born in a house that still exists, though much 
 altered, the " Lyndhurst," No. 4A Allston Street. 
 About 1829 the family moved to No. 1 Green Street, 
 where they resided until about 1838, when they took 
 possession of the house that Samuel Parkman, the 
 historian s grandfather, had built for himself. This 
 stately colonial mansion, No. 5 Bowdoin Square, was 
 one of the landmarks of Boston. 
 
 "It was an excellent specimen of the Colonial resi 
 dences once so common in and around Boston, a large 
 square house, three stories in height, and built of brick. 
 . . . Within was a fine entrance hall, and a noble stair 
 case with spiral balusters. When the house was demol 
 ished the historian caused these balusters to be removed, 
 and placed on the stairs of the house which he built for 
 himself at Jamaica Plain. . . . There was a l front yard J 
 enclosed by a light and simple iron fence with tall square 
 pillars at the corners. In the rear was a large paved 
 courtyard, and beyond that, where the land sloped rapidly 
 to the north, a garden, divided into terraces, one 
 
12 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 below the other, and devoted to the cultivation of fruits 
 rather than of flowers. The flavor of a certain choice va 
 riety of bergamot pear which grew there still lingers in 
 the memory of those who were ever so fortunate as to 
 taste it." 1 
 
 Later we see Parkraan as a child from eight to thir 
 teen years of age, living on his grandfather s farm at 
 Medford, where he developed his love of nature by 
 roaming the woods of the Middlesex Fells; and 
 again as a schoolboy, serious over his books in the 
 Chauncy Hall School, or with equal earnestness 
 studying nature more intimately in chemistry and 
 the natural sciences. 
 
 In 1840 he entered Harvard College in the class of 
 44. During his college course he devoted himself 
 with ardor and concentration to his special interests, 
 - the study of rhetoric and history, the pursuit of 
 physical development, and a knowledge of the 
 American wilderness. His diaries of these years 
 enable us to follow bis vacation trips to the wilds of 
 New England and localities of historical interest; 
 but no record offers much information as to the 
 formative forces of his life. In his freshman year he 
 "chummed" with his classmate Benjamin Apthorp 
 Gould in No. 9 Holworthy Hall. After that he had 
 a room to himself, a condition better suited to his 
 reserved and studious nature. When sophomore he 
 lived at Mrs. Ayers s on the corner of Garden Street 
 and the Appian Way ; in the junior year he lived in 
 
 1 Wheelwright. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 13 
 
 24 Massachusetts Hall, during the senior year in 21 
 of the same building. 
 
 For the first year of his law course, 1844-5, he 
 occupied No. 7 Divinity Hall ; after that date he 
 generally lived with his parents, until his marriage 
 in 1850. 
 
 It was in 1841 that he began the researches and 
 experiences that were to fit him for his work, making 
 his first trip to the wilderness with Daniel D. Slade, 
 passing through Portsmouth to Alton, thence along 
 Lake Winnipesaukee to Centre Harbor; on to the 
 Notch and up Mount Washington; thence to Franconia 
 Notch, Lancaster, Colebrook, Dixville Notch, thence 
 to the Androscoggin river near the mouth of the 
 Magalloway, and up this river to its junction with 
 the Little Magalloway. 
 
 The next year, in company with Henry Orne 
 White, he made a second trip to the Magalloway. 
 They passed through Albany, Saratoga, and Glens 
 Falls to Lake George. After studying the battle 
 fields about Caldwell they hired a rowboat and spent 
 a week camping along the shores of the lake, fish 
 ing, shooting, climbing mountains, and hunting rattle 
 snakes. At Sabbath Day Point he tarried a day to 
 gather from an old Revolutionary pensioner, Captain 
 Patchen, traditions connected with the region. After 
 a careful examination of Ticonderoga the two crossed 
 Lake Champlain to Burlington, and there began 
 their walk to Canada and the head-waters of the 
 Magalloway. They passed through Essex, Jericho, 
 
.14 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Underbill, Cambridge, Johnson, Troy, Stanstead, 
 Barnston and Canaan, and finally reached Connecti 
 cut Lake. From this point onward their journey is 
 described in " Harper s Magazine " for November, 
 1864. Parkrnan often expressed a particular fondness 
 for Lake George ; it was perhaps, after his home, the 
 corner of the earth most dear to him. As the object 
 of his first literary pilgrimage, it stirred his imagina 
 tion strongly both by its beautiful scenery and its 
 exceptional wealth of historical traditions. 
 
 In the winter vacation of 1843 he visited his class 
 mates Hale and Perry, at Keerie, N. H. 
 
 
 
 4 ( It was doubtless with recollections of this visit and 
 of others in his mind, that in the last published volume 
 of his histories, Parkman speaks of Keene as a town 
 noted in rural New England for kindly hospitality, cul 
 ture without pretence, and good breeding without con 
 ventionality/ * His two classmates were not the only 
 acquaintances he had in this delightful New Hampshire 
 town. Two years before, while with Slade in the White 
 Mountains, he had fallen in with a lively party of travel 
 lers from this place, arid one young lady in particular had 
 charmed him by the laughing philosophy 9 with which 
 she had taken i a ducking in. his company while passing 
 through the Notch on the stage and in a pouring rain. 
 Still more was he pleased by the f strength and spirit and 
 good-humor she had shown in the ascent of Mount Wash 
 ington. With this lady, who afterwards married a dis 
 tinguished citizen of her native State, 2 Parkman kept up 
 a lifelong friendship." 
 
 i A Half Century, vol. ii. p. 230. 2 Wheelwright 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 15 
 
 There is no reference in diaries or letters of 1843 
 to any journey to the wilderness. But he made a 
 trip to Canada for historical materials, examining 
 again on the way the battlefields of Lake George 
 and Lake Champlain, going on to St. Johns and 
 Chambly, and visiting Montreal. He gathered notes 
 of the Hope Gate and other important localities at 
 Quebec, and on his way back to Boston through the 
 White Mountains, noted many stories of frontier life 
 and border warfare. Perhaps it was at this time 
 that he made the trip to which he refers in " Mont- 
 calm and Wolfe " : 
 
 "I once, when a college student, followed on foot the 
 route of Rogers from Lake Memphremagog to the Con 
 necticut." 
 
 He then went to Maine to study the Indians near 
 Bangor and to collect the traditions of their wars 
 with the Mohawks. This vacation was evidently 
 something else than the collegian s usual season of 
 idleness. This nineteenth summer of his life, the 
 beginning of his exclusive devotion to historical 
 labors, witnessed the birth of the deep enthusiasm 
 that later overcame such remarkable obstacles, and 
 infused his persistent industry with heroism. 
 
 In September he visited Europe, making the tour 
 we shall follow in his diaries. 
 
 In 1844, after a creditable though not brilliant 
 college career, he graduated from Harvard and 
 entered the Harvard Law School. 
 
16 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAET 
 
 u He was a member, while in college, of the Institute 
 of 1770, of the I. 0. H., of the Hasty Pudding Club, 
 of which he was successively Vice-President and Presi 
 dent, of the Harvard Natural History Society, of 
 which he was Corresponding and Recording Secretar}^ 
 and Curator of Mineralogy, of the C. C. or Chit-Chat, 
 of the short-lived E. T. D., and of the Phi Beta Kappa." l 
 
 The vacations of this year he devoted to historical 
 research. Taking his rifle he tramped alone over the 
 hills of western Massachusetts, to study the routes 
 followed by the French and Indians in their attacks 
 on that region. He passed through Springfield, 
 Cabotville (old name of Chicopee), Chester Factory, 
 Lee, Stockbridge, Great Barrington, Mount Wash 
 ington, Lebanon Springs, Stephentown, the Hopper 
 and North Adams. 
 
 The diary of 1845 shows that he had now focussed 
 his ambitions on a definite work the Conspiracy of 
 Pontiac. In April of that year he made a trip to St. 
 Louis, and spent the summer in collecting materials 
 for this volume. He visited Lancaster, Paradise, 
 Harrisburg, Williamsport, Trout Run, Blossburg, 
 Corning, Seneca Lake, Rochester, Buffalo, Detroit, 
 Windsor, Sandwich, Mackinaw, Sault Ste. Marie, 
 Palmer, Newport, Niagara, the Devil s Hole, Fort 
 Niagara, Oswego, Syracuse and Onondaga Castle. 
 In all these journeys he showed indefatigable energy 
 and alertness, and while his main interest was histor 
 ical research, in which pursuit he noted the scenery 
 of historic places, examined family papers and other 
 
 1 Wheelwright s Class of 18U, P- 162. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 17 
 
 documents, and wherever it was possible interviewed 
 descendants of the actors in his historic drama, his 
 diary reveals almost as much of interest in nature, 
 human nature, and civilization. The sketches he 
 contributed to the " Knickerbocker Magazine " 1 
 show something of these tendencies crystallized in 
 literary forms. 
 
 In the winter of 1846 he made a trip through Penn 
 sylvania, visiting Trenton, Philadelphia, Washing 
 ton, Baltimore, Harrisburg, Carlisle, Chambersburg 
 and Pittsburg. This year is marked also by his most 
 adventurous and important expedition, the trip of the 
 Oregon Trail. 
 
 His classmate, Mr. Wheelwright, has given us 
 the following glimpse of Parkman s social life in 
 college : 
 
 "His boarding-place during the greater part of his 
 College course was at Mrs. Schutte s, a lady who kept 
 an excellent table at what was thought a very moderate 
 price even in those days. The company was numerous, 
 comprising representatives of all the classes. Much 
 lively and interesting talk went on there, at and after 
 meals, and not a little good-natured chaffing. Almost all 
 the guests had some soubriquet conferred upon them, more 
 or less indicative of their characters, or of some peculiar 
 ity of appearance or manner. Some of these, from their 
 happy appropriateness, soon spread beyond the coterie 
 where they originated, and have even clung to their re 
 cipients through life. Such was not the case with that 
 
 1 See the list of his works in Appendix. 
 2 
 
18 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 bestowed upon Mr. Parkman. From being oftener an 
 amused listener to conversation than an active parti 
 cipant in it, be was called lucus a non lucendo, l The 
 Loquacious/ a title so absurdly inappropriate that his 
 college friends to-day recall it with difficulty. Far from 
 being the unsocial character this ironical nickname would 
 imply, Mr. Parkman keenly enjoyed the society of his 
 fellow-students. Never boisterous in his mirth, he was 
 by no means averse to taking part in merrymakings and 
 festivities. He was catholic in his likings, and had 
 already begun to develop that keen insight into char 
 acter which is one of the striking features of his his 
 torical writings. He could penetrate within the outer 
 covering of mannerisms and affectations, and see the man 
 himself. He enjoyed with equal zest the wild exuber 
 ance of William Morris Hunt and the placid philosophy 
 of George Blankern Gary. He took a lively interest in 
 all that went on in College, and was always ready to do 
 his share in protesting against abuses and redressing 
 wrongs. An instance of this is recorded in the contem 
 porary journal of a classmate. At one time, in the 
 Sophomore year, the Latin professor, Dr. Beck, adopted 
 the arbitrary and novel practice of calling the roll in 
 his recitation-room at precisely the hour, instead of five 
 minutes after, as had been the immemorial custom, and 
 also of marking as absent all who simply came late. 
 Parkman thereupon drew up a memorial, remonstrating 
 against the innovation, obtained the signatures of the 
 principal members of the class, and sent it to the Fac 
 ulty. And the remonstrance had the desired effect." . . . 
 " Though rather fond of calling upon his classmates, with 
 whom he was always popular, he rarely asked them to 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 19 
 
 visit him in return. One reason probably was that he was 
 very little in his own room, except at night for the pur 
 pose of sleeping. His constant craving for bodily exer 
 cise kept him out-of-doors or at the gymnasium the 
 greater part of the day. Moreover, as is now known, 
 he had already begun to read such books as he thought 
 suited to help him toward the attainment of his great 
 object, already well outlined in his mind. He did not 
 care to have these secret studies interrupted by chance 
 callers, who might also discover in his room some traces 
 of the lucubrations which he says he pursued at this 
 time with a pernicious intensity/ keeping his plans and 
 purposes to himself, while passing among his companions 
 as an outspoken fellow. 7 l 
 
 Parkman s reserve as to his literary ambition was 
 somewhat exceptional. He not only published his 
 first productions anonymously, but he persistently 
 denied any such ambition as late as 1845. In the 
 following letter to his classmate, George B. Gary, 
 he said: 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, Dec. 15, 44. 
 
 DEAR GEORGE, Here am I, down in Divinity Hall (!) 
 enjoying to my heart s content that otium cum dignitate 
 which you so affectionately admire; while you, poor 
 devil, are being jolted in English coaches, or suffering 
 the cramp in both legs on the banquette of a French 
 diligence. Do you not envy me in my literary ease ? 
 a sea-coal fire a dressing-gown slippers a favorite 
 author; all set off by an occasional bottle of champagne, 
 or a bowl of stewed oysters at Washburn s ? This is the 
 i Wheelwright. 
 
20 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cream of existence. To lay abed in the morning, till 
 the sun has half melted away the trees and castles on 
 the window-panes, and Nigger Lewis s fire is almost 
 burnt out, listening meanwhile to the steps of the 
 starved Divinities as they rush shivering and panting 
 to their prayers and recitations then to get up to a 
 fashionable breakfast at eleven then go to lecture 
 find it a little too late, and adjourn to Joe Peabody s 
 room, for a novel, conversation, and a morning glass of 
 madeira while you are puckering your lips over bad 
 vin ordinaire in a splendid cafe, and screaming gargon 
 in vain hope of relief. If I am not mistaken, George, 
 this is leading a happier life, by your own showing, than 
 to be encountering the hard knocks and vexations of a 
 traveller s existence. After all, man was made to be 
 happy; ambition is a humbug a dream of youth; and 
 exertion another; leave those to Freshmen and divinities. 
 I think the morbid tendency to unnecessary action passes 
 away as manhood comes on; at any rate, I have never 
 been half so quiescent as since I was qualified to vote 
 against Polk and Dallas. 
 
 Perhaps you may imagine me under some vinous influ 
 ence in writing thus. Not at all; yet if I had written 
 this a few nights ago, perhaps it might have smacked 
 more of inspiration. We had a class spree! where, if 
 there was not much wit, there was, as the Vicar of 
 Wakefield says, a great deal of laughing, not to mention 
 singing, roaring, and unseemly noises of a miscellaneous 
 character. There was Gould, and Farnsworth, Wild, 
 Batchelder, and numbers more of the same renown. Joe 
 also gave an entertainment not long ago, where, if there 
 was not so much noise made, there were better jokes 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 21 
 
 cracked and better champagne opened. And now, what 
 are you doing; a cup of coffee at Very s, perhaps; then 
 a lounge, quizzing glass at eye, in the Louvre, followed 
 by a ditto on the Italian Boulevard, and a fifty-franc 
 dinner at the Trois Freres. What supplement shall I 
 add to this? You will not be sorry, I dare say, to hear 
 a word of some brethren of your nodes ambrosiance, 
 though I imagine that those nodes do not now appear 
 very ambrosial on the retrospect. Hale vibrates between 
 Law and Gospel. I fear the chances are a little in favor 
 of the Devil. Snow is established in Graduates Hall, 
 with two pianos, Shelley, and a half-cask of ale. He now 
 and then appears at the one o clock lecture, rubbing his 
 eyes and gaping. Clarke is here, taking boxing lessons. 
 Ned is in town, a counter-jumper by day, and a literary 
 character by night; on the way to make a very sensible 
 and accomplished man. Perry has been hunting deer and 
 killing partridges, and would fain persuade a quiet fellow 
 like me to leave Cambridge and join him; but I preferred 
 a pleasant fireside. Old Treadwell is splashing about in 
 the muddy waters of politics and law. Our brothers, 
 whilom of X X, accused me in the beginning of the term 
 of an intention of authorship! probably taking the hint 
 from the circumstance of my never appearing till eleven 
 o clock, a la Scott ; but I believe they no longer suspect 
 me of so ill advised an intention. It would run a little 
 counter to my present principles, though I do remember 
 
 the time when G. B. C. meditated the Barn of B ; 
 
 and Snow felt sure (in his cups) of being Captain General 
 of Transatlantic literature, while your humble servant s 
 less soaring ambition aspired to the manufacture of blood 
 and thunder chronicles of Indian squabbles and massa- 
 
22 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cres. But I have discovered a new vein of talent, which 
 I think you did not suspect. In fact, / did not dream 
 I could play the hypocrite so well as to deceive your dis 
 cerning ej^e, on my return from Europe. I think I did, 
 however : and I helieve you embarked in the impression 
 that foreign travel had wasted all its charms on my 
 incorrigible idiosyncrasy. You will answer this, will 
 you not ? I am very eager to hear from you. l 
 Yours truly, 
 
 F. PARKMAN. 
 
 Parkman still concealed the master passion of 
 his soul when writing to another of his most intimate 
 friends, the next year : 
 
 "By the way, what do you mean by charging me (for 
 the fourth time, is it ?) with a design to write a novel, or 
 a poem, or an essay, or whatever it is ? Allow me to tell 
 you that though the joke may be good, it is certainly 
 old. ... If you catch me writing anything of the sort, you 
 might call me a < darned fool 7 with great propriety as 
 well as elegance. 772 
 
 In answer to his friend s charge of deception, he 
 wrote: 
 
 "He [a mutual friend] tells me besides that you 
 threaten me with vengeance for deceiving you as to my 
 intention of publication, 7 to which charge I most em 
 phatically plead not guilty, and deprecate your wrath. I 
 think an occasional posterior, 7 as Perry calls them, in 
 the Knickerbocker will hardly put me in the predica- 
 
 1 Letter to G. B. Gary. 
 
 2 To G. S. Hale, Feb. 13, 1845. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 23 
 
 merit of a publisher, and I did not suspect that i literary 
 intentions had with you so comprehensive a signifi 
 cation." 1 
 
 Although the following letter is not important for 
 its contents, it has a certain interest as the only auto 
 biographic offset to the Spartan spirit that ruled his 
 life. 
 
 He wrote to G. S. Hale, Nov. 24, 1844 : 
 
 "We wanted you the other night. Joe got up one of 
 his old-fashioned suppers, on a scale of double magnifi 
 cence, inviting thereunto every specimen of the class of 
 44 that lingered within an accessible distance. There 
 was old S. and Snaggy, N. D., Ned W. (who, by the way, 
 is off for Chili !), P., etc., etc. The spree was worthy of 
 the entertainment. None got drunk, but all got jolly; 
 and Joe s champagne disappeared first; then his madeira; 
 and his whiskey punch would have followed suit, if its 
 copious supplies had not prevented. At first, all was 
 quiet and dignified, not unworthy of graduates; but at 
 length the steam found vent in three cheers for ? 44, and 
 after that we did not cease singing and roaring till one 
 o clock. Even my hideous voice grew musical; I suc 
 ceeded in actually singing in the chorus to Yankee 
 Doodle, without perceptibly annoying the rest. At 
 length, all deserted, except a chosen few. Old S. sat 
 on the rocking-chair, with one foot on the table, and the 
 other on his neighbor s shoulder, laughing and making 
 execrable puns. He had the key of the door in his pocket 
 so that nobody could get out. The whole ended with 
 smashing a dozen bottles against the Washington [word 
 1 To G. S. Hale, April 24, 1845. 
 
24 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 illegible], and a war-dance with scalp-yells in the middle 
 of the Common, in the course of which several night- 
 capped heads appeared at the opened windows of the 
 astonished neighbors." 
 
 As Parkman was already guided by the literary 
 ambition that governed his entire career, we can 
 appropriately take that purpose as the thread on 
 which to string the facts of his subsequent external 
 life. Such a course is all the clearer since he rarely 
 made a journey or undertook any labor disconnected 
 from his work. But unfortunately there is little 
 material out of which to spin this thread, and the 
 thread itself is rarely met with in our scanty 
 biographical details. 
 
 At the close of the year 1846 he had seen most of 
 the remnants of Indian tribes to be found from Maine 
 to the Rocky Mountains, visited nearly all the locali 
 ties connected with his theme, and gathered what 
 could be procured of family papers and traditions, 
 besides official and published documents. Thus he 
 had made a good beginning in the collection of 
 materials for his great work when hardly more than 
 out of college. Early in his researches he had in 
 view not only the general theme of the Old French 
 War, but the special topic of the Conspiracy of Pon- 
 tiac. Although this subject was the last one in his 
 epoch of history, he wrote it the first, perhaps re 
 garding it as easier to deal with than the others, and 
 more certain of success because of its picturesqueness. 
 
 Finding his health in a deplorable state at the 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 25 
 
 close of his Oregon Trail journey, he devoted himself 
 largely to medical treatment during 1847 and 1848. 
 He spent the greater part of these years in New 
 York and at West New Brighton on Staten Island, 
 under the care of an oculist, also at a water cure in 
 Brattleboro, Vt., to improve his general health. But 
 literary ambition was not to be put aside on account 
 of illness and poor sight. With the help of friendly 
 eyes and hands he first dictated " The Oregon Trail " 
 in the autumn of 1846, then took up " Pontiac." A 
 gentleman 1 who as a boy knew Parkman when the 
 latter lived on Staten Island, gives me these recollec 
 tions of him: 
 
 "With regard to Frank Parkman, I do remember him 
 very distinctly when he was down here for treatment of 
 his eyes about 1847. 
 
 " At the same time were gathered there for the same 
 purpose my father s ministrations a goodly number of 
 disenchanted dreamers of Brook Farm, then in process of 
 disintegration Mr. Dana, Mr. Ripley, and many others 
 less experimentally philanthropic or more purely literary, 
 among whom were Longfellow, Willis, Morris, while for 
 a time the Rev. Charles Lowell, his son James, and his 
 daughters were, with Professor Youmans, members of the 
 household. 
 
 " Frank Parkman, or Cousin Frank/ as he was called 
 by the Shaw family, was a great favorite with the boys ; 
 with whom he played and to whom he told wondrous tales 
 of adventure by field and flood he having recently re 
 turned from one of his frontier expeditions. Later his 
 i Dr. S. R. Elliott. 
 
26 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 stories began to vary from the strictly historical, and to 
 take on the guise of fictions. And at last one evening 
 when we were out rowing on the river in front of our 
 house Cousin Frank told of a frightful struggle which 
 he and his companions had with sharks, in the Bay of 
 California, which lasted over two hours and during which 
 he and his two companions Mexican pearl divers 
 were in 90 feet of water, so that when the party reached 
 the surface, they were all nearly out of breath. We boys 
 looked at each other silently for a while, until Bob Shaw, 
 who being a relation was less shy of speech did ejacu 
 late g long ! so forcibly that the passage from the credi 
 ble to the incredible was recognized. On another occasion 
 also in the boat he told us about a row among the 
 animals at an Eastern menagerie, during which he had 
 tied the trunk to the tail of the biggest and most savage 
 elephant, under his belly, till he surrendered by holding 
 up his paw and purring. We were never quite sure after 
 that whether the tales of adventure so freely narrated 
 were meant to be taken literally or not, as Cousin 
 Frank s face gave no outward or visible sign for grave or 
 gay. ... He was an excellent talker among his peers, 
 the adults, and we boys liked him even better than James 
 Russell Lowell, who had taken more notice of our adoles 
 cence, but who somehow appeared condescending and 
 Bostony to our untutored fancy. 7 
 
 He returned to his father s house in 1849, having 
 reaped but little benefit from the efforts of the doc 
 tors the " medical faculty," as he used to call them. 
 With the help of his friend, Charles Eliot Norton, in 
 reading proof, he was able to prepare " The Oregon 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 27 
 
 Trail" for publication in book form. In 1850 he 
 married Catherine Scollay, a daughter of Dr. Jacob 
 Bigelow. His marriage was a very happy one, yet 
 this epoch of his life was not free from severe strain. 
 With a small income up to the death of his father 
 in 1852 he found some difficulty in meeting the 
 expenses of a domestic establishment and those of 
 historical research. His first home was a cottage, 
 still standing on Dorchester Avenue, at Milton Lower 
 Falls ; afterward he occupied for a year or two a 
 house in Brookline, on Cottage Street, generally 
 spending the winter season in Boston with his par 
 ents or his father-in-law. When at the death of his 
 father he came into the possession of money, he 
 bought about three acres of land on the shore of 
 Jamaica Pond. Here was the cottage which he oc 
 cupied for half the year until he rebuilt it in 1874 ; 
 and he continued to live there through the summer 
 and autumn for the rest of his life. In 1853 "the 
 enemy " again became too aggressive to be ignored, 
 and again he resorted to water-cure, at Northampton. 
 He was always willing to give the doctors every 
 facility and to undergo any method of treatment, 
 following faithfully the advice he sought except 
 ing in regard to giving up writing. 
 
 Meanwhile, with the help of his wife and her sis 
 ter, Miss Mary Bigelow, as amanuensis, he pushed 
 along his literary labors. As soon as u Pontiac " was 
 off his hands 1851 he began collecting materials 
 for his historical series, and also wrote a few reviews 
 
28 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN" 
 
 of historical works for the " Christian Examiner." He 
 now tried his hand at fiction, publishing " Vassal 
 Morton " in 1856. In this year he made a trip to 
 Montreal, Quebec, and Nova Scotia. 
 
 But even this limited and precarious activity was 
 greatly hindered and finally arrested ; for arthritis at 
 tacked one of his knees in 1851, and by depriving him 
 of his usual walks greatly impaired his general powers. 
 Horseback riding relieved him to some degree, but 
 even this was not always possible. His family now 
 numbered three children: Grace, born in 1851, Fran 
 cis, born in 1854, and Katharine, in 1858. The first 
 great bereavement of his life fell with the death of 
 his promising son in 1857. The next year profound 
 grief again came upon him in the loss of his wife. 
 His sister-in-law, Miss Bigelow, now took his daugh 
 ters to her home, and relieved him of personal respon 
 sibility as to the care and education of them. This 
 arrangement was the more fortunate since the state 
 of his brain made it out of the question for him to 
 work in anything but the utmost quietness, or to 
 occupy himself with the details of domestic economy. 
 But he enjoyed having his children with him a por 
 tion of each year, and made himself very companion 
 able to them. As one was of a jovial, and the other 
 of a more philosophical turn, he used to say that he 
 had one daughter for his amusement, the other for 
 his instruction. 
 
 Shortly after the death of his wife he went abroad, 
 and spent the winter of 1858-59 in Paris, at the 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 29 
 
 HOtel de France et de Bath. His brain was then in 
 such a condition that the most eminent specialists of 
 Paris warned him against insanity and forbade him 
 all literary labor ; but while spending his time chiefly 
 in observing the life of the streets from the tops of 
 omnibuses, he yet managed to make some investiga 
 tions in the archives, and to arrange for the copying 
 of documents. Returning to Boston without any 
 improvement in his alarming condition, he joined the 
 family of his mother and sisters, living with them in 
 winter, at No. 8 Walnut Street until 1864, and 
 thenceforth at No. 50 Chestnut Street. They in 
 turn passed the summer with him on the shores of 
 Jamaica Pond. 
 
 Parkman was now approaching the worst epoch of 
 his life. The condition of his brain made the least 
 literary labor suicidal ; he was called upon to face the 
 certainty of permanent invalidism and the probability 
 of never reaching the goal of his ambition. The way 
 in which he met "the enemy" was characteristic of 
 his courage, cheerfulness, and common sense. Out 
 of the most depressing circumstances he not only 
 wrung a notable success in the conduct of his life, 
 but contributed greatly to the happiness of others. 
 Seeing the temple of fame closed against him, he 
 turned to Nature for consolation. Horticulture be 
 came his exclusive occupation for several years - 
 until his health permitted him to resume his pen. 
 His success in this field is the more noteworthy, be 
 cause he had neither scientific training nor much 
 
30 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 money to devote to the undertaking. After mastering 
 the principles of the science by reading, he threw into 
 gardening the same ardor and painstaking persever 
 ance that subsequently carried him to success in 
 writing history. He was not long in surpassing his 
 neighbors who had the advantage of him both in ma 
 terial means and experience. It is noteworthy that 
 two other American historians, Bancroft and Prescott, 
 turned their attention to gardening and became cele 
 brated as growers of roses. 
 
 Parkman prepared his grounds for horticulture 
 by building a greenhouse, making beds, and planting 
 trees and shrubbery. He employed a good gardener 
 and one or two subordinates to till the soil, but di 
 rected everything himself, giving the closest attention 
 to practical details. 
 
 When able to walk, he would go at a rapid gait 
 from place to place, and sit down on a stool carried 
 for the purpose ; he would then do some of the lighter 
 work, such as sowing seeds, planting borders, weeding, 
 and cultivating. He often cut the grass of the bor 
 ders when sitting in his wheel chair, and used a rake 
 or hoe in this inconvenient attitude. Sometimes the 
 sensitiveness of his eyes prevented him from being 
 out-of-doors in the sunlight ; yet in spite of all such 
 opposing conditions, he soon became so well known 
 among his friends and neighbors as a successful 
 grower of flowers that the Massachusetts Horticul 
 tural Society elected him a life member. His repu 
 tation brought him an important opportunity. In 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 31 
 
 1860 or 1861 Mr. Francis L. Lee, of Chestnut Hill, 
 when enlisting for the war, turned over to Mr. Park- 
 man, as the most competent person, a lot of plants and 
 bulbs he had received from Japan and partially 
 brought to flowering among them the lilium auratum 
 and the Parkman Crab. This stroke of fortune thus 
 placed in his hands new and interesting materials, 
 stimulated his ambition to further study, and laid a 
 good part of the foundation of his fame as a horti 
 culturist. In 1862 the possibilities of the case in 
 duced him to form a partnership with a horticulturist, 
 with a view of purchasing more land and developing 
 his gardening as a business venture. This scheme, 
 however, was abandoned at the end of a year, though 
 he thriftily turned his labors to some profit by selling 
 plants. Persons who bought of him, still speak of 
 the fairness and generosity of his dealing and the 
 excellence of his wares. 
 
 Although Parkman cultivated a variety of flowers, 
 he devoted himself chiefly to the growing of roses 
 and the hybridization of lilies. It is said that he had 
 at one time a thousand varieties of roses in his garden. 
 His most important contribution to horticulture was 
 the magnificent lilium Parkmanni, which he sold in 
 1876 to an English florist for a large sum. He 
 brought out also new varieties of delphinium, phlox, 
 poppy, and other flowers. His garden, especially in 
 the season of flowering shrubs, delighted the eye by its 
 wealth of blossom and glow of color. The flowers 
 themselves rather than the study of arrangement and 
 
32 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 effect which did not so much interest him made 
 its great attraction. The Bussey Institute thought it 
 worth while to publish a list of these when his prop 
 erty was taken by the city of Boston, as part of 
 Jamaica Park. His eminence in horticulture is well 
 attested. The reports of the Massachusetts Horti 
 cultural Society show that he received, between the 
 years 1859 and 1884, no fewer than 326* awards a 
 large proportion being first prizes besides one 
 bronze and sixteen silver medals. In that society he 
 served as Chairman of the Library Committee from 
 1863 to 1874; he was Vice-President from 1871 to 
 1874, and President from 1875 to 1878, when he had 
 to decline re-election. He published a few articles in 
 Tilton s "Journal of Horticulture" in 1867 to 1871. 
 In 1866, at the request of a publisher, he wrote " The 
 Book of Roses," which still holds its position as one of 
 the best guides in the cultivation of that flower ; and he 
 wrote a valuable paper on the hybridization of lilies. 1 
 In 1871 Harvard appointed him Professor of Horti 
 culture to the Bussey Institute a position he 
 resigned at the end of a year. His duties there were 
 agreeable and not onerous: no preparation being 
 needed to go twice a week to the greenhouses and talk 
 to a class of young women about the cultivation of flow 
 ers. He gave up special efforts in horticulture about 
 1884, when his lameness increased, and thereafter 
 simply maintained his garden for the pleasure of it. 
 He was generous with his flowers, glad to fill the hands 
 
 1 Bulletin of the Bussey Institute, No. 15. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 33 
 
 of any passer who showed an interest in them. He was 
 very considerate of the feelings of his employees, and 
 patient with them ; the humor of a blunder generally 
 outweighed the annoyance of a mistake, but when 
 really vexed he walked away in silence. 
 
 Horticulture thus gave him his most intimate con 
 tact with nature ; it was indeed the only means by 
 which his love came in from the wilderness to a 
 homely and affectionate regard for individual objects. 
 Parkman s general feeling towards gardening and the 
 benefits he himself derived from it are well expressed 
 in the following extract from his presidential address 
 of 1875 : 
 
 "You have placed me at the head of a society whose 
 sole aim is the promotion of that gracious art which, 
 through all time, has been the companion and the symbol 
 of peace: an art joined in closest ties with Nature, and 
 her helper in the daily miracle by which she works beauty 
 out of foulness and life out of corruption ; an art so tran 
 quillizing and so benign; so rich in consolations and 
 pleasures ; and one, too, which appeals to all mankind and 
 finds votaries among rich and poor, learned and simple 
 alike. Let us be grateful to the three deities who preside 
 over these halls, and let us not fail to yield them a fitting 
 homage. Horticulture, which in their serene and graceful 
 trinity they combine to represent, is not one of the me 
 chanic arts. It is an art based on a science, or on several 
 sciences. When pursued in its highest sense and to its 
 best results, it demands the exercise of a great variety of 
 faculties, and gives scope to a high degree of mental 
 activity. On the other side of the Atlantic, horticulture, 
 
 3 
 
34 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 as a profession, stands to-day in a position of eminence. 
 It has proved an avenue to social consideration and public 
 honor. Ability, energy, and self-knowledge can lead men 
 to distinction by the pathways of the garden as well as by 
 the dusty road of what are rather invidiously called the 
 learned professions . . . Horticulture, broadly pursued, 
 is an education in itself, and no pursuit can surpass it in 
 training the powers of observation and induction. The 
 mind of the true cultivator is always on the alert to detect 
 the working of principles and carry them to their practical 
 application. To read the secrets of nature and aid her in 
 her beneficent functions is his grateful and ennobling 
 task." 
 
 But we must return to the historian. His restric 
 tions now prevented him from doing much serious 
 historical labor for fourteen years from the publi 
 cation of " Pontiac " in 1851 to the appearance of 
 Part I. of his series, "The Pioneers," in 1865. Dur 
 ing this trying epoch he was now and then able to 
 gather and arrange some of his material; and he 
 produced several works of minor importance a few 
 book reviews, the novel " Vassall Morton " in 1856, 
 and "The Book of Roses" in 1866. At the close of 
 the war he visited Washington and Richmond, that 
 he might at least see the battlefields where he would 
 have fought with so much zeal. The Boston Athe 
 naeum voted him $500 to buy rebel documents and 
 publications ; and he brought back some valuable 
 papers to tbat institution. In 1866 he made a journey 
 to Montreal, Two Mountains, the Long Sault, the 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 35 
 
 Chaudiere ; and then to Quebec to study in detail 
 the scenes connected with Wolfe s attack. Feeling 
 the need of once more seeing the Indians in their 
 native state, he made a journey to Fort Snelling in 
 1867, visiting on the way Keokuk, Peoria and the 
 Illinois River, Prairie du Chien, and St. Louis, and at 
 the latter place hunting up his old guide and friend, 
 Henry Chatillon, with whom he had continued to cor 
 respond since the Oregon Trail trip. The Ottawa 
 and Lake Nipissing were the only important historical 
 locality that he did not see. 1868 was a year of 
 exceptional suffering, rendering all work impossible, 
 although he accepted election as Overseer of Harvard 
 College. Finding that complete idleness now seemed 
 necessary, and preferring Paris to any other place for 
 such a life, he went abroad for the winter, establishing 
 himself in lodgings at No. 21 Boulevard Saint Michel. 
 Here he was vainly sought after by some of the 
 writers of Paris and the elite of the Faubourg St. 
 Germain. In the course of the winter his health im 
 proved sufficiently to enable him to enjoy sight-seeing 
 and even-make some researches, so that at his return 
 in the spring of 1869 he resumed his labors and saw 
 " La Salle " through the press. 
 
 This year Park man resigned his position as Over 
 seer of Harvard, and accepted an appointment as 
 Professor of Horticulture. In 1872 he went again 
 to Europe for historical materials. Desiring some 
 personal knowledge of the French Canadian people, 
 he spent some weeks of 1873 in visiting several 
 
36 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 families living on their seigniories along the shores 
 of the St. Lawrence below Quebec. It is unfortu 
 nate that we have nothing characteristic to tell of 
 his frequent visits to Canada. He made many 
 pleasant acquaintances at Montreal and Quebec, 
 among both the English and the French writers, 
 lay and clerical. 1874 is marked by the appear 
 ance of the " Old Regime." In 1875 he was chosen 
 one of the Fellows of the Corporation of Harvard. 
 " Frontenac " was published in 1877. Again he ex 
 plored the region between Lake George and Quebec, 
 studying minutely the battlefields along the route. 
 The state of his health prevented him from accepting 
 the Presidency of the Archaeological Institute in 
 1878, but the following year finds him once more* in 
 Quebec and Louisburg. In 1880 he helped to or 
 ganize the St. Botolph Club an association of the 
 literary men and artists of Boston. The club chose 
 him for the first President, and re-elected him for 
 six successive years, as long as his strength allowed 
 him to serve. His occasional utterances on public 
 questions, showing how deep an interest he took 
 in our national growth, led a Civil Service Reform 
 Association to invite him in 1881 to be one of its 
 Vice-Presidents. " Montcalm and Wolfe " appeared 
 in 1884. In 1885 he made a journey to Florida to 
 examine the places of historical interest in that 
 region ; stopping on the way at Beaufort, South 
 Carolina; then going on to Fernandina, Jackson 
 ville, Fort George, Palatka, Ocklawaha river, Ocala 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 37 
 
 and St. Augustine. In 1886 he camped with me a 
 month on the Batiscan River the first time this 
 lover of wild life had been to the woods in forty 
 years. A delightful companion he was, interested 
 in all the labors and pleasures of camp life, cheer 
 ful and patient under all circumstances. Despite 
 his lame knee, he insisted on helping me complete 
 the roof, the fireplace, and the tables we needed, 
 and in doing what he could of camp work. In 
 washing the dishes he always used water far too 
 hot for his hands, saying " It s so much more effec 
 tive" a characteristic word of his. When I had 
 chopped down some trees and cleared a little piece 
 of land for a garden on the river bank, he gave the 
 finishing touches to the soil and sowed the seeds. 
 He had bought for the trip a Winchester rifle and 
 a .bamboo fly-rod. The mere possession of the rifle 
 was the chief pleasure he anticipated from it, since 
 he could not walk enough to do more than fire a 
 few rounds in a camp at a target. He was a fair 
 shot, even at that age and after so long disuse of 
 firearms. Although a good bait fisherman, he now 
 took his first lessons in casting the fly, and always 
 thereafter showed much appreciation and respect for 
 the fine art of angling. One day we went up the 
 river in canoes to a large pool at the foot of a rapid 
 where the currents were strong and the waters rather 
 tumultuous. When I had worked up the pool and 
 dropped anchor close to the cascade I beckoned him 
 to follow. Being unused to canoeing and to rough 
 
38 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 waters, he evidently thought the attempt somewhat 
 dangerous; but after casting a penetrating glance 
 at my face, he came up into line with a certain 
 martial obedience. He often talked of the French- 
 Canadians, viewing them as the result of forces 
 manifest in their history and their religion. He. 
 now and then spoke of the noted literary people of 
 Boston, setting forth with great certainty of touch 
 and sharpness of outline their salient traits; his 
 criticism, while kindly and impartial, was always 
 keen and firm. The most interesting manifestation 
 of his personality was his mute approaches to nature 
 after so many years of separation. He would look 
 up at a bold bluff that arose several hundred feet 
 above the river, as if fain to scale once more such 
 lofty cliffs. Often he would get into the canoe and 
 float down the river for a glimpse of our neighbors, 
 a family of beaver. I recall most vividly his expect 
 ant look off into the depths of the forest as I once 
 took my rod and paddled away to give him a day 
 of solitude. His sojourn at camp was so agreeable 
 and beneficial that he wished to remain longer, but 
 his fidelity to Harvard did not allow him to be absent 
 from Commencement. On leaving for Boston he 
 took with him a box full of ferns for his garden. 
 As circumstances prevented him from carrying out 
 his intention of returning to camp, he went in July 
 to the Rangeley Lakes, and built a log cabin at the 
 Bemis Camp, hoping that he and his sister might 
 sometimes go thither; but his infirmities never al- 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 39 
 
 lowed him to make the journey a second time. He 
 went with his sister to Europe in the summer of 
 1880 and again in 1881 his purpose being both 
 to see his daughter who was then living in Paris 
 and to get historical material. His last journey to 
 Europe was made in 1887, in the hope of getting 
 benefit from some of the German spas. He went 
 with his friend, Dr. Algernon Coolidge, by steamer 
 to Santander, and thence to Madrid. He had barely 
 reached the latter place and attended a bull fight, 
 when a fresh attach of insomnia and lameness in 
 duced him to return home by way of Paris, after an 
 absence of only a few weeks. His maladies com 
 pelled him in 1888 to resign his office of Fellow of 
 the Corporation of Harvard, after a service of thir 
 teen years. He was now spending a good part of 
 every summer with his daughter and son-in-law, 
 Mr. J. T. Coolidge, Jr., at their summer residence, 
 the old Wentworth mansion at Little Harbor, Ports 
 mouth, N. H. It was there that he wrote a part of 
 "Montcalm and Wolfe," and finished "A Half Cen 
 tury of Conflict," published in 1892. 
 
 The close of Parkman s life was both happy and 
 characteristic; his work done, his reputation still in 
 the ascendant, his friends increasing in number and 
 appreciation. He had always hoped to die before 
 reaching the lingering weakness and decrepitude of 
 old age, for such a soul could not but dread any 
 thing that even pointed towards a diminution of 
 power. When a friend once spoke with pride of 
 
40 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the work he had done, his energy flamed out with 
 the promise to do still more if he should live. His 
 last summer was a very happy one ; comparative 
 freedom from pain and the absence of anxiety as to 
 the completion of his work brought both comfort 
 and peace. He spent the season where he most 
 enjoyed it, at the Wentworth mansion and in the 
 midst of his children and grandchildren. In the 
 autumn he returned to his home at the Pond, to 
 amuse himself with the late flowers or with his 
 boat on the lake. On coming in, from his last row, 
 on a Sundajr, he felt ill and took to his bed. Peri 
 tonitis set in, but he rallied so much by Tuesday 
 evening that a successful surgical operation was 
 thought possible. This hope had to be dismissed 
 when he began to sink on Wednesday morning. 
 He died peacefully about noon of that day, on the 
 8th of November, 1893, and was buried in the Mount 
 Auburn Cemetery. The last book he read was 
 " Childe Harold," and his last words were to tell 
 that he had just dreamed of killing a bear. Though 
 suffering extremely, he yet maintained to his last 
 hour an impressive degree of dignity, firmness, gen 
 tleness, and serenity. 
 
 The honors that Parkman reaped were numerous. 
 Laval University discussed conferring on him the 
 degree of Doctor of Letters in 1878, though sec 
 tarian opposition defeated the project. McGill 
 made him an LL.D. the following year, Williams 
 in 1885, and Harvard in 1889. His official con- 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL 41 
 
 nections with Harvard will be explained later. 
 He was a member of the following societies : Cor 
 responding Member of the Royal Society of Canada, 
 1884; Honorary Member of the London Society of 
 Antiquarians, 1878 ; Member of the Royal Histori 
 cal Society of London, 1876, resigned; Member 
 of a score or more of American and provincial his 
 torical societies; Member of the Massachusetts His 
 torical Society; Fellow of the American Academy 
 of Arts and Sciences ; Honorary Member of the 
 Literary and Historical Society of Quebec ; Member 
 of the American Antiquarian Society, of the Archae 
 ological Institute of America, of the New England 
 Historic Genealogical Society, of the Bostonian So 
 ciety, of the American Folk-Lore Society, of the 
 Massachusetts Horticultural Society, of the St. 
 Botolph Club, and of the Colonial Society of 
 Massachusetts. 
 
 The more intimate honor of personal esteem was 
 abundantly shown him on the occasion of his seven 
 tieth birthday; and still more widely and publicly 
 at the time of his death. By the initiative of his 
 friend, Professor Sargent, a generous fund was sub 
 scribed at once for erecting a memorial that is to mark 
 the site of his house and garden at Jamaica Pond. 
 
$art I 
 
 PREPARATION 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 PARKMAN unconsciously began his preparation for 
 historical writing in boyhood. From an early day 
 he so directed his efforts as to secure in the happiest 
 proportions the study of nature, books, man, , life, 
 and history; and we shall see that he also met with 
 a very exceptional spiritual discipline, the result of 
 an iron will and immense energy encountering great 
 difficulties and sufferings. 
 
 He commenced his study of nature on Boston 
 Common, by sounding the mysteries of Frog Pond 
 with a pin hook, where he and his cousin caught 
 horned pouts which they seasoned with ground cinna 
 mon and broiled over a fire in his father s garden. 
 But soon he passed on to larger fields. When eight 
 years of age, having a delicate and sensitive physique, 
 he was turned loose on the farm of his maternal 
 grandfather, Nathaniel Hall, at Medford, Mass. 
 There the boy enjoyed four years of wholesome free 
 dom in fields and woods. He says of this time : " I 
 walked twice a day to a school of high but undeserved 
 
PREPARATION 43 
 
 reputation, about a mile distant in the town of Med- 
 ford. Here I learned very little, and spent the inter 
 vals of schooling more profitably in collecting eggs, 
 insects, and reptiles, trapping squirrels and wood- 
 chucks, and making persistent though rarely fortu 
 nate attempts to kill birds with arrows." 1 The 
 woods, indeed, were so seductive as to be responsible 
 for considerable truancy on his part, and some conse 
 quent fibbing. Those years at Medford were counted 
 among his happiest, for the manifold interests and 
 activities of country life were very congenial to his 
 tastes ; but the woods of the Middlesex Fells, at that 
 time quite wild, were especially fitted to develop one 
 of the boy s strongest passions, the love of nature. 
 There were hills that seemed mountains to his youth 
 ful mind and legs; cliffs of rock and uncertain 
 marshes to arouse his spirit of adventure; wild 
 animals to trail, shoot, or trap; ravines where the 
 Indian warrior may have lain in wait for his victims ; 
 streams that caught up the fancy and whirled it 
 along on bubbles to the rapids ; ponds where the birch 
 canoe could glide away through sunset clouds; and 
 above all a forest having something of the silence, 
 solitude, and mystery of primeval nature. The 
 region thus reduced to a boy s grasp the boundless 
 American wilderness and made him familiar with 
 many elements of his future histories. 
 
 1 He refers to the boarding-school for boys and girls, kept by 
 Mr. John Angier; the Rev. O. B. Frothingham, a fellow student, 
 speaks well of it, and Mr. Wheelwright says that many people of 
 note received their early training in it. 
 
44 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 But Parkman s mental energy led him, even at this 
 early age, to probe still deeper into the natural sci 
 ences. He began, at Medford, a collection of minerals 
 for which his father gave him a cabinet that he kept 
 all his life, and in which he placed the rarer specimens 
 met with in subsequent journeys. This study re 
 mained an active pursuit with him through his college 
 days, resulting in a collection sufficiently important 
 to be presented in 1847 to the Harvard Natural 
 History Society. In fact, he seems never to have 
 lost this interest, for a young friend who in his later 
 days frequently rowed with him about Portsmouth 
 says that his talk of the rocks there was entertaining 
 even to a young man fresh from the geological course 
 of Harvard. 
 
 Zoology was naturally attractive to the young 
 sportsman; and, though in after years his observa 
 tions were limited to civilized regions and domestic 
 animals, it always remained a pleasant pastime. The 
 only anecdotes remembered of his early youth relate 
 to this subject. His omnivorous pockets scorned 
 nothing they could hold, dead or alive. Once a 
 snake that had revived in the warmth of the school 
 room stuck his head out of Frank s coat pocket, to 
 the consternation of a little girl sitting near. Before 
 throwing it out of the door, as commanded by the 
 master, he made sure of the specimen by giving its 
 neck a fatal wring. On another occasion his love of 
 natural history seems to have been mingled with a 
 good degree of humor. His father used to drive out 
 
PREPARATION 45 
 
 to Medford and bring him home every Saturday to 
 spend Sunday. These weekly returns to town were 
 not at all to the boy s taste, and were said to be the 
 only occasions on which he ever descended to any 
 pretence ; he used to stare blankly at familiar town 
 sights, wishing to pass for a green country lad. It 
 is easy to believe that he preferred roaming the woods 
 rather than going to church. One Sabbath morning 
 he chanced on a compensation. While the Rev. Dr. 
 Parkman in his black silk gown with his wife on his 
 arm was walking down Hanover street in all the 
 dignity that became his cloth, the boy following 
 behind them, Mrs. Parkman observed a queer smile 
 on the faces of those they passed. Turning to find 
 the cause, she beheld Frank carrying by the tail, at 
 arm s length, a dead rat. His explanation that he 
 wished to take it home to stuff did not avail ; he was 
 obliged to relinquish the rat and resume his walk 
 with more decorum. 
 
 Parkman s fondness for animals by no means ceased 
 when the graver duties of life replaced the plays of 
 boyhood. In later years, "when visiting a friend 
 residing in the country, the thing he found most to 
 admire in the house, that which interested him most, 
 was a rug made of the skins of three raccoons that 
 had been trapped on the premises. He seemed 
 never to tire of contemplating the tails of the wild 
 creatures as they lay side by side on the floor, recon 
 structing in his mind, no doubt, their agile former 
 owners, and following them in imagination to their 
 
46 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 secret haunts among the rocks and trees, or accom 
 panying them on predatory excursions to neighboring 
 hen-yards." 1 Cats in particular were a favorite 
 source of amusement. His friends so often sent him 
 Christinas cards representing feline subjects, that 
 he once counted in his study forty-two pictures of 
 pussy. He particularly delighted in a life-sized cloth 
 cat which he used to place by the side of the fire 
 place; and on returning from the Rocky Mountains 
 in 1846 he brought in a box made of buffalo hide a 
 horned frog, which after its death he gave to the 
 Agassiz Museum. Still, oddly enough, Parkman s 
 relations to animals were not exactly affectionate. 
 Though he liked to have them about him, and found 
 endless entertainment in watching them, he did not 
 wish to be bothered with the care of them, and never 
 had any real pets. Rifle shooting was one of the 
 passions of his youth, as is seen by his eager and 
 reckless buffalo hunting on the Oregon Trail. In 
 spite of a rule of the college forbidding students 
 to have firearms in their rooms, Parkman s quar 
 ters were those of a sportsman rather than a student. 
 But he was not sportsman enough in his maturity to 
 make journeys for the mere purpose of shooting; or, 
 perhaps, the infirmities that often made such an 
 undertaking impossible, finally obliterated this taste. 
 On the other hand, fishing remained, to the last, one 
 of his favorite recreations. Circumstances favored 
 this quieter kind of sport; and it gave him great 
 
 1 Wheelwright. 
 
PREPARATION 47 
 
 satisfaction to catch a good string of fish for the 
 table as though his sympathy with savage life 
 were gratified by winning his food directly from the 
 surrounding waters. He also brought himself early 
 into close contact with nature through the study of 
 botany, and while yet a boy found one more outlet 
 for his energy in the growth of silkworms. 
 
 Parkman s study of science separated him for a time 
 from his natural haunts of fields and woods. In his 
 autobiographic paper, in which he speaks of himself 
 always in the third person, he says that " at the age 
 of eleven or twelve he conceived a vehement liking 
 for pursuits, a devotion to which at that time of life 
 far oftener indicates a bodily defect than a mental 
 superiority. Chemical experiment was his favorite 
 hobby, and he pursued it with a tenacious eagerness 
 which, well directed, would have led to some ac 
 quaintance with the rudiments of the science, but 
 which, in fact, served little other purpose than injur 
 ing him by confinement, poisoning him with noxious 
 gases, and occasionally scorching him with some ill- 
 starred explosion." This turning from the outdoor 
 world to the mystery of science took place when he 
 left Medford and came to live again in Boston under 
 the paternal roof. His father had a laboratory fitted 
 up for him in a shed at the rear of the house. His 
 comrades say that he became a fair manipulator, and 
 showed considerable mechanical skill in constructing 
 his apparatus. Among other things he made a well- 
 finished electrical machine of wood, brass, and glass, 
 
48 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 with which he liked to administer shocks to rows of 
 girls holding each other by the hand. He even gave 
 lectures on chemistry and electricity. The following 
 announcement may furnish a taste of his quality at 
 this epoch: 
 
 " Grand Exhibition ! Mr. F. Parkman, grateful for 
 receiving, and always desirous of returning the favors of 
 his friends and of the public in general, begs leave to 
 announce, most respectfully, that at the request of a large 
 proportion of the citizens of this great metropolis he 
 has consented (at a great expense and labor) to exhibit his 
 truly astonishing, not to say wonderful and amazing ex 
 hibition of Phisyoramic Pyrotecnicon ! or Pyrric Fires I 
 Mr. Parkman having studied many years under Maelzel, 
 the original inventor, can assure the public that they are 
 fully equal to his. The performances will comprise, The 
 pyramids and globes, the full sun (this piece cost $200), 
 magic wheel, Transparency of Lord Nelson, etc. The whole 
 to conclude with his powerful magic lantern, containing 
 eighteen glasses comprising elegant and beautiful forms." 
 
 Naturally the youthful instructor drew an audience 
 composed chiefly of his youthful friends and rela 
 tions, but he attracted also some who were no longer 
 young, and people of good memory testify to the 
 entertaining quality of the boy s demonstrations. 
 
 The strength of Parkman s early interest in science 
 is shown by his own words in the following school 
 composition, written in August, 1839. The paper, 
 moreover, has an interest as evidence that the boy 
 was studying the English language to good purpose; 
 
PREPARATION 49 
 
 and it is the earliest bit of his composition that has 
 been preserved: 
 
 " Studies of Nature. Of all pursuits the cultivation of 
 natural science tends most to enlarge the mind and im 
 prove the understanding. Nature affords for our con 
 templation subjects from the minutest to the most grand. 
 We may study the animalcule contained in a drop of 
 water, or observe the motions of the planetary bodies as 
 they revolve in their unchanged orbits. No class of pur 
 suits affords so vast a variety of subjects and none is 
 capable of awakening a deeper interest. Nature cannot 
 be exhausted. The farther we investigate her secrets the 
 wider appears the range she opens to us. The nearer the 
 view we take of her, the more captivating does she appear. 
 
 " We all are born with an instinctive fondness for the 
 beauties of nature. We all take pleasure in viewing a 
 lofty mountain, a fertile valley, or a clear stream. But 
 most of us look upon such objects as we would upon a 
 beautiful picture, we imagine no pleasure to be derived 
 from them farther than that which arises from the clear 
 ness of the stream or the picturesque contrast of mountain 
 and valley. 
 
 " But suppose a man who has made nature his study, 
 who, while searching into the great laws that govern her, 
 has not neglected the tribes of living and inanimate be 
 ings to which she is indebted for life and beauty, sup 
 pose him to be placed where we were, and to be looking 
 upon the same objects. The black and precipitous rocks 
 which lie piled in confusion above him, remind him of 
 the period when that mountain emerged from the plain 
 impelled by some irresistible subterranean power. He 
 
 4 
 
50 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 notices the deposits which through successive ages have 
 accumulated about its base, and compares the present 
 appearance of that valley, enlivened by grazing herds and 
 sparkling rivulets, with its aspect in former ages, when 
 it perhaps formed the bed of a stagnant lake, the abode 
 of monsters, now happily extinct. The plants and ani 
 mals about him next engage his attention, and in observ 
 ing their appearances and watching their motions, he 
 finds an inexhaustible source of innocent gratification. 
 
 " But/ say some, of what use are such pursuits, or 
 what man of sense can take pleasure in studying the 
 habits of a paltry insect, or in classing and arranging an 
 insignificant shell ? I answer that whatever tends to 
 increase our knowledge of the globe we inhabit is of use, 
 and that objects which appear too trifling to be noticed 
 may, at some future day, be found of great benefit to 
 mankind. 
 
 <l When the great chemical discoveries of Davy were 
 published, it was said by some, Such discoveries are 
 curious and wonderful, but to what possible use can they 
 be applied ? Of what use is the spring of a watch ? It 
 is the agent by which the motion of the other parts is 
 produced, and unless it had first been invented, a watch 
 could never have been made. The principle of the spring 
 was known long before any one thought of applying it to 
 the construction of time-pieces. It is the same with such 
 discoveries. They point out the principles which sooner 
 or later will be made the agent in some great improve 
 ment in art. The application of the principle may not 
 immediately be discovered, but we should not on this 
 account condemn it as useless. 
 
 "Why then should the naturalist be accused of spend- 
 
PREPARATION 51 
 
 ing his time in useless pursuits? Use, of which we have 
 no idea may yet be made of his researches, and in the 
 meantime there is no pursuit more innocent, more inter 
 esting, or more agreeable than the study of Natural 
 History." 
 
 But Parkman needed a broader knowledge of 
 nature than was to be had in the details of natural 
 science, and before long be directed bis steps to 
 wider and more genial fields. He said in his auto 
 biographical letter: 
 
 "The age of fifteen or sixteen produced a revolution. 
 At that momentous period of life retorts and crucibles 
 were forever discarded, and an activity somewhat exces 
 sive took the place of voluntary confinement. A new 
 passion seized him, which, but half gratified, still holds 
 its force. He became enamoured of the woods, a fancy 
 which soon gained full control over the course of the 
 literary pursuits to which he was also addicted." 
 
 His return to nature was at first directed chiefly 
 by a boy s love of activity in the open air. He en 
 joyed long walks with a companion about the suburbs 
 of Boston. But soon, at the age of seventeen or 
 eighteen, the purpose of writing the history of the 
 French and Indian War became the controlling power 
 of his life, and lie at once began a remarkable con 
 centration of all his powers and activities on this one 
 aim. With a breadth of view unusual in so young 
 a mind, he saw that for this theme would be needed 
 a much wider range of experience and knowledge 
 
52 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 than the study could give ; and he wisely estimated 
 a knowledge of the wilderness and its life as among 
 the most important elements of his preparation. His 
 chivalric nature, too, was easily fired with an ambi 
 tion to emulate Cooper s dusky heroes, who were 
 then popular personages with many other readers 
 besides himself; and on his tramps in the woods, he 
 was continually living and acting their characters. 
 Finally, one of his strongest characteristics, a love of 
 stir and movement, also pushed him to the excessive 
 activity of which he speaks in the above -quoted pas 
 sage from his autobiography. 
 
 He now began, on entering Harvard, a course of 
 physical training by which he hoped to acquire the 
 utmost strength, agility, and endurance; further 
 more, he made his contact with nature serve his 
 literary projects. He took long walks at a pace his 
 companions found it hard to keep up; he practised 
 rifle shooting at birds, chipmunks, and other animals ; 
 he also worked in the gymnasium and riding school 
 with great energy and success. Thus he systematic 
 ally prepared himself for trips in the wilderness. 
 From his freshman year onward he devoted every 
 summer vacation to journeys about the United States 
 and Canada, partly in inhabited regions to collect 
 historic material, and partly in the wilderness to 
 study its features and the experiences of life on the 
 border and in the woods, recording his observations 
 in a few small diaries kept from 1841 to 1846. 
 
 Parkman s journals, significant though they are 
 
PREPARATION 53 
 
 of his mind and character, make their revelations 
 quite as much by their omissions as by their notes; 
 and if we would see their whole significance and 
 bearing we must keep in mind the writer s peculiar 
 nature. 
 
 They sprang from no impulse to record the move 
 ments of his inner life ; they are only the exercises of 
 a young man bent on cultivating his powers of obser 
 vation and description. Singularly reticent in regard 
 to feelings and intentions, these notes are almost 
 exclusively a record of external phenomena. Yet, 
 while as autobiographic material they are disappoint 
 ing, they do now and then cast light on Parkman s 
 individuality. Their force comes from his sticking 
 simply to facts, and from his good judgment in 
 selecting the effective and characteristic in whatever 
 he sketches ; having been written, moreover, without 
 any thought of publication, their style has the charm 
 of simplicity and naturalness sometimes absent from 
 his first books. They are everywhere entirely free 
 from the grandiloquence so frequent in the collegi- 
 ate s pages. In offering some extracts it is, of 
 course, impracticable to maintain a rigid division 
 of subjects; we shall have to keep as a clue our 
 chief aim of revealing Parkman s personality and 
 growth, and let the headings blend more or less 
 under this general purpose. 
 
 The following entry in his diary at the White 
 Mountain Notch shows with what nerve and ambition 
 the youth was setting out in life 
 
54 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 "This afternoon I achieved the most serious adventure 
 it was ever my lot to encounter. I walked down the 
 Notch to the Willejr House, and out of curiosity began to 
 ascend the pathway of the avalanche on the mountain 
 directly behind. This pathway is a deep ravine chan 
 nelled in the side of the mountain, which in this place is 
 extremely steep. In the bottom of this gulf a little 
 stream comes down from a spring above, and renders the 
 precipitous rocks as slippery as clay. The sides of the 
 ravine, which runs directly up and down the mountain, 
 are a decaying granite, while the bottom is formed by a 
 trap-dike. I ascended at first easily, but the way began 
 to be steeper and the walls on each side more precipitous. 
 Still I kept on until I came to a precipice about forty feet 
 high and not far from perpendicular. I could see that 
 this was followed by a similar one above. Professor 
 Silliinan, a year or two ago, ascended in this place until, 
 as he says, further progress was prevented by inacces 
 sible precipices of the trap-rock. 7 The exploit of the 
 Professor occurred to me as I stood below, and I deter 
 mined that the i inaccessible precipices which had cooled 
 his scientific ardor should prove no barriers to me. I began 
 to climb, and with considerable difficulty and danger, and 
 with the loss of my stick, which went rattling and bound 
 ing down the ravine many rods before it found a resting- 
 place, I surmounted both precipices. I climbed on, but 
 finding that I was becoming drenched by the scanty 
 stream, and seeing, moreover, a huge cloud not far up, 
 settling slowly towards me, I bethought me of retracing 
 my steps. I knew that it would be impossible to descend 
 by the way I had come, and accordingly, I tried to get 
 out of the ravine to the side of the mountain which was 
 
PREPARATION 55 
 
 covered with wood which I could grasp hold of to assist 
 me. But I was inclosed between two walls of fifty feet 
 high and so steep, and composed of such materials that 
 an attempt to climb would only bring down the rotting 
 granite upon my head. So I began to descend the ravine, 
 nothing doubting that I could find some means of getting 
 out before reaching the critical point. But it was impos 
 sible, and I found myself at the top of the precipice with 
 no alternative but to slide down, or clamber the perpendi 
 cular and decaying walls to the surface of the mountain. 
 The former was certain destruction, as I proved by suffer 
 ing a rotten log to slide down. It glanced by the first 
 descent like an arrow, struck at the bottom, bounded six 
 feet into the air, and leaped down the mountain, splinter 
 ing into twenty pieces as it went. The other method was 
 scarcely less dangerous, but it was my only chance, and 
 I braced my nerves and began to climb. Down went 
 stones and pebbles, clattering hundreds of feet below and 
 giving me a grateful indication of my inevitable fate in 
 case my head should swim or my courage fail. I had got 
 half way up and was climbing to the face of the precipice, 
 when the two stones which supported my feet loosened 
 and leaped down the ravine. My finger ends, among the 
 rotten gravel were all which sustained me, and they, of 
 course, would have failed had I not thought on the in 
 stant of lowering my body gradually, and so diminishing 
 its weight, until my feet found new supporters. I sunk 
 the length of my arms and then hung for the time, in 
 tolerable safety, with one foot resting on a projecting 
 stone. Loosening the hold of one hand, I took my large 
 jack-knife from my pocket, opened it, with the assistance 
 of my teeth, and dug with it a hollow among the decayed 
 
56 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 stones, large enough to receive and support one foot. 
 Then thrusting the knife as far as possible into the wall 
 to assist my hold, I grasped it, and the stones with the 
 unoccupied hand, and raised my foot to the hollow pre 
 pared for it; thus, foot by foot, I made my way, and in 
 ten minutes, as time seemed to me, I seized a projecting 
 root at the top and drew myself up. During the whole 
 time of climbing I felt perfectly cool, but when fairly up 
 I confess I shuddered as I looked down at the gulf I had 
 escaped. A large stons, weighing, perhaps, a hundred 
 pounds, lay on the edge. I thrust it off with my foot, 
 and down it went, struck the bottom of the ravine with 
 a tremendous crash, and thundered down, leaping from 
 side to side, until it lodged at last, far below against a 
 projecting rock. I descended the mountain by means of 
 the trees and bushes, cut a fishing-pole at the bottom, 
 and having amused myself with an hour s fishing, went 
 to the tavern and astonished the company with a recital 
 of my adventure. Crawford expressed considerable aston 
 ishment at my escape, and the young lady in whose com 
 pany I got my ducking on the stage transferred an 
 account to her journal, but refused to let me see it, 
 promising to send me a copy the moment her book was 
 out of press." 
 
 A letter to his father, written July 22, two days 
 before this event, shows that his adventurous spirit 
 caused some anxiety at home. The happy traveller 
 said: 
 
 "I write, as in duty bound, to relieve your spirit of 
 the overwhelming load of anxiety which doubtless op 
 presses you, seeing that your son is a wanderer in a 
 
PREPARATION 57 
 
 strange land, a land of precipices and lakes, bears, 
 wolves, and wildcats. Not only has my good genius 
 borne me in safety tbrough such manifold perils, but he 
 has also infused into my heart such a spirit of content 
 ment with my lot that I should be in no wise reconciled 
 to any manner of change. " 
 
 It was his way to make light of hardship, fatigue, 
 peril, and suffering ; he rarely mentioned them in 
 either his diaries, conversations, or the few letters he 
 wrote. 
 
 He wrote again later: 
 
 "The worst thing I have yet encountered in the way 
 of danger was an attack from an old he-goose backed by 
 a little bitch puppy, who assaulted us on the highway, 
 but was soon put to flight without loss of life on either 
 side." 
 
 Here is one of his earliest pictures of the wilder 
 ness he was later to portray so vividly : 
 
 "We passed the meadows at length, and again our way 
 was through the forest, and a most wild and beautiful ap 
 pearance did the river shores present (the Magalloway). 
 From the high banks huge old pines stooped forward over 
 the water, the moss hanging from their aged branches, 
 and behind rose a wall of foliage, green and thick, with 
 no space or opening which the eye could penetrate. . . . 
 Soon the moon came up and glistened on the still river 
 and half lighted the black forest. An owl, disturbed by 
 the glare of our fire, sent forth a long, wild cry from the 
 depths of the woods, and was answered by the shrill bark 
 of some other habitant of the forest." 
 
58 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 This practical study of the wilderness and the life 
 men led in it was the most congenial of all his labors 
 of preparation; but it was cut short when he had 
 finished his journey on the Oregon Trail. 
 
 Such trips furnished amusing incidents as well as 
 trying ones, and the youth showed his patience and 
 good humor by making equally light of both kinds 
 of experiences. This diary of 1841 tells of his 
 friend Slade and himself crossing a "guzzle " on their 
 tramp up the Magalloway : 
 
 "I said before that our road was of a structure some 
 what unelaborate, but as yet we had encountered no dif 
 ficulties like that which now presented itself. A rnudoVy 
 creek two rods wide and of uncertain depth extended back 
 from the river directly across our path. There had once 
 been, as we were assured, a trunk felled so as to form a 
 sort of bridge across this slough of despond, but now the 
 only means of passing were three or four slender poles 
 projecting from each side and meeting in the middle 
 where a floating log contributed to their support. We 
 stood in horror and amazement, in vain endeavoring to 
 solve the problem how a man of ordinary weight could 
 place his foot on such a structure without slumping in 
 at once. We determined to put the matter to the test of 
 experiment. I excused myself from making the first essay 
 on the plea that I carried a heavier weight than my 
 friend, upon whom, then, the first responsibility de 
 volved. Seated on the bank I watched his operations. 
 With a countenance of direful import, he strapped his 
 knapsack firmly on his back, grasped a long pole, one end 
 of which he planted firmly in the mud at the bottom to 
 
PREPARATION 59 
 
 support his tottering footsteps, and cautiously advanced 
 his foot upon the frail bridge. He had gotten about two 
 yards from the bank, when the poles began gradually to 
 sink beneath his weight, yet by a certain fatality he con 
 tinued to advance until he gained the log in the middle. 
 The water was above his knees, and fast rising to his 
 waist. The poles began to glide like eels from beneath 
 him ; if he stood still the bridge was too weak to sustain 
 him, if he moved he lost his foothold. He felt his fate 
 inevitable, and with a dismal imprecation sprang desper 
 ately toward some loose logs and brush-wood that floated 
 near the opposite bank. The logs tilted up, there was a 
 heavy splash, and my friend appeared struggling and 
 floundering amid the ruins of the demolished bridge. He 
 grasped a root that projected from the bank, and drew 
 himself up wet and beslimed from head to foot, but with 
 a temper in no wise affected by his misfortune, for he 
 responded most heartily to the laughter with which I 
 saluted him. My companion being over six feet bigh, 
 and yet feeling as he declared, no bottom to the gulf, I 
 felt my own situation rather awkward. I set about mak 
 ing a new bridge while he arranged his toilet as best he 
 might on the other side. Strapping my gun and other 
 equipments to my back I managed to get over, though 
 wet to the knees." 
 
 In all his wanderings Parkman never made an 
 aimless journey ; even now, when a freshman out on 
 his summer vacation, he had a very practical pur 
 pose in view: 
 
 "My chief object in coming so far was merely to have 
 a taste of the half savage kind of life necessary to be led, 
 
60 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 and to see the wilderness where it was as yet uninvaded 
 by the hand of man." 
 
 And at the close of the trip : 
 
 "I regard this journey hut ( as the beginning of 
 greater things, 7 and as merely prefatory to longer 
 wanderings." 
 
 In 1842 he went again to the Magalloway. Nat 
 urally such an ardent lover of forest life was pained 
 by all elements of civilization that destroyed the wil 
 derness and altered primitive, or at least simple, 
 methods of living. Thus he said at the beginning 
 of this trip of 1842, while in the train en route for 
 Albany: "Of all methods of progressing, that by 
 steam is incomparably the most disgusting." The 
 sights of Saratoga put him into an " unmitigated tem 
 per," while at Glens Falls, so degraded from their 
 natural beauty, his "wrath mounted higher yet." 
 He was equipped this year for the wilderness better 
 than before, having among other things, his much- 
 loved rifle "Satan." There is little to quote con 
 cerning his study of nature on this trip ; the best of 
 his diary is to be seen in the article in Harper s, 
 "Exploring the Magalloway." Here, however, is a 
 good touch concerning Lake George: 
 
 " We kept down the lake with a fierce wind sweeping 
 down after us and driving the mists before it. The water 
 was a dark, glistening blue, with lines of foam on the 
 crests of the waves ; huge shadows of clouds coursed along 
 
PREPARATION 61 
 
 the mountains. The little islands would be lighted at 
 one instant by a stream of sunshine falling on them, and 
 almost making their black pines transparent, and the next 
 moment they would be suddenly darkened, and all around 
 be glittering with a sudden burst of light from the open 
 ing clouds." 
 
 The following passage is exceptional for him, deal 
 ing, as it does, explicitly with sentiment, and read 
 ing into nature his own mood : 
 
 "The air was full of mists, rolling along the hills, and 
 entangled among the trees. Every mountain was hidden 
 among clouds. We passed through tracts of half burned 
 forests, steaming and smoking, some blasted trunks stand 
 ing upright, others prostrate among charred trunks and 
 tangled underwood, all looking supernaturally dismal 
 through mist and rain. ... At last we saw Lake Mem- 
 phremagog, a direful composition of great sheets of 
 leaden water, scarce distinguishable from the fogs that 
 enveloped it, and a border of melancholy trees which stood 
 apparently lamenting, and pouring forth copious tears 
 above it. All nature was in a fit of the blue-devils." 
 
 Forest trees were evidently very dear to him ; they 
 were the chief beings composing his favorite world of 
 the wilderness, and they, more than any other single 
 element of a landscape, seem to have kindled his 
 imagination to the heat of poetic figures. He thus 
 recorded his sympathy with these mute witnesses of 
 his future dramas: 1 
 
 1 Harper s Magazine, Nov. 1864, p. 736. 
 
62 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 " Around us was an innumerable host of trunks straight 
 and crooked, smooth with youth, or hepatched with the 
 mosses and lichens of rugged old age; erect in pristine 
 vigor, or staggering for support against their neighbors; 
 knotted and gnarled, infected with goitres and tumors, 
 warts, and hideous fungi; or dribbling pitch or turpentine 
 from frost-rent crevices and the stumps of wind-amputated 
 limbs. Their dead comrades in every stage of dissolution 
 and every variety of posture, cumbered the earth below, 
 overgrown with a vile mesh-work of vines and creepers, 
 scrub oaks, scrub savins, matted junipers and trailing 
 wintergreen. Looking upward we could enjoy at intervals 
 a hand s breadth of sky between the leaves, and the sur 
 rounding circle of vision varied from three yards to fifteen. 
 Now and then there was a { windfall a disgusting feature 
 of forest scenery, owing its origin to the passage of a 
 whirlwind, sweeping down the trees and piling them in 
 masses. One of them, in a hollow place, where a gorge 
 opened from the mountain, presented an aspect singularly 
 unpleasing. It was of old date, for the forest had grown 
 up around and over it. Some of the trees had their heels 
 in the air, some their heads, some were prostrate, and 
 sprawling, and the rest pitched together at every angle 
 which the tyrannical caprice of the tornado had ordained. 
 All were more or less rotten, according to their nature and 
 position. Some were a mass of pulp, delicately coated over 
 with a sleek green moss, which, pressed with the finger, 
 oozed like a sponge. Others not as perishable or lifted 
 higher from the earth still showed fight against the 
 elements, and scores of red cedars in particular bristled 
 out of every part of the pile in an execrable chevaux-de- 
 frise." 
 
PREPARATION 63 
 
 In his diary of the summer of 1843 is this passage 
 relating to scenery : 
 
 11 1 write at the bottom of a den more savage than the 
 last. Turn to the left as you approach Crawford s, enter a 
 gateway of rock, and you will reach two dens that look 
 like the very bottom of hell. Nothing but great piles of 
 damp mossy rocks, rotten timber, huge black cliffs, fenc 
 ing you in with trees stretching across from their edges. 
 A stream is plunging somewhere underground and break 
 ing out into a black pool among the moss. Behind is a 
 great heap of rocks where you descend. In front a steep 
 descent, choked with fallen timber, and such a tangled 
 mass of vegetation that a bear could scarce get through." 
 
 Under a pressed flower, still preserved between the 
 pages, he wrote: "This delicate little flower, what 
 ever it be, I place here in memory of the grimmest, 
 dismallest den on earth, where it grew among moist 
 precipices and rotting logs." 
 
 In the autumn of 1843 Parkman sailed for Europe 
 from motives connected with his health. This diary 
 of 1843-44 is more interesting than the earlier ones, 
 his mind now being more mature and the field of his 
 observations more varied and extensive. Not even 
 seasickness could repress his energy and interest in 
 the phenomena about him. "A turtle," he wrote, 
 "came up at the ship s side to sleep on the quiet 
 surface, but prudently sunk back to the depths just 
 as Mr. Hansen was lowering me by a rope to take 
 him prisoner." But he was attracted chiefly by the 
 grander aspect of the sea : 
 
64 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 "As soon as it was daybreak I went on deck. Two or 
 three sails were set the vessel scouring along, leaning 
 over so that her gunwale scooped up the water ; the water 
 in a foam, and clouds of spray flying over us, frequently 
 as high as the mainyard. The spray was driven with such 
 force that it pricked the cheek like needles. I stayed on 
 deck two or three hours ; when, being thoroughly salted, I 
 went down, changed my clothes, and read Don Quixote/ 
 till Mr. Snow appeared at the door with You 7 re the 
 man that wants to see a gale of wind, are ye ? Now s 
 your chance: only just come up on deck. I went. The 
 wind was yelling and howling in the rigging in a fashion 
 that reminded me of a storm in a Canadian forest. ... I 
 got hold of a rope by the mizzen mast, and looked about 
 on a scene that it would be perfect folly to attempt to 
 describe. . . . The sailors clung, half drowned, to what 
 ever they could lay hold of, for the vessel was, at times, 
 half inverted, and tons of water washed from side to side 
 of her deck. ... As for the usual horizon it had disap 
 peared we seemed imbedded among moving mountains. 
 ... It was a noble sight when at intervals the sun broke 
 out over the savage waste, changing its blackness to a 
 rich blue, almost as dark; while the foam that flew over 
 it seemed like whirling snow-wreaths on the mountains." 
 
 The voyage was tedious with bad weather; from 
 storms they passed to exasperating calms when al 
 most in sight of Gibraltar, and he reported in this 
 way the captain s complaints: 
 
 " A. head wind and none of it/ groans the Captain: 
 < if ever I see the beat of this ! This is but the nucleus 
 of his remarks, so to speak, which he surrounds and 
 
PREPARATION 65 
 
 adorns with a host of forcible and ornamental forms of 
 expression which I refrain from recording." 
 
 But at last they landed at Gibraltar, and Parkman 
 rested his observant eyes on European scenes. As 
 he visited no places that are new to readers of to 
 day, we pass by most of his descriptive pages; but 
 here and there a passage is noteworthy as a reflection 
 of his tastes and characteristics. He gave in these 
 few words an admirable picture of Palermo: 
 
 " After taking a last look at the ancient and moss- 
 grown church and the black cliffs around it, I left Monte 
 Pellegrino. As we waded through the snow down the 
 mountain the view of Palermo was noble. The valley 
 was as smooth and level as the ocean, and set between 
 the immense arch of snow-covered mountains, as green 
 and bright as an emerald. The city was but a very 
 small part there were forests of olive trees, and im 
 measurable gardens, all dotted with white houses, and the 
 palaces of the nobles. It was the King s birthday, and 
 the city was half covered with the smoke of cannon." 
 
 Seldom does a celebrated historian show Parkman s 
 degree of indifference to archaeology and his prefer 
 ence for nature over the works of man. At Naples 
 he found that in the continual attacks of beggars and 
 custodians "you have a sum of petty vexations 
 enough to damp any man s zeal for exploring classi 
 cal localities. Fortunately I never had much to lose. 
 I would go farther for one look into the crater of 
 Vesuvius than to see all the ruined temples in Italy." 
 
66 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 He was fortunate enough to visit the volcano with 
 Theodore Parker: 
 
 " Our guides went quite near to the base of the cone, 
 dodging the falling lava with great activity. Some of 
 these melted masses must have weighed a ton. As they 
 fell, they spread out over a large surface. The guide 
 would make a sudden rush at them, detach a small por 
 tion with a pole, which he carried to a safe distance and 
 then stamped by pressing a copper coin into it. After a 
 while Mr. Parker and I took our part in the exercise, and 
 secured several trophies. The floor of the great crater on 
 which we stood had been a sea of melted lava only three 
 days before." 
 
 The memory of this scene possibly sprang up in 
 his mind thirty years afterwards, when writing of 
 the Missionaries, and suggested this telling com 
 parison : 
 
 " Whether the foe was of earth or hell, the Jesuits 
 were like those who tread the lava-crust that palpitates 
 with the throes of the coming eruption, while the molten 
 death beneath their feet glares white-hot through a 
 thousand crevices. " l 
 
 Of Lake Como he said : 
 
 "I have seen nothing at home or abroad more beautiful 
 than this lake. It reminds me of Lake George the 
 same extent, the same figure, the same crystal purity of 
 waters, the same wild and beautiful mountains on either 
 side. But the comparison will not go farther. Here are 
 
 1 The Old Regime, p. 81. 
 
PREPARATION 67 
 
 a hundred palaces and villages scattered along the water s 
 edge, and up the declivities. There is none of that 
 shaggy untamed aspect in the mountains no piles of 
 rocks, grown over with stunted bushes; or half decayed 
 logs fallen along the shore. There are none of those little 
 islands, covered with rough and moss-grown pine trees, 
 which give a certain savage character to the beauties of 
 Lake George. All here is like a finished picture; even 
 the wildest rocks seem softened in the air of Italy. Give 
 me Lake George, and the smell of the pine and fir ! " 
 
 Crossing the Alps by the Spliigen Pass, he found 
 much that impressed him profoundly : 
 
 I spent the day yesterday in the valley of Ferrera, 
 one of the wildest and loneliest in the Alps, and accessible 
 only by a bad foot-path. The river comes down at the 
 bottom, which the sun scarcely ever touches. The 
 mountains rise on each side many thousand feet, broken 
 into crags and precipices, with streams falling down them 
 in all directions, scattering into white mists before they 
 reach the bottom. The spruce trees are sprinkled all over 
 the cliffs, wherever there is a crevice to cling in; some 
 gigantic pines stoop across the river and fairly seem to 
 quiver with the tremendous roar of the water. All is 
 solitary and still as death, excepting the noise of the 
 river; yet you cannot sit on one of these rocks, and 
 watch the green and furious water, glancing between the 
 trunks and branches below, without fancying that you hear 
 sounds and voices about you. I never knew a place so 
 haunted by t those airy tongues that syllable men s 
 
68 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The Alps, especially those wilder regions about 
 Andeer, seem to have given him his deepest enjoy 
 ment of scenery on the continent. He wrote at this 
 place : 
 
 " Nothing could surpass the utter savageness of the 
 scenery that you find by tracing up some of the little 
 streams that pour down on all sides to join the Rhine ; not 
 a trace of human hand it is as wild as the back forest 
 at home. The mountains, too, wear the same aspect. 
 There is one valley where a large stream comes down to 
 join the main river, a mile from Andeer. Last night I 
 followed it for a mile or two, back into the mountains. 
 Not Cooper himself could do it justice. The river was a 
 hundred feet below, in a ravine, where it lashed from side 
 to side, and bounded sometimes in a fall of fifty or sixty 
 feet the green headlong water, the white foam, and the 
 spray just visible through the boughs of the distorted 
 pines that leaned over the abyss. There was in one place 
 a peasant s hut of logs, but it seemed only to increase the 
 sublime effect of the wilderness. I got down to the bed 
 of the river, and leaped out to some rocks near the centre. 
 It was nearly dark long after sunset. What with the 
 deafening thunder of the stream the gloom that began 
 to involve the shaggy branches of the yellow pines, that 
 leaned nearly across the gulf, and the stiff and upright 
 spruces that sprung from every crevice of the rock 
 what with this and the savage aspect of the rocks, which 
 were black and dripping with spray there was some 
 thing almost appalling in the place. Above the tops of 
 the trees rose mountains like ours of New England, cov 
 ered with fir trees, wherever one could cling in the 
 
PREPARATION 69 
 
 crevices of the steep cliffs. And in another direction the 
 more distant peaks were white with snow which retained 
 its glistening brightness long after the moon had begun 
 to cast a shadow. Here was a change with a vengeance, 
 from the Italian beauties of the Lake of Como. I sat on 
 the rock, fancying myself again in the American woods 
 with an Indian companion ; but as I rose to go away the 
 hellish beating of my heart warned me that no more such 
 expeditions were in store for me, for the present at least 
 but if I do not sleep by the camp fire again it shall be no 
 fault of mine." 
 
 He added : " I never left any place with more regret 
 than these mountains." 
 
 On reaching Scotland, he derived the keenest pleas 
 ure of his entire journey from the scenery connected 
 with Scott and his works. He said : 
 
 " I like the Scotch I like the country and everything 
 in it. The Liverpool packet will not wait, or I should 
 stay long here and take a trout from every burnie in 
 the Cheviot. The scenery has been grossly belied by 
 Irving and others it is wild and beautiful I have seen 
 none more so." 
 
 He regretted that he had not time to visit the High 
 lands. Edinburgh is the city he liked best of all: 
 " The view from Calton Hill is, to my thinking, the 
 only city view I ever saw that deserved to be called 
 sublime." 
 
 His diaries of 1845 and of 1846, before he reached 
 the prairies, contain very little relative to nature; 
 but that little is not without interest, in showing a 
 
70 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 stronger tendency in his mind to study details. He 
 wrote at Cahokia, near St. Louis, just before his 
 departure on the Oregon Trail trip: 
 
 " I walked up the banks of the creek into the woods 
 it was nothing like our swift and clear mountain waters 
 all was teeming with life, animal and vegetable, just 
 awakening in the warm spring sunshine. The creek was 
 slow and sluggish a haunt, in the season, for fever and 
 ague the luxuriant woods overshadowed it, interlaced 
 with vines like snakes, and all bursting into leaf and 
 flower full, too, of birds, who would come down to 
 splash and wash themselves in the water and fragrant 
 with the fresh smell of young leaves and blossoms. The 
 pool was full of frogs and great turtles, sitting on logs, 
 and among slime now and then a water snake, with his 
 head lifted high, would writhe his way across and as 
 you pass by some sheltered cove the whole water would 
 be alive with minute fishes, skipping out of it in their 
 terror." 
 
 As a final word on his love of nature may be given 
 this passage from his diary in Sicily in 1843-44: "I 
 never imagined that so much pleasure could be con 
 veyed through the eye, a pleasure not inferior to and 
 not unlike that of looking upon the face of a beauti 
 ful woman." 
 
 Unhappily his diaries came to an end with that of 
 1846, which was the basis of "The Oregon Trail." 
 For this important and arduous journey he had pre 
 pared himself most thoroughly by the study of nature 
 
PREPARATION 71 
 
 we have been following; by a systematic physical 
 training in gymnastics, riding, and tramping; by the 
 practice of shooting, trailing, camping, and wood 
 craft in general; by a long study of Indian character, 
 life, history, and traditions. This book merits the 
 reader s attention not only as a record of Indian life 
 now no longer visible, but especially as a revelation 
 of the writer s enthusiastic love of freedom, adven 
 ture, and activity; it shows with what absolute in 
 difference he faced danger, with what fortitude he 
 endured hardship, fatigue, and suffering, with what 
 energy and persistence he pursued a most hazardous 
 undertaking to a successful close. This trip and its 
 record, so characteristic of the man, were a striking 
 culmination of his study of nature in her wildest and 
 grandest solitudes of prairie, desert, forest, and 
 mountain, and in the company of the wildest tribes of 
 men. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 PARKMAN S education in books was from an early 
 day governed by the same happy combination of 
 wisdom, instinct, and good fortune that directed his 
 relations to nature. In fact, with the exception of 
 the study of chemistry, everything he did as boy 
 and young man, whether play, study, or travel 
 helped directly to prepare him for his future career. 
 He attended his first school at Medford. In 1836 
 he entered the school of Mr. Gideon Thayer, in 
 Chauncy Place, Boston. His teacher, the late Mr. 
 Thomas Gushing, said of him : 
 
 " He was a quiet, gentle, and docile boy, who seemed 
 to appreciate the fact that school meant an opportunity 
 for improvement, and always gave an open and willing 
 mind to instruction. He became, according to the ideas 
 of the day, a good Latin and Greek scholar, and excelled 
 in the rhetorical department. I think he early set his 
 face in the direction of a literary life of some sort, though 
 the idea of historical work was probably developed some 
 what later. As a means to any sort of literary work, he 
 no doubt saw the advantage and necessity of forming a 
 good English style and acquiring correctness in the use 
 of language, and took great pains with all exercises 
 tending to bring about this result. His compositions 
 
PREPARATION 73 
 
 were especially good, and he used sometimes as a volun 
 tary exercise to versify descriptions of heroic achieve 
 ments that occurred in his reading. I remember that 
 he put into verse the whole description of the Tourna 
 ment in Scott s "Ivanhoe," and then used it afterwards 
 in declamation, and it was so much liked that other boys 
 used it for the same purpose. I think he might have 
 excelled in narrative and descriptive poetry (the poetry 
 of action) had he not early imbibed the historical idea. 
 He often expressed to me in after life the great advantage 
 that he received from the instruction of one of the teach 
 ers at that time connected with Chauncy Hall school, in 
 everything pertaining to the use of English and the 
 formation of style, which he followed up at Harvard 
 by diligent use of his opportunities with an excellent 
 instructor, Prof. Edward T. Channing." 
 
 Parkman gave this account of his study of 
 writing : 
 
 . "When fourteen or fifteen years old I had the good 
 luck to be under the direction of Mr. William Russel, a 
 teacher of excellent literary taste ,and acquirements. It 
 was his constant care to teach the boys of his class to 
 write good and easy English. One of his methods was 
 to give us lists of words to which we were required to 
 furnish as many synonyms as possible, distinguishing 
 their various shades of meaning. He also encouraged us 
 to write translations, in prose and verse, from Virgil and 
 Homer, insisting on idiomatic English, and criticising 
 in his gentle way anything flowery and bombastic. At 
 this time I read a good deal of poetry, and much of it 
 1 Wheelwright. 
 
74 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 remains verbatim in my memory. As it included Milton 
 and other classics, I am confident that it has been of 
 service to me in the matter of style. Later on, when in 
 college, and after leaving it, I read English prose classics 
 for the express purpose of improving myself in the lan 
 guage. 1 These I take to be the chief sources of such 
 success as I have had in this particular." 2 
 
 He looked back with satisfaction upon his school 
 days, and in after life it always gave him much 
 pleasure to meet his old teachers and show them 
 respect and kindness. 
 
 His college course brings to light his independ 
 ence, strong practical turn of mind, and indifference 
 to the spirit and theoretical aims of perfectionists. 
 In opposition to the opinions and practice of his day, 
 he was probably the first man in American colleges 
 to follow an elective course and become a specialist. 
 He was not led by ideality to desire the greatest 
 breadth of culture ; on the contrary, his instincts, 
 tastes and judgment, all pointed to one field, and he 
 confined himself to the straightest path thither. If 
 we may judge by his reading, writing, and memoriz 
 ing much poetry at school, and by the records of his 
 reading at Harvard, poetry was the first aim of 
 his literary ambition. He referred probably to this 
 design in his autobiography : 
 
 " After the usual boyish phases of ambitious self- 
 ignorance, he resolved to confine his homage to the Muse 
 
 1 Burke is said to have been his chief model for style. 
 
 2 The Art of Authorship, personally contributed by leading authors 
 of the day. Compiled and edited by George Bainton, London, 1890. 
 
PREPARATION 75 
 
 of History, as being less apt than her wayward sisters to 
 requite his devotion with a mortifying rebuff." 
 
 Not only did he early abandon his poetic illusion, 
 but he also chose with great promptness the division 
 of history to which he would devote himself. " At 
 the age of eighteen the plan which he is still at 
 tempting to execute was, in its most essential feat 
 ures, formed." 
 
 Thus early in life did Parkman see his way and 
 enter upon his course. He now changed his reading 
 quite abruptly and completely from poetry to the 
 accounts of border life, the Indians, the French and 
 Indian War ; directing his college labors chiefly to 
 the study of history and of English composition. 
 It was remarked that he always did with the great 
 est energy and persistence what he liked to do, and 
 neglected other things in the same masterful fashion. 
 He therefore attained to good scholarship in his 
 chosen branches of history and rhetoric. He mas 
 tered also French, and Latin as far as was necessary 
 for his future investigations. He described his own 
 standing, as well as some of his college experiences 
 with his chum, in an after-dinner speech in 1885 : 1 
 
 " Something more than forty years ago Mr. Benjamin 
 Apthorp Gould, Master of the Latin School, and Dr. 
 Parkman, Minister of the New North Church, took coun 
 sel together and agreed that their sons, who were just 
 passing the freshman examination at Harvard, should be 
 
 1 Speech at a dinner given in honor of Dr. Gould, May 1, 1885. 
 Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
76 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 joined in bonds of chumship. This union, thus brought 
 about by the parents between young persons who had 
 never seen each other, was the foundation and. beginning 
 of a lifelong friendship. Its beginnings were a little 
 breezy, I might say squally. On one occasion Mr. Gould 
 came out to pour oil upon the troubled waters, and with 
 a good humored seriousness he told us that chumship is 
 like matrimony, it requires a great deal of forbearance 
 on both sides. Whether it was in consequence of this 
 remark or not, I do not know, but certain it is that a 
 most cordial harmony was soon restored between the 
 parties, and has continued unbroken to this day. I 
 remember an incident which took place on the evening of 
 the day when we first occupied No. 9 Holworthy, which 
 after it was over, gave us both a good deal of pleasure. 
 It was a very hot night. We had opened our windows 
 in search of air, when there was a knock at the door, and 
 ten or twelve seniors came in. It was an immensely im 
 pressive circumstance. We regarded the seniors with 
 awe and reverence. Still it was not above their dignity 
 to haze a couple of harmless and callow freshmen. They 
 closed the windows and took out cigars and began to 
 smoke their cigars to smoke us out. We bore it for a 
 while; then the air became thick, and we began to think 
 we had had enough of it. Suddenly one of the seniors 
 sprang up and rushed to the door and asked for the key. 
 The door was open, he went out, left his supper on the 
 doorstep and went to his room, followed by all the rest. 
 
 " The average scholarship of Holworthy was exceed 
 ingly creditable. As regards mathematics, it was particu 
 larly so in spite of fate, I might say, for I always and 
 invariably failed, and my chum came off with flying 
 
PREPARATION 77 
 
 colors, making up all the difference. I remember the 
 last examination when Professor Pierce in presence of 
 a committee examined us, and I was required, according 
 to the cruel custom of the times, to work out a problem 
 on the blackboard. I had not opened my algebra for six 
 months, having devoted to rifle-shooting the time which 
 I was expected to devote to mathematics. A problem 
 was proposed. I said Don t know it, sir. 7 Professor 
 Pierce with great kindness then proposed another, to 
 which I replied I cannot do it, sir. He then tried a 
 third. * I don t know anything about it, sir. Mr. 
 Park man, you may go. ? 
 
 But Parkman s standing must not be judged en 
 tirely by his jocose frankness as to his failure in 
 mathematics. In the first term of the sophomore 
 year he received a detur, a testimonial to deserv 
 ing students "pro insigni in studiis diligentia" In 
 the second term of this year he was among the first 
 eight; and at the exhibition he had doubtless a 
 congenial topic in an English version of the " Speech 
 of an Insurgent Plebeian " from Machiavelli s history 
 of Florence. His diaries also show with what care 
 he was training himself in composition, in phrase 
 ology, even in punctuation. By their simplicity, 
 vigor and realism they rise considerably above the 
 usual level of college productions. The next year 
 he spoke again, his Dissertation being on the subject 
 "Is a man in advance of his age fitted for his age." 1 
 His memory in his college days was not good, a 
 
 1 Wheelwright. 
 
78 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 fact most interesting in view of the remarkable 
 memory he developed later under the pressure of 
 necessity. 
 
 But his practice in composition was not limited 
 to the writing of academic themes ; he made some 
 mark likewise as a speaker and lecturer in the 
 literary societies of the college. On one occasion 
 he delivered as a lecture "a witty production, hav 
 ing for its subject The Puritans, wherein he gave 
 us in a very original and humorous style the front, 
 flank, and rear of their offending." 1 
 
 He often spoke in debates, once on the question 
 " Whether the Republic of the United States is likely 
 to continue." It is not known which side he de 
 fended. His contemporaries described him as a 
 trenchant and forcible speaker; as one, indeed, who 
 by the strength of his expressions and the vehemence 
 of his manner, seemed ready to "knock his oppon 
 ents down." His choice of topics, both in conver 
 sation and voluntary literary contributions, "even 
 then showed symptoms of Injuns on the brain. 
 His tales of border life, wampum, scalps, and birch- 
 bark were unsurpassed by anything in Cooper." 2 
 He graduated among the first twenty of his class, 
 having attained " high distinction " in the depart 
 ment of history. 
 
 Parkman s record in school and college gives 
 
 1 Report of the Secretary of the " Institute of 1770," quoted by 
 Mr. Wheelwright. 
 
 2 Horatio J. Perry s Reminiscences. 
 
PREPARATION 79 
 
 no evidence of genius in the proper sense of the 
 word. While possessing more than the average 
 ability in certain lines, he developed himself by 
 long years of patient labor in a chosen field. The 
 nature of his talents was unmistakable ; but the 
 extent of his subsequent success was apparently not 
 anticipated even by his most intimate friends. On 
 the other hand, neither did his achievements sur 
 prise his classmates. Professor Child, who was two 
 or three years behind him, gave me what seems a 
 very just report in saying that " Mr. Parkman s 
 reputation in college spread downwards as a bright 
 and original man." The shrewd grandmother of one 
 of his classmates, whom he visited, said she con 
 sidered him " a young man of remarkably quick 
 parts and very correct." 
 
 His study of the law was another happy extension 
 of education in the line of individual needs. Dr. 
 Parkman, not approving of the literary and histori 
 cal ambition of his son, naturally wished him to 
 follow one of the liberal professions, and as the 
 young man had no taste for either medicine or 
 theology, he entered the Harvard Law School on 
 graduating from college. The decision was quite 
 acceptable to him, for he felt that the study of the 
 law offered a mental training valuable to any man, 
 and elements of knowledge especially useful to an 
 historian. This course helped him in large ways, 
 leading him to consider the rights of nations, the 
 organization of governments, the principles and 
 
80 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 tendencies of national growth. Such a study of 
 statesmanship was in fact necessary to one who 
 would appreciate the opposing feudal and demo 
 cratic systems of colonization on this continent. It 
 had, moreover, a happy influence over his mental 
 growth in cultivating the judicial spirit, a much- 
 needed restraint upon so impetuous a temperament, 
 and a balance for a constitutional tendency to pre 
 judice in certain matters. But the law was not 
 allowed to interfere with his literary projects. 
 
 " Here (writing in the Harvard Law School), while 
 following the prescribed courses at a quiet pace, I en 
 tered in earnest on two other courses, one of general 
 history, the other of Indian history and ethnology, and 
 at the same time studied diligently the models of Eng 
 lish style, which various pursuits were far from excluding 
 the pleasures of society." I 
 
 He received his degree of Bachelor of Laws in 
 1846, but although fully qualified to enter the bar, 
 he never did so. A question may be raised as to 
 whether he ever intended to practise. There is 
 some evidence that he did in the few letters re 
 ferring to this project. He wrote to a classmate 2 
 in July, 1845 : "I shall live in town (Boston) 
 and come out (to Cambridge) every day, intending 
 to study law in earnest, which I have not done, 
 and did not mean to do this last year." Again 
 in September, 1846, at the close of his Oregon 
 
 1 Parkman s autobiographic letter to Mr. Brimmer. 
 
 2 George S. Hale. 
 
PREPARATION 81 
 
 Trail trip, he showed respect for his father s wishes 
 by an intention to do something in this direction: 
 " The law has certain claims on me also, which will 
 be fully answered now that I have returned from 
 my last journey the last I suppose it will be for 
 the present, though not so if I consulted my inclina 
 tion only." Both father and son still aimed at the 
 law as late as 1847, but the pursuit of it was inter 
 rupted by Parkman s ill health and poor sight ; and 
 probably he soon dismissed the plan entirely. Dr. 
 Parkman, though never in sympathy with his son s 
 literary ambition, was always indulgent, generous, 
 and helpful. In a kindly letter of August 7, 1847, 
 he appreciates Francis s first success as a writer, and 
 at the same time reflects probably a mutual under 
 standing that the practice of law was only deferred. 
 After describing some civilities shown to Eliot Park 
 man as the brother of the author of the " Oregon 
 Trail " papers, which were then appearing in the 
 " Knickerbocker," he goes on to say : 
 
 "I confess, my dear Frank, I was much gratified by 
 this ; but I should not be studious to write it out at 
 length, did I not feel that under your trials and inability 
 to do as much as you desire, you are entitled to know, 
 that what you have done, and still can do, is fully appre 
 ciated. It is a consolation, when some of our plans are 
 interrupted, to know that others have so well succeeded. 
 And I congratulate you in having accomplished so much, 
 and so successfully, amidst great discouragements." 
 
82 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 It is clear from Parkman s own statements and his 
 career that the law never had, and never could have, 
 but a secondary place in his plans. 
 
 In assuming so early the direction of his own 
 education Parkman was a self-made scholar to an 
 unusual degree, despite his regular graduation from 
 Harvard. With many a student such conduct would 
 have endangered one of the most important aims 
 of education, the acquisition of methodical habits. 
 But this student was saved by his centralizing am 
 bition and his native earnestness and thoroughness. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 PAKKMAN S study of man began at an early age 
 and steadily grew in attraction and importance for 
 him to the end of his life. It embraced ethnology, 
 as far as that science was then developed, and the 
 personal observation of the character and conduct 
 of individual men. 
 
 His opportunities for studying ethnology while 
 at college were very limited. The subject, at that 
 time hardly more than named, had not yet grown 
 into the modern complex science of races. Harvard 
 then offered neither any course of instruction, nor 
 books of much value, nor even the advice and en 
 couragement of any professor having a special knowl 
 edge of the matter. In view of this deficiency 
 Parkman used the term in a general sense, when 
 he said in his autobiographic letter of 1886 l that 
 while at the Law School, 1844-46, he pursued a 
 course of " Indian history and ethnology." He prob 
 ably followed such an independent course of reading 
 as was within his reach at the time ; and judging by 
 the books he took from the college library, this 
 course was more an historical study of the life, man- 
 
 1 To his friend the late Hon. Martin Brimmer. 
 
84 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ners, and customs of North American Indians than 
 any attempt at a scientific understanding of races 
 and the growth of civilizations. It is probable that 
 he was then collecting the materials used in the 
 introduction to " The Jesuits in North America," 
 and in numerous notes in other volumes. He must 
 have been one of the earliest to welcome the rapid 
 development of ethnology that took place in the 
 decade from 1850 to 1860. In " Vassall Morton," 1 
 written in 1856, he thus recorded the hero s awaken 
 ing to the larger interest in this science : 
 
 " Thierry s Norman Conquest 7 had fallen into his 
 hands soon after he entered college. The whole de 
 lighted him ; but he read and re-read the opening chapters, 
 which exhibit the movements of the various races in 
 their occupancy of the west of Europe. This first gave 
 him an impulse towards ethnological inquiries. He soon 
 began to find an absorbing interest in tracing the dis 
 tinctions, moral, intellectual, and physical, of different 
 races, as shown in their history, their mythologies, their 
 languages, their legends, their primitive art, literature, 
 and way of life. The idea grew upon him of devoting his 
 life to such studies." 
 
 It is quite possible that Parkman here revealed his 
 own experience and conceptions while in college ; 
 but if he thus early recognized the weightier topics 
 included in ethnology as essential to his equipment 
 as historian, it is somewhat surprising to find so little 
 
 1 Page 37. 
 
PREPARATION 85 
 
 allusion to them in his diaries, and so few philosophi 
 cal considerations in his books. 
 
 As we shall consider later his aversion for philo 
 sophizing, we must content ourselves at present with 
 some further extracts from his diaries, showing the 
 natural bent of his mind and the range of his obser 
 vations. Here was a budding historian full of intelli 
 gence, self-confidence, and independence, making his 
 first journey in the great world through countries 
 offering the greatest range of interests in life, art, and 
 history. Yet his diaries and letters are singularly 
 free from sophomoric wisdom ; they reveal very 
 little concern for the deeper lessons of human life, or 
 for the broader interests of ethnology and history. 
 The passages having any breadth of view in the 
 study and comparison of races and civilizations are so 
 few that we can give nearly all of them. In the 
 mountains of Sicily for example, he came upon this 
 scene : 
 
 " It was a dark and gloomy day. Down in the bottom 
 of the valley a herd of oxen were grazing there was a 
 contadino s hut of reeds on one of the abrupt hills near by. 
 It was like the lodge of an Indian the cattle were like 
 a herd of buffalo ; I could have thought myself on the 
 prairies. But as we passed by the herd, there stood the 
 herdsman in his shaggy breeches of goatskin, leaning on 
 his staff, gazing at us through his tangled hair and un 
 shorn beard. His savage dogs, wild as himself, growled 
 loudly as we rode by. The American frontier could show 
 no such a group." 
 
86 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 At Rome he thus contrasted Americans with 
 Englishmen : 
 
 " Yesterday was the 22d of February the birthday of 
 Washington. The Americans here must needs get up a 
 dinner, with speeches, toasts, etc. It was like a visit 
 home. There they sat, slight, rather pale and thin men, 
 not like beef-fed and ruddy Englishmen : very quiet and 
 apparently timid ; speaking low to the waiters instead of 
 roaring in the imperative tone of John Bull. There was 
 not a shadow of that boisterous and haughty confidence of 
 manner that you see among Englishmen in fact most 
 of them seemed a little green." 
 
 Another passage in the same vein is not without 
 interest, in view of his later critical attitude towards 
 his own countrymen : 
 
 "There are numbers of American artists here, some of 
 them fine fellows. In fact, it is some consolation after 
 looking at the thin faces, narrow shoulders, and awkward 
 attitudes of the Yankees, to remember that in genius, 
 enterprise, and courage nay in bodily strength, they 
 are a full match for the sneering Englishman. Would 
 that they bore themselves more boldly and confidently. 
 But a time will come when they may meet Europeans on 
 an equal footing." 
 
 At Basle he wrote : 
 
 "Here in Basle you find none of the palaces and none 
 of the dirt of an Italian city. No soldiers, except those 
 of the garrison of the citadel and of the gendarmerie ; no 
 beggars ; no spies in the cafes ; no vexatious question- 
 
PREPARATION 87 
 
 ings of suspicious officials ; no anxious scrutiny into 
 passports, or rummagings of baggage. The people walk 
 about in the quiet streets with solemnity on their faces, 
 and pipes in their mouths." 
 
 At Milan: 
 
 " Civility is almost universal among these Italians 
 farther south it is manifested in gesticulations, takings-off 
 of the hat, bowings, and reiterated exclamations of pad 
 rone, 7 which is equivalent to your servant, sir. 7 Here 
 it is shown rather in deeds than in words thank a man 
 for any favor, he does not scrape and nourish, and say 
 padrone; he only smiles quietly and replies niente fatto. " 
 
 An entry at Piacenza is exceptional for him in the 
 range of interests touched upon : 
 
 "Here again the striking difference between the towns 
 of Northern and Southern Italy was manifested. The 
 people looked as grave and solemn as the brick fronts of 
 the palaces and churches. The town was just bestirring 
 itself. Well-dressed men were thronging to the cafes 
 for breakfast the shops were being opened, and the 
 market people coming in with their produce. Tall con- 
 tadini were driving flocks of goats about the street, stop 
 ping and milking one into a little tin measure, whenever 
 some housekeeper or the servant of some cafe came out to 
 demand latte fresco. 7 There was an amusing concourse 
 of market people in the public piazza, before the lofty 
 front of the old government palace. Cheeses, meat, 
 butter, eggs, and piles of live hens, tied neck and heels 
 as you see them in Canada, were spread in every direc 
 tion over the pavement, surrounded by sellers and pur- 
 
88 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 chasers, both apparently half asleep. At a little distance 
 were two long lines of women and men, each with a basket 
 of eggs in hand, standing immovable with an expression 
 of patient resignation, waiting for a purchaser. The 
 men were little shrivelled farmers, in breeches and broad 
 hats, with staffs in their hands, and dickeys standing up 
 erect, like diminutive Englishmen. High above this 
 motley swarm of helpless humanity rose the statue of 
 some great lord of the Farnese family, seated on horse 
 back, holding his truncheon of command, as if at the 
 head of an army, and looking as if one act of his single 
 will, or one movement of his armed hand, would be 
 enough to annihilate the whole swarm of poor devils 
 below him." 
 
 He thus contrasted Paris and London, in his own 
 graphic way, by stating without comment facts that 
 present the philosophy of the situation : 
 
 "When I got to London, I thought I had been there 
 before. There in flesh and blood, was the whole host of 
 characters that figure in Pickwick. Every species of 
 cockney was abroad in the dark and dingy looking streets, 
 all walking with their heads stuck forward, their noses 
 turned up, their chins pointing down, their knee joints 
 shaking, as they shuffled along with a gait perfectly 
 ludicrous, but indescribable. The hackney coachmen 
 and cabmen, with their peculiar phraseology, the walk 
 ing advertisements in the shape of a boy completely hid 
 den between two placards, and a hundred others seemed 
 so many incarnations of Dickens characters. A strange 
 contrast to Paris ! The cities are no more alike than the 
 dining rooms of London, and the elegant restaurant 
 
PREPARATION 89 
 
 of Paris the one being a quiet dingy establishment 
 where each guest is put into a box, and supplied with 
 porter, beef, potatoes, and plum pudding. Eed faced old 
 gentlemen of three hundredweight mix their brandy 
 go 7 and read the Times. In Paris, the tables are set in 
 elegant galleries and saloons and among the trees and 
 flowers of a garden, and [here ?] resort coats cut by the 
 first tailors and bonnets of the latest mode, whose occu 
 pants regale their delicate tastes on the lightest and most 
 delicious viands. The waiters spring from table to table 
 as noiselessly as shadows, prompt at the slightest sign; 
 a lady, elegantly attired, sits within an arbor to preside 
 over the whole. Dine at these places then go to a 
 London dining room swill porter and devour roast 
 beef ! " 
 
 His only reference to the effects of environment 
 concern not a race or a class, but two individuals. 
 The first is an English sailor who had lived many 
 years in Sicily, " the stubborn English temper was 
 well nigh melted away with his long sojourn among 
 the Gentiles." At home in 1845 he found a subject 
 that called forth an exceptional amount of reflection : 
 
 " Where in America is to be found that spirit of sport 
 and bluff hearty enjoyment that is seen in English 
 country gentlemen and others ? Business here absorbs 
 everything, and renders people incapable of every other 
 pleasure. Officers of the army and navy are sometimes 
 an exception. There is an old retired navj- surgeon at 
 Medford, who lives with his dogs and his gun, like an 
 English Squire, enjoying himself in the same hearty 
 manner. Business, too, swallows much that is noble. 
 
90 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The somewhat chivalrous sentiments, the reference of all 
 things to the standard of a gentleman s honor, a certain 
 nobleness (though it may be joined with debauchery and 
 blackguardism) is found among officers of armies. Our 
 business men, on the other hand, have narrowed away all 
 this. Thoughts bent on practical gains are not pleasant 
 to contemplate, no matter how much virtue may accom 
 pany them." 
 
 Turning now from the philosophical division of 
 ethnology, we find that Parkman was a much closer 
 student of the more picturesque division, life, man 
 ners, actions. On landing at Gibraltar he plunged 
 with avidity into this study, and with rare vividness 
 and vigor gave his first impressions of European 
 civilization, gained from a visit to Algeciras. 
 
 " The middy and I passed the British line in a few 
 moments, and found ourselves on genuine Spanish ground. 
 Dirty scoundrels of soldiers, with rusty firelocks were 
 lolling about some huts by way of guard. A long train of 
 donkeys approached, each hidden under a pair of paniers 
 full of charcoal. They all stopped before the guard-house 
 where every panier was emptied, to see that no liquor was 
 smuggled across the line. I was admiring the vigilance 
 of the ragamuffin soldiery when we beheld a man mounted 
 on a splendid horse advancing along the beach toward us. 
 He was a noble-looking fellow, arrayed in a richly 
 embroidered dress ; wrapped in the huge Spanish cloak ; 
 his horse s head, mane, and flanks were hung with tassels 
 and spangled. He carried a carbine slung on his saddle 
 behind him. He was a contrabandista one who prac 
 tised smuggling in open defiance of the law. A moment 
 
PREPARATION" 91 
 
 after, lie was joking and laughing with the officers at the 
 guard-house. 
 
 " After three or four hours ride, we approached the 
 town where more Spanish soldiers were lounging in a 
 group hy the roadside. Carracho! los Ingleses ! With 
 that they set a dog on us ; finding this of no avail, they 
 blew their trumpets and shouted to scare our horses. We 
 turned around, and sat laughing at them. Carracho ! 
 Carracho ! and one fellow not satisfied with this Spanish 
 insult, made shift to exclaim ( Go to Hell ! Whereupon 
 the whole took up the cry in chorus. As we rode through 
 the narrow streets, similar maledictions were showered 
 upon us. Boys followed us, first begging a cuarto, and 
 then shouting Carracho. It is a beautiful town the 
 houses white as snow, with bright green lattices and 
 porticos, the streets paved with square hewn stone and 
 without sidewalks. But the noblest sight was the Plaza, 
 or public square, round which stand the public buildings. 
 It was paved with coarse marble ; a large and beautiful 
 column rose in the centre, in the midst oE a space walled 
 in from the public. All around, by the columns of the 
 cathedral, about the porches of the houses, were stalls of 
 merchants ; and beggars in crowds roaring in the name of 
 the Virgin for charity. We left this hospitable town 
 behind, galloped at full speed round the beach, passing 
 lepers by the wayside, soldiers, donkeys, black-eyed 
 women, hedges of aloes, and groves of oranges, bare sun 
 burnt mountains, each crowned with its Moorish tower, 
 and long before the evening gun was fired were within the 
 fortifications again. 
 
 <( . . . Here I had a specimen of every nation on earth, 
 it seemed, around me. A dozen Moors with white turbans 
 
92 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAtf 
 
 and slippered feet lolled one side; Jews by couples in 
 their gabardines; the Spanish gentleman in his black 
 cloak and sombrero the Spanish laborer with his red cap 
 hanging on one side of his head the Spanish blackguard 
 in bespangled tights and embroidered jacket. On benches 
 among the trees officers and soldiers carried on successful 
 love suits ; on the parade [ground] below English captains 
 were showing forth good horsemanship to the best advan 
 tage. The red coats of soldiers appeared everywhere 
 among the trees, and in the crowd below. There were 
 women in cloaks of red and black ladies with the man 
 tilla and followed by the duenna no needless precaution 
 and the ten thousand more soldiers and civilians bond 
 and free, man and woman and child. Not the least singu 
 lar of the group were the little black slaves belonging to 
 the Moors, who w r ere arrayed in a very splendid and out 
 landish attire ; following after their masters like dogs. 
 Bands were stationed on the parade, and around a summer 
 house among the trees. The evening gun dissolved the 
 pageant God Save the Queen rose on the air; the crowd 
 poured through the gates into the town." 
 
 On his tour about Sicily he had a guide, Luigi, of 
 artistic, antiquarian, and numismatic tastes. As the 
 man seemed to know everybody of note along the 
 way, Parkman had many opportunities for visiting 
 the homes of many classes of people, and he never 
 neglected such a chance for studying domestic life. 
 At an inn at Sciacca he wrote : 
 
 " The baron brought us a melon and some fine nuts as 
 a present, which he did not disdain to place on the table 
 himself. While our mules were saddling I went with 
 
PREPARATION 93 
 
 Luigi to see the domestic establishment of his friend. It 
 was a large and reasonably clean house some women 
 were spinning in a spacious outer room, where some hens 
 were cackling about the floor. The baroness received me 
 in the inner room the bedroom. She was a stout, rosy 
 damsel, with good physical womanhood about her, and 
 much beauty, though not over refined. She blushed, as 
 though not used to entertaining strangers. Five or six 
 holy pictures, and little wax images with lamps burning 
 before them were about the room. Luigi took down one 
 of the pictures of Santa Maria, the patroness of Sciacca, 
 which he piously kissed and put into his hip pocket, 
 observing that now we should have good weather till we 
 got to Palermo. The baroness got me another, by way of 
 making assurance doubly sure. Thus armed against fate 
 we rode away." 
 
 Here is a passage that reflects well the distinctness 
 of his impressions, and the occasional vigor of his 
 language : 
 
 " The country inns of Sicily are notorious. This one of 
 Castel Termini was a fair sample, though in point of dirt, 
 fleas, etc., it fell far short of some others. A Sicilian 
 albergo is an ancient gloomy building of stone, like all the 
 rest; they usually have a little sign, or at least a branch 
 of a tree stuck at the door, by the way of indicating their 
 public character; but to look up at their half-decayed 
 walls, and the small square windows thinly distributed 
 over the front, you would take them for dungeons. Enter, 
 and you stumble down a stone step into the kitchen a 
 spacious cavern, dark as Tartarus, with a floor of earth, 
 and seldom any windows. Water jars, harness, and out- 
 
94 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 landish looking utensils are scattered about. Groups of 
 idlers are crouching in the corner over a brazier of char 
 coal, and crucifixes and images with little lamps burning 
 before them are hung about the walls. Close adjoining 
 are large stone apartments for mules and asses, who have 
 usually separate accommodations in the albergos, though in 
 the private house a corner of the family room, usually the 
 cleanest, is assigned them. Ask for apartamenti, and a 
 woman leads you up a broken flight of stone steps to a 
 room floored with a kind of cement. There is one window 
 one strongly secured door a holy picture on the wall, 
 and a bed full of fleas. You can seldom get anything to 
 eat unless it be macaroni. This is an inn of the interior. 
 The others are better. I speak from the experience of 
 three nights, and I solemnly aver that the picture is not 
 over-colored. I have forgotten a prominent feature of the 
 establishment the beggars. A decrepit beast, covered 
 with dirt, unshaven, with bleared, gummy eyes, and 
 covered all but the face in a rotten capote, thrusts a rosary 
 into your face, and whines out of his withered throat a 
 petition for alms. All about the door stand groups of 
 idlers, enveloped in the same capotes, staring and convers 
 ing listlessly. This capote covered the face exactly like 
 the hoods of mail you see in the old editions of Tasso and 
 Ariosto but the face of a Sicilian is anything but mar 
 tial or knightly. " 
 
 Apropos of Messina we find this vivid sketch : 
 
 "I took my station outside one of the gates in the rear 
 of the city, to look at the scum of humanity that came 
 pouring out. All was filth, and age, and ruin the walls, 
 the tall gateway, with its images and inscriptions, the 
 
PREPARATION 95 
 
 hovels at the top of the wall and in the ancient suburb, all 
 seemed crumbling to decay. The orange and lemon 
 groves in the ditch of the fortification were dingy and 
 dirty but away in the distance appeared the summit of 
 the mountains almost as wild and beautiful as our moun 
 tains of ISTew England. I thought of them, and in the 
 revival of old feelings, half wished myself at home. I 
 soon forgot, however, all but what was before my eyes, in 
 watching the motley array that passed by me. Men and 
 women literally hung with rags, half hid in dirt, hideous 
 with every imaginable species of deformity, and bearing 
 on their persons a population as numerous as that of 
 Messina itself these formed the bulk of the throng. 
 Priests, with their black, broad-brimmed hats, and their 
 long robes, fat and good-looking men were the next 
 numerous class. They draw life and sustenance from these 
 dregs of humanity just as tall pig-weed nourishes on a 
 dunghill. Then there were mustachioed soldiers, very dif 
 ferent from the stately and sedate soldiers of England. 
 There were men bearing holy pictures and images 
 ladies in swarms, whose profession was stamped on their 
 faces musicians with a troop of vagabonds in their rear; 
 all around the gateway were the tables of butchers, fruit 
 erers, confectioners, money changers, bootblacks, and a 
 throng of dirty men, women, and children shouts, 
 yells, and a universal hubbub." 
 
 Though enjoying many sights at Naples, he wrote 
 little there that is significant. He took part in the 
 carnival at Rome, driving with Theodore Parker and 
 his wife. The King and his courtiers were the chief 
 actors, while Parker and his wife seem to have been 
 
96 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the chief victims, Parker having his spectacles 
 broken and Mrs. Parker receiving a hard blow on the 
 nose from sugarplums. Parkman visited all the 
 objects of interest, watched the scenes of the streets 
 and markets, saw some funeral processions and 
 military reviews, studied life in the humblest and 
 most wretched quarters of the city, took walks in the 
 country and drank his bottle of Falernian wine with 
 peasants at a tavern in Baiae. 
 
 This account of his visit to Virgil s tomb is too 
 characteristic of him to be passed by : 
 
 "I met a laughable adventure here. Like a genuine 
 tourist, I thought I would take away a memento of the 
 poet, and seeing a bush which from its position had 
 escaped the violating hand of former travellers, I deter 
 mined to get a branch of it. The tomb stands at the 
 edge of a rock about two hundred feet high above the 
 street; this bush was on the side of the cliff just outside 
 an opening in the back part of the tomb. There was a 
 stout iron bar to hold on by no man of ordinary nerve 
 and muscular strength would have the slightest cause of 
 apprehension. So I told the cicerone to hold my coat, 
 grasped the bar, leaned from the opening, and got hold of 
 the plant, which I was about to secure when I heard a 
 simultaneous shout from both guides, who sprang upon 
 me and seized me fast. I looked round at them. Both 
 were pale as ghosts, with their mouths wide open, and 
 eyes staring out of their heads. I asked them what the 
 devil was the matter they replied by seizing me by the 
 arms and shoulders and pulling me away from the hole. I 
 got free from them by a sudden effort, but they sprang at 
 
PREPARATION 97 
 
 me again, and began to roar for help. <0h! come this 
 way Signore ! Come this way; you must not go there/ I 
 was a good deal vexed, hut could not help laughing at 
 being mistaken for a madman. I thought I would try a 
 little intimidation, so aimed a blow with my fist at the 
 nearest fellow s face. They dodged off a moment, but 
 returned to the charge with faces doubly earnest and 
 anxious and pinioned me from behind. Oh ! Signore ! 
 they said, we don t want money; only come up with^ 
 us to the gate. I saw the folly of contending with the 
 idea that had got possession of them, so told them I would 
 go. Thus I went out from Virgil s tomb a prisoner. I 
 thought my quiet compliance would have allayed their 
 fears a little no such thing: nothing would do but I 
 must mount with them to the garden gate above. Half 
 way up appeared a gang of men rushing in hot haste to 
 secure the madman. They were soon about me, when, con 
 fiding in their numbers, they loosened my arms. I was 
 resolved not to lose my relic of Virgil, so dispatched a boy 
 to pluck a leaf from the door of the tomb, since the men 
 would on no account suffer me to go myself. I got this 
 memento of my adventure, and departed. I had some 
 little suspicion that all this terror of my guides was 
 counterfeited in order to give them a chance to pick my 
 pockets ; but all my money was safe." 
 
 Here are two scenes of the kind he liked to sketch, 
 the first at an inn of Cara : 
 
 "In the corner [of the public room] crouched two or 
 three old crones, like living skeletons. An unshaven 
 countryman sat on one side fat and silent loungers from 
 the town, with infant moustache ; shabby dandies in 
 
 7 
 
98 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cloaks, children and dogs crouching together on the 
 hearth. At a little distance two or three thin visaged and 
 savage looking contadini stood erect and motionless in the 
 glare of the fire. Our guide Giuseppe sat drinking wine 
 at the long tables ranged around the barn-like room. He 
 had a very pretty girl to wait on him, who would come 
 from time to time and stoop over the fire so as to show to 
 the best advantage her classic features and the enormous 
 silver pin in her hair. Hunt l and I sat telling each 
 other college stories and recalling college recollections till 
 the people had withdrawn from the room, and left us 
 almost alone, in front of a glowing pile of half consumed 
 embers." 
 
 At Subiaco he wrote : 
 
 " We came suddenly upon Subiaco. It stood on the 
 top of a detached rocky hill among the mountains. Goats, 
 cattle, trains of mules and asses, women with jars of water 
 on their heads, old woodmen with the heavy crooked chop 
 ping knife in their girdles, and a bundle of fagots on their 
 shoulders, were coming down the different pathways from 
 the mountains toward the gate of the town, for it was near 
 sunset. The town was already in shadow, except the 
 castle at the top. 
 
 " All this was very well : get within the gate and the 
 scene changed. A crowded pile of high and crumbling 
 stone houses streets so steep that a horse cannot ascend 
 them, and answering the purpose of a common sewer for 
 all the filth of the inhabitants, so narrow, too, that a strip 
 of the red sky could scarce be seen between the tottering 
 roofs here was Subiaco ; and not Subiaco alone, but 
 
 1 William M. Hunt, the artist. 
 
PREPARATION 99 
 
 Italian country towns in general, as far as my observation 
 goes. The women, with water jars, were gathered around 
 the town fountain, more were seated about the corners in 
 a little public square spinning. More still were kneeling, 
 singing vespers in the church. The men were lounging 
 about in red breeches, smoking and staring. 7 
 
 Here is his first confession of the charms of vaga 
 bondizing in Europe, at Milan, though he soon 
 brought himself up with a very characteristic return 
 to the rugged life of his beloved New England : 
 
 "This morning when the whole city was quiet, the 
 shops shut in honor of Sunday, the people issuing from 
 the Cathedral, gentlemen walking listlessly about, and 
 porters and contadini sitting idle at the edge of the side 
 walks, there was a group of gentlemen taking their coffee 
 under awnings in front of each of the cafes in the piazza 
 before the Cathedral. This vagabond way of breakfasting 
 and seeing the world at the same time, is very agreeable. 
 There is no place where you can be more independent than 
 in one of these cities when you are hungry there is 
 always a restaurant and a dinner at a moment s notice 
 when j^ou are thirsty there is always a cafe at hand. If 
 you are sleepy, your room awaits you a dozen sneaking 
 waiters are ready at your bidding, and glide about like 
 shadows to do what you may require in hope of your 
 shilling when you go away. But give me Ethan Crawford 
 or even Tom, in place of the whole race of waiters and 
 garQons." 
 
 The democratic and wholesome atmosphere of 
 Switzerland seems to have pleased him as much as 
 the scenery: 
 
100 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 u I never left any place with more regret than these 
 mountains [about Andeer]. Descending into the wider 
 valleys of the Grisons, the scenery was not less magnifi 
 cent, though of a different character. At Coire, the capi 
 tal of the Canton, I was reminded that I was no longer in 
 Italy. A servant stood at the head of the stairs in the 
 large inn there, welcoming each guest with a ( good even 
 ing/ and ushering him into a large low wooden apartment, 
 where some thirty men and women were smoking, eating 
 or lounging at the tables and benches. Boys stood ready 
 to receive hats and cloaks ; and waiters attended on each 
 new comer to know what he would have. All was ease, 
 good nature, and equality. The old Germans and Swiss 
 grunted over their beer pots, and puffed at their pipes. 
 The young ones laughed with the servant girls. A 
 Frenchman gulped down his bowl full of soup sprang to 
 the window when he heard the postilion s horn, bounded 
 back to finish one more tumbler of wine, and then, seizing 
 his cane, dashed out in hot haste. A prim, strutting little 
 German student, stalked to the window to watch him, pipe 
 in hand and a complacent grin on his face; then turned to 
 discourse in a half patronizing, half gallant way with the 
 girls. 7 
 
 There is but one important passage concerning 
 Paris, the place in all Europe that most concerned his 
 future labors : 
 
 " I have been a fortnight in Paris and seen it as well as 
 it can be seen in a fortnight. Under peculiarly favorable 
 circumstances, too ; for it was the great season of balls 
 and gaieties, and I had a guide moreover who knows 
 Paris from top to bottom within and without. I like to 
 
PREPARATION 101 
 
 see a thing done thoroughly. If a man has a mind to 
 make a fool or a vagabond of himself, he can do it admir 
 ably in Paris ; whereof I have seen many instances. If a 
 man has a mind to amuse himself there is no place like it 
 on earth; diversions of every character, form, and degree 
 waiting for him at every step ; let him taste them then 
 get into the diligence and ride away, or stay, and go to 
 the devil. 1 
 
 Paris became more attractive to him later by rea 
 son of its close connection with his labors and its 
 innumerable interests to any student of life. He 
 thus wrote to his sister Mary in 1859 of the way in 
 which he spent the most of his leisure time there, 
 not in society, galleries, or libraries, but in studying 
 street life. The letter is characteristic of his habit 
 of dismissing the subject of health in a few words ; 
 one would never suspect it was written in a period of 
 the greatest mental and physical suffering. 
 
 "I am a little less lame. I get on well enough. The 
 omnibuses of Paris of which there are about seven 
 hundred are made with railings, etc., in such a way 
 that, with a little science, I can swing myself to the top 
 with the arms alone, and here I usually spend the better 
 part of the day smoking cigarettes and surveying the 
 crowds below. I have formed an extensive acquaintance 
 among omnibus cads and the like, whom I find to be first- 
 rate fellows in their way also have learned pretty 
 thoroughly the streets of Paris, where much may be seen 
 from the top of an omnibus. When hungry or thirsty, I 
 descend to any restaurant, cafe, or buffet that happens 
 to be near, whether of low or high degree if only clean. 
 
102 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 In fair weather an hour or two may always be spent pleas 
 antly enough between three and five o clock, in the open 
 air under the porches of the cafes 011 the boulevards, where 
 all Paris passes by." 
 
 We may close these extracts concerning his study 
 of manners and customs with the following sketch ; 
 the subject could hardly fail to appeal to his sense 
 of humor after his experience of European martial 
 scenes. 
 
 " < Cornwallis at Brighton, October 18, 1844. I was 
 there before the militia had gone off. Some had the 
 large skirted coats of revolutionary officers, some wore 
 battered helmets, some three-cornered hats, some noth 
 ing. They had every variety of weapon, from blunder 
 buss to rusty saw; and were of all ages and sizes. A 
 more ragamuffin assemblage I never saw. Officers to 
 the front, exclaimed the general on his horse. The 
 long line of ragamuffins who stood leaning on their rifles 
 or muskets in every variety of outlandish costume, looked 
 as if they had never an officer among them. But at the 
 word, a number of fellows straddled out from the line, 
 with yellow breeches and red coats; or with false beards, 
 and dirty shirts, armed with axes, swords, or guns. 
 These marched up to the front and faced gravely towards 
 the general. Gentlemen officers, he began, etc. The 
 address over, the officers withdrew, and the music struck 
 up, at which the whole line of ragamuffins got under 
 way and marched straggling off the ground, just as the 
 sun went down." 
 
 Parkman s study of character in individual men 
 and women was an interest second only to his lite- 
 
PREPARATION 103 
 
 rary labors. It not only gratified an inherited taste 
 and faculty for reading men, but also formed an 
 important element of his preparation as historian. 
 It was, besides, the chief means by which one of his 
 reserved nature could be brought into intimate con 
 tact with humanity outside of a restricted circle of 
 friends and relations ; for his sympathies were not 
 strong and broad enough by themselves to make 
 him a lover of all men. It remained throughout 
 his life a study of unflagging interest, being furthered 
 by his tastes, faculties and opportunities. For his 
 personal traits were fortunate ; he attracted men by 
 an unfeigned interest in them, thus inducing them 
 to open their minds to him. He was singularly ready 
 to listen to others, though he rarely if ever opened 
 his own reserved nature in return for their confi 
 dences. Then his social propensities saved him from 
 becoming a recluse, and counteracted the danger to 
 manliness that lurks in the study. Again, circum 
 stances brought him all the opportunities he could 
 desire. At his father s hospitable board he met 
 many men of distinction ; at college he was always 
 welcome among his classmates ; he had a wide circle 
 of family connections and friends ; he was a member 
 of various societies and clubs; and his travels at 
 home and abroad brought him in contact with many 
 national types, many classes, many interesting indi 
 viduals. His maladies often necessitated a great 
 deal of self-denial as to society ; but he continued to 
 the last, as far as his health allowed, to follow his 
 
104 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN" 
 
 social inclinations, saying that one should know as 
 many people as possible. Throughout life the read 
 ing of fiction was an important element of his amuse 
 ments, while historical -researches and writing de 
 manded a continual estimation of men from their 
 words and actions ; and his works show with what 
 care he conceived and executed the strong outlines 
 of his characters. 
 
 Parkman s skill in reading men came largely from 
 persistent and careful practice. His first effort in 
 this direction was another happy coincidence of boy 
 ish tastes with the subsequent needs of a historian. 
 When about twelve years of age he with some 
 equally youthful companions fitted up the loft of 
 his father s unused coach house, and founded " The 
 Star Theatre." The boys painted their own scenery 
 and made most of their own " properties." The 
 name, derived from the eminence of every member 
 of the company, was duly signified by a tinsel star 
 on a strip of green cambric crossing the stage above 
 the curtain. Parkman displayed both energy and 
 skill in this organization, as mechanic in rigging 
 up the curtain, as chemist in managing the colored 
 lights for the scene, as artist wielding the whitewash 
 brush, and finally as actor, chiefly in women s roles, 
 for which he is said to have been well fitted by the 
 possession of a high voice ; and if we may judge by 
 the daguerreotype of him as a young man, repro 
 duced in this volume, he must have had unusual 
 charms of face and person. The company was sue- 
 
PREPARATION 105 
 
 cessful. It seems to have given a performance 
 nearly every Saturday afternoon, and sometimes on 
 Wednesday also, during several months of 1835-36, 
 and 1836-37. The audience consisted mostly of 
 young relatives and friends, but it often contained 
 others more critical and mature, and now and then 
 a matron accompanied by her entire school. The 
 first season opened with " The Dumb Boy of Genoa," 
 in which young Parkman distinguished himself in 
 the title role, played altogether in pantomime. Only 
 a small part of the repertory can now be recalled, 
 but it included " The Golden Farmer," " My Fellow 
 Clerk," and "The Chicken" (translated from the 
 French by F. Lee), also Shakspere s " Taming of 
 the Shrew," in which Parkman played Katharina. 
 Here is the bill announcing one of the most suc 
 cessful performances : 
 
 Star Theatre. 
 BENEFIT OF MR. F. PARKMAN. 
 
 On Saturday, May 7th, will be performed the 
 celebrated play of 
 
 Bombastes Furioso. 
 
 " Whoever dares these boots displace 
 Must meet Bombastes face to face." 
 
 Bombastes (a general) . . . . J. C. Shaw. 
 
 Artaxomines (king of Eutophia) . C. Shimmin. 
 
 Fusbos (Minister of State) . . . G. Parkman. 
 
 Distafina F. Parkman. 
 
 To conclude with the much admired play of 
 
106 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAK 
 
 King s Bridge Cottage. 
 
 Mr. Richardson S. Eliot. 
 
 Frederick J. C. Shaw. 
 
 Percy . C. Shimmin. 
 
 Valmore F. Parkman. 
 
 Cato W. A. Marston. 
 
 Mary F. Minot. 
 
 Maj. O Bryan (a British officer in disguise), 
 
 G. Parkman. 
 
 Mr. C. F. Shimmin respectfully announces his 
 benefit for Wednesday, May 18th. 
 
 F. Minot, Printer. 
 
 Park man s Distafma is still remembered as a 
 charming impersonation. These theatricals, con 
 tinued for a considerable length of time and evi 
 dently developed with much study and pains for 
 schoolboys, were of course undertaken solely for 
 amusement. But as Parkman entered into them 
 with the thoroughness and zeal that he brought to 
 everything he did, they probably had some influence 
 in awakening his love of the study of character 
 just as his boyhood adventures in the Middlesex 
 Fells cultivated his love of nature. 
 
 His diaries contain some very significant bits of 
 appreciation of character. They show this study to 
 have been one of his deepest interests, probably 
 deeper than any other outside of history. He began 
 to record his observations as early as 1842, giving 
 them increasing space and emphasis until they be 
 came the chief element of his note-books in 1844-45. 
 
PREPARATION 107 
 
 We may begin our extracts with the following 
 account of the puppet shows of Naples, and then pass 
 on from these rough sketches of strangers to his more 
 finished portraits of familiar acquaintances. 
 
 " I went to-night to the teatro Sebeto an establish 
 ment consisting of a pit, eight boxes, and a gallery where 
 none but men sit. The piece was a deep tragedy, full of 
 love, jealousy, and murder, dungeons, trap-doors, etc. 
 Pulcinella here assumed the character of a pilgrim. He 
 always wears a black vizard which covers his face as far as 
 the end of his nose, leaving the lower part bare. His 
 entree, which was in the midst of the most tragic part, 
 was greeted by a loud laugh. The father of the distressed 
 lady was busy in bemoaning his afflictions on his knees, 
 with hands clasped. Pulcinella kneels down a little 
 behind him, and caricatured all his motions most ludi 
 crously. In the next scene the distracted husband, whose 
 lady has proved unfaithful, encounters the pilgrim and 
 makes at him with drawn sword, taking him for the 
 betrayer of his beloved. Pulcinella meets him with his 
 pilgrim s staff, which he brandishes at him in a most 
 laughable manner, turning into ridicule all his anger and 
 distress. The audience roar with delight, but do not 
 applaud. Pulcinella then has a scene to himself with two 
 girls, each of whom falls in love with him, and treat him 
 to sugarplums. Some of his evolutions were very particu 
 larly indecent. After this he did not appear again. 
 Tragedy resumed her reign undisturbed . . . Pulcinella 
 is a most original character. His ridicule does not spare 
 the hero and the heroine themselves. In a terrific scene 
 of incantation and sorcery which I saw to-day, Pulcinella 
 
108 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAtf 
 
 pretended at first to be very much frightened, but seized 
 an opportunity to knock over Death himself, who was ris 
 ing out of a fiery pit to seize him. He kicked a Sultan in 
 the face. He is always present in every tragic or pathetic 
 scene, turning the whole to ridicule by his ludicrous cari 
 catures, or his affected sympathy. He is always planning 
 tricks to get his best friends into a scrape." 
 
 Here is one of his most graphic pages, written at 
 Bologna : * 
 
 "The diligence was full of Frenchmen. In one day 
 and one night we got to Bologna. Here, in the yard of 
 the office, among the soldiers and other officials who stood 
 with folded arms listlessly staring at the strangers, was an 
 animal nearly seven feet high, with a face like a large 
 baboon. . . . His motions, too, exactly resembled a large 
 monkey s. He bounded about, swinging himself up and 
 down the diligence, tossing about heavy trunks and bales, 
 as if they were feathers, with his long muscular arms. He 
 kept his eyes rolling about in his head, glancing at every 
 thing in the yard, with an expression of infinite alacrity 
 and anxiety, and whenever he saw anj^thing that met his 
 disapproval he would jump to rectify it with a sort of 
 angry chattering in his throat. He was a deaf mute." 
 
 In London he found this subject for his pen : 
 
 "Walk out in the evening, and keep a yard or two be 
 hind some wretched clerk, who with nose elevated in the 
 air, elbows stuck out at right angles, and the pewter knob 
 of his cane playing upon his under lip, is straddling his 
 bow-legs over the sidewalk with a most majestic air. Get 
 behind him and you see his dignity greatly disturbed. 
 
PREPARATION 109 
 
 First he glances over one of his narrow shoulders then 
 over the other then he edges off to the other side of the 
 walk, and turns his vacant lobster eyes full upon you, then 
 he passes his hand over his coat tail and finally he 
 draws forth from his pocket the object of all this solicitude 
 in the shape of a venerable and ragged cotton handker 
 chief, which he holds in his hand, to keep it out of harm s 
 way. I have been thus taken for a pickpocket more than 
 a dozen times to-night not the less so for being respec 
 tably dressed, for these gentry are the most dashy men on 
 the Strand. There is an interesting mixture of vulgarity 
 and helplessness in the swarm of ugly faces you see in the 
 streets meagre, feeble, ill-proportioned, or not propor 
 tioned at all, the blockheads must needs put on a game 
 air and affect the man of the world in their small way. 
 I have not met one handsome woman yet, though I have 
 certainly walked more than fifty miles since I have been 
 here. Elsewhere Englishmen are tall, strong, and manly; 
 here the crowd that swarms through the streets are like 
 the outcasts of a hospital." 
 
 We shall discuss later the fact that Parkman 
 rarely expresses sympathy or admiration for men, 
 either as nations, classes, or individuals. For the 
 present we offer the following three sketches as the 
 only exceptions to this rule in his diary. While tak 
 ing a drive in Sicily he met with this experience : 
 
 " At Giarri, a large place where we stopped to rest the 
 horses, we were beset of course by beggars. One little 
 rascal, about six years old whose clothes, if they an 
 swered the purpose of warmth, answered no other purposes 
 for which clothing is intended, followed me about for half 
 
110 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMA1ST 
 
 an hour, like a little dog. I could not muster sternness 
 enough to order him away with effect and he was 
 too small to kick into the gutter so he went on, beg 
 ging for a carlino. At last he began slyly to mock, for 
 my edification, the grave countenance and stately air of 
 Don Mateo, and did it so ludicrously that I stood laugh 
 ing at him. At this he summoned a larger boy to his 
 side, who hummed a tune, while he danced a sort of horn 
 pipe on the pavement. I could forbear 110 longer, but 
 gave him a grano about the third part of a cent. A 
 crowd of loungers had mustered to witness the performance 
 of this manikin, who was about a foot and a half high. 
 There they stood in their brown capotes, looking gravely 
 from out of their hoods at the spectacle of my unparalleled 
 generosity, which was a signal for action. I was half- 
 stunned with supplications from men, women, and chil 
 dren, and glad, after cursing them a little, to escape into 
 the carriage. Among the rest was a girl, most abominably 
 ugly, who appeared to be a mute. I threw her a large 
 copper coin the young Spaniard added a couple more, 
 which threw the girl into a perfect frenzy of delight. She 
 danced about among the crowd flinging both hands into 
 the air then kissing the coins, and pressing them 
 against her breast ; tossing them on the ground before 
 her, and gathering them up again; till her ugly face 
 seemed absolutely good looking with the excess of her 
 pleasure." 
 
 This sketch was taken on the steamer when leav 
 ing Palermo for Naples: 
 
 "An old monk was on board, among the crowd of 
 nobles and exquisites, with the cord of St. Francis hold- 
 
PREPARATION 111 
 
 ing his tattered rags together. He had a little contri 
 bution box in his hand, and was gliding about in a 
 crouching posture, with his cap in his hand, begging 
 for his patron s benefit. He would look up into the 
 faces of an inattentive group with an humble and sup 
 plicating countenance, just like a starved dog expecting 
 a piece of meat at a dinner table. A pleasant voyage 
 and perfect safety was to be the reward of all who dropped 
 a grano into the box. My heart was moved with compas 
 sion toward the old fellow, he looked so humble and so 
 miserable. I tried to catch his eye to give him some 
 thing but my unwonted feeling of benevolence toward 
 a Sicilian beggar was destined to bear no fruit for just 
 then all visitors were warned off. The old monk tum 
 bled himself over the side into the boat of a charitable 
 facchino." 
 
 Another page reveals pleasantly his ready appre 
 ciation of manliness wherever it may be found: 
 
 "This morning as I got half asleep into the post car 
 riage, at Colico [or Calico], I was saluted by a bon giorno 
 by a small voice from a dark corner, where I discovered 
 by groping about a fine boy of thirteen or fourteen with 
 great promise of muscles yet undeveloped. He was a 
 young Swiss, who spoke Italian ; so I began to talk with 
 him. He spoke in a frank and bold manner. I asked 
 him if he did not mean to be a soldier. He said he 
 should have to, for all the Swiss were obliged to serve 
 from the age of eighteen to twenty-four. He was mis 
 taken; the Swiss military system resembles ours. But 
 he meant to be an officer because he was noble. The 
 conductor at this moment brought a lantern to the win- 
 
112 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 dow which showed a handsome Quentin Durward-like boy, 
 but clothed in rough homespun, and clouted shoes that 
 did not look much like nobility, and reminded me of 
 Quentin s pretensions. He had not heard of America, and 
 inquired with great curiosity how far it was, and how long 
 the term of military service was. I told him the period 
 that we are expected to be in readiness, which astonished 
 him exceedingly. Corpo di Bacco ! piti di quarant anni 
 di militare ! Ma quell e bello ! piu di quarant anni di 
 militare ! He said he was a Calvinist and that all of 
 his religion were considered as devils come diavoli 
 by the people around. He fell asleep at last, and did 
 not wake till we stopped at Chiavenna, when he jumped 
 up, shook himself, took his stick, and walked off to the 
 mountains. " 
 
 Parkman s appreciation of the feminine character, 
 which was both ardent and discriminating, found 
 but few expressions in his diaries ; women were not 
 then the important element of his life and work 
 that they subsequently became. Of Sicilian women 
 he said: 
 
 "One passed me in the church of the Capuchin Con 
 vent, with the black eye, the warm rich cheek, and the 
 bright glance that belong to southern climates and are 
 beautiful beyond all else." 
 
 Of the women in Naples he observed : 
 
 " There is something particularly attractive about 
 these women, who are seldom, however, handsome, prop 
 erly speaking but there is the devil in their bright 
 faces and full rounded forms." 
 
PREPARATION 113 
 
 The charm and grace of Italian ladies evidently 
 went to his youthful heart in the carnival at 
 Rome : 
 
 " Few had any regular features, but there was an 
 expression of heart and spirit, and a loftiness heside 
 which did not shame their birth. They flung their 
 flowers at you with the freest and most graceful action 
 imaginable. To battle with flowers against a laughing 
 and conscious face showering your ammunition thick 
 as the carriage slowly passes the balcony then strain 
 ing your eyes to catch the last glance of the black-eyed 
 witch and the last wave of her hand as the crowd closes 
 around her all this is no contemptible amusement. 7 
 
 His aversion to certain types of women was as 
 strong as his admiration for others ; and his criticism 
 was often expressed with a trenchant force that left 
 no room for doubt. Thus in 1845 he made this 
 observation of a noisy party in the cars in his own 
 state of Massachusetts: 
 
 "Is not a half educated vulgar weak woman a disgust 
 ing animal ? Where there is no education at all and no 
 pretension, the matter is all very well where high edu 
 cation and good sense are united it is very well indeed j 
 but the half and half genteel damn them ! " 
 
 As against this we may put the following sketch 
 of Mrs. General Riedesel, taken from his review of 
 her memoirs. It seems by its sureness of touch as 
 well as by its harmony with his known taste, to be 
 the portrait of a woman lie would have liked very 
 
 8 
 
114 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 much ; in fact it seems to me to come nearer than 
 any other writing of his to the expression of his 
 ideal woman, hardly excepting the heroine of " Vas- 
 sall Morton." 
 
 "Her graceful and feminine character was braced by 
 an admirable courage, and a spirit which must have made 
 her a very piquant companion. She had resources for 
 every emergency, made friends everywhere, and appears 
 to have been equally mistress of the situation in the 
 backwoods of Virginia, and in the family circle of King 
 George III. . . . She was too sensible, natural, and pure 
 to be a prude." 
 
 Parkman s memory of the eye, so remarkable for 
 scenery, was equally good for faces. It is related 
 that about 1885 he one day sat down to dine at a 
 friend s house next to a lady whom he had not ob 
 served with much care. Presently she said : " I see, 
 Mr. Parkman, that you do not recognize me." He 
 then looked attentively at her face and at once re 
 plied : " The last time I talked with you was on your 
 father s piazza at Palermo in 1843." 
 
 His more intimate study of men in friends and 
 acquaintances shows him to have been free from 
 class prejudice in personal relations. What he de 
 manded first and last was manliness, character ; the 
 external circumstances of wealth, birth, education, 
 set up no barriers between him and any man or 
 woman; hauteur was never seen in his feeling or 
 conduct. Any worthy individual, though from a 
 class for which Parkman may have had no sym- 
 
PREPARATION 115 
 
 pathy, became interesting to him as soon as per 
 sonal relations were established. He showed interest 
 in the history, character, plans, conduct, and welfare 
 of all his acquaintances, and often of their children 
 as well. He was catholic in taking into his friend 
 ship men of all kinds, the grave and the gay, the 
 exuberant and the reserved, the cool and the fiery. 
 On the steamer going from Malta to Messina in 
 1843, he fell into pleasant, even friendly, relations 
 with a Sicilian who had been a cook in Murdock s 
 tavern in Boston, and some of his warmest expres 
 sions of regard and admiration are those concerning 
 his guide on the Oregon Trail journey. Besides 
 ending the book with praises of this illiterate man 
 as a true gentleman, he says : " I have never, in the 
 city or the wilderness, met a better man than my 
 noble and true-hearted friend, Henry Chatillon." l 
 
 His diary on this journey through Europe in 1844 
 contains the longest of his sketches of character. 
 He thus described his guide and muleteer in Sicily, 
 Luigi Rannesi : 
 
 " Luigi, a diminutive Sicilian, with a thin brown face 
 and an air of alertness about every inch of him, began to 
 jabber Italian with such volubility that I could not under 
 stand a word. He must needs exhibit every article of the 
 provisions he had got ready for the journey, extolling the 
 qualities of each and they deserved all his praises 
 always ended by pounding himself on the breast, rolling 
 up his eyes and exclaiming ; Do you think Luigi loves 
 
 1 The Oregon Trail, ed. 1849, p. 23. 
 
116 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 money ? No ! Luigi loves honor ! and then launching 
 forth into interminable eulogiums of the country we were 
 going to see, and the adventures we should meet there. . . 
 lie talked and gesticulated half frenzied because he found 
 I could not understand half he said; then seized my hand 
 which he dutifully kissed and left me to my meditations. 7 
 
 On approaching Girgenti : 
 
 4 One of his fits of enthusiasm had taken possession of 
 Luigi. He began to lash his mule and drive him along 
 over mud and rocks at such a rate that I thought him mad, 
 till he told me that it was necessary fa bisogno to get 
 to Girgenti before the Englishmen. 
 
 " Corragio ! my brave mule! Corragio, Signore, he 
 shouted. We shall be the victors ! At that he drove full 
 speed up the steep hill towards the gate. Nothing would 
 stop him. He leaped over ditches, scrambled through 
 mud and stones, shouting i Corragio at the top of his lungs. 
 At last an insuperable gully brought him up short. He 
 clapped his hand to his forehead exclaiming Santissima 
 Maria ? in a tone of wrath and despair then recovered 
 his spirits and dashed off in another direction. We suc 
 ceeded. When we got to the top the carriage (containing 
 the Englishmen) was a quarter of a mile off, and Luigi 
 shouted * Vittoria ! as he rode into the gate as much 
 elated as if he had accomplished some great achievement. 
 
 " Luigi brings me pockets full of ancient money, and 
 seems greatly astonished at my indifference. As for him 
 self he is rabid [as a numismatic archaeologist]. He 
 dodges into every house and shop, inquiring for Antica 
 moneta; stops contadini at work with the same question; 
 he has scraped together an enormous bag full for which he 
 
PREPARATION 117 
 
 paid scarce anything, perfectly familiar as he is with its 
 true value and the customs of the country. His enthusi 
 asm embraces every object, far and wide. He raves of love 
 on the road, tells how he eloped with his wife, sings love 
 songs ; then falls into the martial vein; shouts Corragio ; 
 defies the wind, rain, and torrents. He enters into all my 
 plans with a most fervid zeal, leaving me nothing to do. 
 Every night he comes upstairs bringing all kinds of dresses 
 and utensils of the people for me to look at. Sometimes 
 he comes in with a handful of old coins, telling me with a 
 chuckle that he had bought them for pochissimo ; kiss 
 ing them repeatedly in the exultation of a good bargain. 
 I have lived most sumptuously ever since I have been with 
 him. He puts the whole inn into a ferment, rakes the 
 town to find the best of everything and waits on table with 
 an eulogium of every dish. <Ah! Signore, he repeats, 
 i do you think Luigi loves money ? No ! Luigi loves 
 honor ! He has something to give to every beggar he 
 meets. In short, the fellow is a jewel, and shall be my 
 particular friend henceforth. 
 
 "I went with him to the house of a Signore Politi, who 
 is fairly rampant with antiquarian zeal, and deeply en 
 amoured moreover of the fine arts. The studio of this 
 virtuoso presented a formidable display of old pictures, 
 plaster casts, vases, fragments of statues, and a confused 
 medley of indescribables. He was sitting at his easel 
 copying a Madonna of Guido. Luigi pulled off his hat 
 with great respect, advanced, and drawing an antique 
 cameo from the multitudinous folds of his handkerchief 
 presented it as Un piccolo complimento to Signore. The 
 virtuoso examined it through his spectacles, expressed his 
 approval, and coolly pocketed it, leaving me in equal ad- 
 
118 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 miration at Luigi s making a complimento of such value 
 and at Politics cavalier-like style of accepting it. The 
 mystery was soon solved it was like Turkish or Indian 
 presents ; Luigi expected as a matter of course a compli 
 mento in return. In fact he retired with a handkerchief 
 full of antiquities. He told me he always carried some 
 thing with him, t per fare un complimento to the Signori 
 who honored him with their acquaintance. He knows 
 everybody, from princes to beggars. 
 
 " Luigi came up in the evening, to hold * un discorso 
 with me according to his custom. He was in his usual 
 state of excitement. He takes a glass of wine in his hand 
 viva 1 onora, signorino mio, rolling up his eyes and 
 flourishing his hands, viva Bacco; viva Dio ; viva il 
 console Americano ! and so on, the finale being a seizure 
 and kissing of my hand, after which he inquires if I shall 
 want him, looks about to see that all is right, kisses my 
 hand again and goes off." 
 
 The following passage telling their nearest approach 
 to robbery gives another touch to his sketch of 
 Luigi : 
 
 "We were riding past an old house of contadini when 
 Luigi suddenly reined back his mule upon mine, uttering 
 in a whisper of consternation, ( /Santissima Maria/ I 
 looked at him and saw that the natural muddy brown of 
 his thin face was changed to a most cadaverous yellow. 
 I asked him what was the matter. He made no answer, 
 but shouted aloud for Michele who was a little way be 
 hind among the trees and then began to cross himself 
 and mutter prayers. I could see nothing except a man 
 with a gun walking away from the road toward a group of 
 
PREPARATION 119 
 
 a dozen contadini who were standing in front of the shat 
 tered house. We had left them far behind, before Luigi 
 was so far recovered as to tell me that a man had pointed 
 a gun at him from the bushes, but had desisted when he 
 saw Michele. He added that next to the mountains 
 around Palermo this place was the most notorious for 
 robbers in all Sicily. I do not for a moment imagine that 
 the fellow intended us bodily harm." 
 
 Here is a note on Luigi s attendant muleteer : 
 
 " The way was enlivened by the edifying singularities 
 of the muleteer Michele, who walked along talking with 
 out intermission for an hour together, though no one 
 listened or replied. He interrupted his discourse only to 
 belabor his mule and curse him in Sicilian. When we 
 came to a steep place, he would take a firm hold of the 
 beast s tail with one hand, while he belabored him with a 
 rope s end that he held in the other, and thus they would 
 scramble up together. Where the mud was more than a 
 foot deep Michele would place both hands on the mule s 
 rump and vault with a sort of grunt upon his back ; 
 wiggle himself about for a while to find a comfortable seat, 
 and then burst forth with some holy canticle in praise of 
 a Saint." 
 
 The study of life and character continues, after 
 history, to be the most important element of his 
 diaries all through 1844, 1845, and 1846, up to his 
 departure from St. Louis for the Rocky Mountains, 
 but his pages contain very few passages worthy of 
 quotation. The fact of chief interest is that the 
 historian devoted so much time and pains to the 
 
120 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 study of character and contemporary life. He 
 sketched some of his classmates, his fellow students 
 in the Law School; he attended public meetings, 
 as those of the Millerites and Fourierites, not because 
 he was interested in the causes, but to study men, 
 both collectively and individually. The manners, 
 the conversations, the traits of mind, the quality, the 
 motives of men, all attracted his searching eye. His 
 observation was directed impartially to the most 
 diverse characters, stage drivers, soldiers, Indians, 
 sailors, priests, farmers, scholars, artists, the grave, 
 the gay, the old and the young, everybody was 
 grist for his mill. 
 
 Here is a page written in 1845 : 
 
 " J. His vanity and love of display joined with energy 
 combine to make a fool of him. He affects the man of 
 the world goes always in full dress, and though he has 
 no sportsmanlike propensities keeps a breed of dogs about 
 him, and affects the connoisseur, also a fine equipage. 
 He is foolishly proud of money and his supposed rank in 
 society, and lets drop no opportunity of showing his 
 superiority. From constantly pushing himself into the 
 foremost places and affecting to command everywhere, he 
 has raised a host of enemies. His vanity impels him to 
 lie enormously. I suspect him of not being remarkably 
 brave, though I should never have made the remark but 
 for some boastful lies he bad lately been telling about a 
 street battle with some fellows who insulted him. He is 
 hospitable and bountiful, though ostentatious." 
 
PREPARATION 121 
 
 We may close these extracts concerning his study 
 of character with this passage written at St. Louis, 
 1846, just before his departure on the Oregon Trail 
 trip: 
 
 " How infinite is the diversity of human character ! 
 Old Mr. C. of nearly eighty, lively, bright, and active 
 the old man goes about rejoicing in his own superiority 
 to age wrapt up in himself, unobservant, impenetrable, 
 impassive. His companion was the reverse young, 
 silent through bashful ness, observing all, feeling all, and 
 constantly in hostility to external influences, though 
 resolute and determined, acting ever under the burden of 
 constitutional diffidence. How hostile is such a quality 
 to a commanding character. It is the mi rid as it stamps 
 its character on the bearing and manner that carries 
 weight; the bold, unhesitating, confident expression has 
 authority not the forced, sharp, painful expression of 
 resolution struggling against diffidence. Some men have 
 a sort of power from their very vanity they are too dull, 
 too impassive to feel a repressing influence from other 
 minds and, thinking themselves the greatest men on 
 earth, they assume a port and voice that imposes a sort of 
 respect. Others there are who, with many of the internal 
 qualities of command, can never assume its outward feat 
 ures and fail in consequence. How wide and deep and 
 infinitely various is human nature ! and how the contem 
 plation of it grows more absorbing as its features disclose 
 themselves to view ! " 
 
 The unity of Parkman s life, the concentration of 
 all his efforts from first to last on the writing of 
 
122 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 history, was not reached quite so early or so defin 
 itely as is generally supposed. In 1879, in an im 
 personal way, he described the wisdom of such a 
 course ; and the passage is too clearly a reflection of 
 his convictions and conduct to escape a personal 
 application : 
 
 "There is a universal law of growth and achievement. 
 The man who knows himself, understands his own powers 
 and aptitudes, forms purposes in accord with them, and 
 pursues these purposes steadily, is the man of success. 
 He who takes no account of his own nature, makes his 
 will the father of his thought, shuts his eyes to unwelcome 
 truths, places himself in false positions, and turns from 
 the good within his reach to strain after the unattainable, 
 is predestined to vexation and failure. Every one has his 
 place in the world, and the wise and fortunate find it." 
 
 This passage may be a backward glance at some of 
 his early struggles with his own nature. He con 
 fesses in his autobiographical letter that he was for 
 a time divided between " the Muse of History . . . 
 and her wayward sisters." We know that poetry 
 commanded his attention up to the middle of his 
 college course ; and judging by his diaries, fiction 
 shared his affections to a certain extent with the 
 soberer muse at a much later epoch. The closing 
 remark of the above quotation from his journal at St. 
 Louis, stands out boldly by its emphasis and breadth 
 as to his interest in the study of character. On the 
 other hand it is noteworthy that neither letters nor 
 diaries contain any expression of joy or interest in 
 
PREPARATION 123 
 
 the pursuit of historical study. If this study had at 
 that time become his sole aim and chief delight, his 
 reserve was indeed extraordinary. His diaries are 
 far more those of a novelist than a historian, being 
 largely made up of sketches of character, manners, 
 and customs, dialect, and other contemporaneous and 
 realistic matters; but silent as to the deeper and 
 broader questions of life that concern history. 
 He made " Vassall Morton " say (page 216) : 
 
 " When I was a boy I pleased myself with planning 
 that I would study out the springs of human action, and 
 trace human emotion up to its sources. It was a boy s 
 idea to fathom the unfathomable, to line and map out 
 the shifting clouds and the ever moving winds. De 
 Stae l speaks the truth l man may learn to rule man, 
 but only God can comprehend him. " 
 
 Both Parkman and Motley felt the close relation 
 ship of history and fiction, and each yielded to the 
 seduction of the latter in writing a novel early in 
 their careers. Parkman wrote "Vassall Morton" 
 after having tried his hand successfully as historian 
 in " The Conspiracy of Pontiac." He seems to have 
 deprecated being taken too seriously, and to have 
 eased the launching of a maiden novel by putting on 
 the titlepage this verse : 
 
 " Ecrive qui voudra ! Chacun a ce metier 
 Peut prendre impunement de 1 encre et du papier." 
 
 It may be remarked in passing that each of the 
 seventy-four chapters of "Vassall Morton," as well 
 
124 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 as those of the first edition of " The Oregon Trail," 
 is headed by one or more quotations of poetry. The 
 depth of Parkman s early interest in poetry stands 
 revealed by the range of reading shown in these 
 quotations, and it is equally remarkable that this in 
 terest never reappeared in either his writings or con 
 versation after the publication of " Vassall Morton." 
 His only use of verse in after life was a humorous 
 one, composing now and then a parody or quoting 
 some stanza absurd for its illiteracy. 
 
 The facts of his life show very clearly that fiction 
 never disturbed the essential unity of his career. 
 Probably he wrote " Vassall Morton " chiefly as a 
 recreation ; enjoying work on this intermediate level 
 of art between the heights of poetry he had relin 
 quished and the plain of history he had accepted. 
 Whatever his hopes may have been, they were 
 abandoned after the publication and failure of the 
 novel in 1856. His subsequent feeling towards the 
 book might be taken as a reflection of some degree 
 of secret disappointment, and of his strong love of 
 dignity and consistency. He disliked to hear it 
 mentioned, and never included it among his works. 
 His aversion to it may have sprung in part from its 
 autobiographic character, although this is well con 
 cealed from all but his intimate friends; certainly 
 he need not have been ashamed of the hero as a 
 personification of his own leading traits. Then 
 again, his dislike may have sprung from a loftier 
 feeling : coming as he did to have a legitimate pride 
 
PREPARATION 125 
 
 in his own extraordinary fidelity to his chosen muse, 
 in spite of all discouragements and dangers, he could 
 hardly avoid displeasure at the rival that for a time 
 led him a little astray. 
 
 On what kinds of expression did Mr. Parkman 
 rely in his study of character? and what was the 
 range of his impressions ? His chief reliance seems 
 to me to have been the external, matter-of-fact indi 
 cations of words and deeds. While these are often 
 a spontaneous and true expression of character, they 
 are not always thus to be depended on. Words, 
 even when used without the intention of hiding 
 thought, are frequently quite inadequate to a sin 
 cere and full expression. Even the more substantial 
 testimony of conduct is misleading without a full 
 knowledge of the convictions, intentions, feelings, 
 and circumstances from which it springs. The spirit, 
 the essential character, lives and pursues its appar 
 ently contradictory play behind these masks of words, 
 deeds, and material forms as perceived by the aver 
 age eye and mind. The deeper and more essential 
 revelations are made in subtile and unconscious 
 modes of expression, which are visible only to him 
 who possesses highly developed organs of sense and 
 mental faculties capable of spiritual insight. He 
 who has not an eye sensitive to the subtilities of 
 form, line, color, and motion, will not see all the 
 unconscious revelations made in face, attitude and 
 gesture ; without a fine ear he will not hear the 
 significant delicacies of pronunciation, tones, and 
 
126 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 inflections of voice; or if he lack the intuitive and 
 spiritual cast of mind, he will not duly appreciate 
 the significance of the phenomena of the inner life 
 that he may perceive. It must be said, however, 
 that instinct often leads us to the truth beyond the 
 line apparently drawn by the senses ; and Mr. Park- 
 man in this way may well have felt the nature of 
 men in unexpected particulars. His sensitiveness to 
 the influence of congenial and uncongenial persons 
 lends some weight to this supposition. This im 
 pressibility, however, indicates an instinctive recog 
 nition of mutually congenial temperaments more 
 than any deep penetration into the secrets of char 
 acter. His reliance chiefly on words and deeds as 
 the indication of character was very natural ; for 
 literature is the mode of expression that he mas 
 tered most thoroughly, and he was continually study 
 ing and writing the records of words and deeds 
 of the past, and drawing portraits from these 
 revelations. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE tragic element in Parkman s life is the proba 
 bility that his sufferings were quite as much the 
 result of ignorance as of inherited weakness. He 
 himself said that with wiser management his diseases 
 might have been cured and outgrown. As a boy he 
 was delicate, though not sickly; his inherent forces 
 and the activities of youth soon brought him out of 
 the doubtful conditions of his childhood, making him 
 as a collegian active and enduring beyond the aver 
 age; while the abundance of his vitality and the 
 strength of his constitution are fully attested by the 
 entire course of his life, in resisting the depression 
 of disease and in performing labor. The chief error 
 was the not uncommon mistake of regarding exercise 
 as the all-sufficient means of securing health. While 
 developing his muscles, he failed in the larger duty 
 of acquiring a thorough knowledge of the general 
 laws of health. 
 
 His physical culture, as we have seen, had as close 
 a connection with his personality as any other part 
 of his education. His tastes and ruling traits pointed 
 in advance to his course and the dangers he would be 
 likely to meet. Early in his college life muscular de 
 velopment became his hobby; he desired to equal the 
 
128 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Indian in strength, agility, endurance, and skill in 
 woodcraft; he also became convinced that a healthy 
 mind could exist only in a healthy body. But in 
 pursuing these laudable aims he was exposed to many 
 risks. His self -discipline began when he was yet a 
 boy at home; he would not permit himself habits 
 or thoughts tending in the least to weaken the 
 central virtue of manliness. He never could abide 
 weakness, either physical, mental, or moral; men, 
 women, opinions, emotions, to command his admi 
 ration must show strength and energy. Thus 
 the ways of the prudent, complaining, and self- 
 indulgent invalid were to him worthy only of con 
 tempt. He himself, going to the other extreme, 
 drove his body to exercise with an excessive and 
 destructive ambition. He treated his infirmities by 
 the fatal method of "crushing them by force," at 
 taining almost a savage s endurance of pain. If the 
 strongest mind, bent on attaining health and ignoring 
 illness, were able to cure disease by will-power, Park- 
 man should have been the healthiest of men. 
 
 Although athletics had not then reached their 
 present development in college life, he found suffi 
 cient means for attaining his ends. "It was in 
 Parkman s junior year that a gymnasium was first 
 provided by the faculty for the use of the students. 
 It was in a wooden building of no great size, and was 
 under the superintendence of a pugilist and popular 
 teacher of the art of self-defence, but who knew little 
 or nothing of scientific training as now understood. 
 
PREPARATION 129 
 
 It was provided with such apparatus as was then 
 common, and the young men, with virtually no one 
 to direct or guide them, were allowed to make such 
 use as they pleased of the parallel bars, lifting 
 machines, and other appliances. Parkman naturally 
 availed himself with eagerness of this opportunity of 
 increasing his muscular development, now become 
 his favorite hobby. He was a constant attendant at 
 the gymnasium, took boxing lessons, and emulated 
 the foremost in trials of strength and endurance. 
 The strain was too great for a constitution not nat 
 urally robust, and in the first term of his senior year 
 he was obliged to suspend for a time his college 
 studies, and seek relaxation and relief in a voyage to 
 Europe." 1 Walking was one of his favorite exer 
 cises, and he connected it, as we have seen, with his 
 literary purposes. " He was already training himself 
 for expeditions into the wilderness, and preparing to 
 make an exhaustive study of the aborigines by living 
 among them in their native haunts. As a part of 
 this preparation he was in the habit, while in college, 
 of taking long walks, going always at so rapid a pace 
 that it was difficult to keep up with him. This 
 manner of walking became habitual to him, and he 
 retained it to the last. Long years afterward, when 
 crippled by disease and needing two canes to support 
 his step, he might often be seen in the streets of 
 Boston, walking rapidly for a short distance, then 
 suddenly stopping, wheeling around, and propping 
 1 Wheelwright. 
 9 
 
130 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 himself against the wall of a house to give a moment s 
 repose to his enfeebled knee. Whatever he did, he 
 must do it with all his might. He could not saunter, 
 he could not creep; he must move rapidly or stand 
 still." 1 On these walks in the country he often 
 carried his rifle, "Satan." He also did some rowing 
 on Fresh Pond. Later, when a student in the Law 
 School, he joined a class in riding under the instruc 
 tion of a circus manager. With his chivalric and 
 spirited temper he must have taken great pleasure in 
 this knightly exercise. "He chose the hardest 
 horses, practised riding in every form, with or with 
 out a saddle or stirrups ; could run, leap, jump on a 
 charger at full speed, in short, perform feats 
 which only a professional could execute." 2 In this 
 study he probably had in view his Oregon Trail 
 trip, which occurred soon after. If our athletic 
 games had then been in vogue, his skill, courage, 
 coolness and activity would have made him a suc 
 cessful competitor. 
 
 Exercise was of exceptional importance to Park- 
 man. His perpetual-motion energy of course could 
 not be denied expenditure without repining and 
 irritation ; and his love of freedom and activity were 
 too strong to be easily reconciled to canes and 
 crutches in place of his youthful agility. But the 
 matter was much more serious than this; whenever, 
 as he said, confinement became unavoidable, " all the 
 irritability of the system centred in the head." As 
 1 Wheelwright. 2 Frothingham. 
 
PREPARATION 131 
 
 this tendency, of all things, had to be most care 
 fully avoided, exercise was almost as necessary as 
 food or air; and throughout his life he was faithful 
 to this requirement. For many years his lameness 
 did not prevent free walking at times, nor horseback 
 exercise ; he used also to do what digging and other 
 work he could in his garden. Fortunately his arms 
 remained serviceable till very near the close of his 
 life, so that he could generally enjoy some form of 
 exercise with them. Even when confined to his 
 wheel-chair he would split wood, hoe in his garden, 
 rake, or cut with a sickle the grass along the walks ; 
 he even did some carpenter work in making jx>ot 
 benches or other objects of utility. During much 
 of his latter years he was obliged to use canes or 
 crutches, and to carry a stool when working in his 
 garden. Disliking eccentricity of all kinds, he was 
 much annoyed at having to walk in the streets in 
 his peculiar manner ; yet he would not give up exer 
 cise and social intercourse so long as he could enjoy 
 them by any means whatever. The pain and the loss 
 of freedom caused by his lameness led him for a time 
 to consider amputation of the leg; but the relief 
 hoped for was too doubtful to justify the operation. 
 When rheumatism finally came in the shoulders 
 and stopped the last of his out-of-door exercises, 
 he accepted massage, practised deep breathing and 
 such other movements as could be executed in a 
 chair. 
 
 The nature of the ailments that afflicted Parkman 
 
132 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 and affected so much his life and character must be 
 explained somewhat if we would fully understand 
 his struggle for self-mastery. The causes of his early 
 illnesses are enveloped in more or less mystery. 
 Although in his autobiographic letter he touches 
 on some of their relations to his literary labors, he 
 nowhere enters into detail ; nor do any of his friends 
 seem able to tell much about them. He said that his 
 childhood was neither "healthful nor buoyant," but 
 with the help of free country life on his grand 
 father s farm, and the vital forces of youth, he 
 soon outgrew this condition and acquired a good 
 amount of health and strength. In college he was 
 remarked for his physical powers and good con 
 dition, so much so that his friends were surprised 
 when, in his junior year, he had to give up his 
 studies for a few months and go abroad for his health. 
 Nothing very definite is known of the cause of this 
 sudden change. Some think it was a trouble with 
 his eyes, but there is no reference to this in his 
 diaries and the few letters he wrote. It was prob 
 ably as others intimate, with apparently better knowl 
 edge, a trouble of the heart resulting from overstrain 
 in the gymnasium at Harvard. He wrote in his 
 diary, on leaving Florence, in 1844: 
 
 " After all I shall not see Grenada, at least for some 
 years; thanks to the cursed injury that brought me to 
 Europe; for as I find no great improvement, I judge it 
 best to see what a French doctor can do for me, instead 
 of running about Spain." 
 
PREPARATION 133 
 
 Shortly afterward, when among the Alps, as already 
 noted, he referred to the painful beating of his heart. 
 This affection, however, does not seem to have been 
 a persistent trouble ; it did not prevent him, even at 
 that time, from walking, climbing mountains, and 
 ascending cathedral spires as only a vigorous man can 
 do ; and the malady does not figure among the chronic 
 troubles of his after life. There is no subsequent 
 mention in his diaries either of disease or medical 
 treatment; but a previous writing, a letter to his 
 mother from Rome, April 5, 1844, contains this 
 passage : 
 
 "I find that though I am very well indeed in other 
 respects, there has not been any great change in the 
 difficulty that brought me out here. I am not alone in 
 this, there are several Americans in the same scrape, 
 and having quite as little success in getting out of it. 
 I have resolved to go to Paris to see Dr. Louis, the head 
 of his profession in the world, and see if he can do any 
 thing for me. There is some satisfaction in having done 
 the utmost, and left no stone unturned. I have been a 
 perfect anchorite here, have given up wine, etc., and 
 live at present on forty cents a day for provisions. So 
 if I do not thrash the enemy at last, it will not be my 
 fault." 
 
 The first trouble of which we have any definite 
 knowledge was the beginning of an affection of the 
 eyes. During his first year at the Law School, 
 1844-45, he rose very early and studied by candle 
 light, often without a fire. In the course of the next 
 
134 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 winter, when confined to the house by some sickness, 
 he for the first time pursued his studies by listening 
 to reading. 
 
 The Oregon Trail trip was undertaken partly to 
 cure his eyes, partly to study Indian life. As an 
 indication of his way of dealing with illness, we have 
 the following account of his setting out from Fort 
 Laramie : 
 
 "I had been slightly ill for several weeks, but on the 
 third night after reaching Fort Laramie a violent pain 
 awoke me, and I found myself attacked by the same 
 disorder that occasioned such heavy losses to the army 
 on the Rio Grande. In a day and a half I was reduced 
 to extreme weakness, so that I could not walk without 
 pain and effort. Having within that time taken six 
 grains of opium without the least beneficial effect, and 
 having no medical adviser, nor any choice of diet, I 
 resolved to throw myself upon Providence for recovery, 
 using without regard to the disorder any portion of 
 strength that might remain to me. So on the 20th of 
 June we set out from Fort Laramie to meet the Whirl 
 wind s village. Though aided by the high bow Moun 
 tain Saddle 7 1 could scarcely keep my seat on horseback." l 
 
 Once cast off from the last post of civilization, and 
 launched in the wilderness among savages, the only 
 thing to do was to keep up, and to wear a brave face. 
 He speaks again of this experience in his autobio 
 graphic letter: 
 
 1 The Oregon Trail, New Library Edition, p. 145. 
 
PREPARATION 135 
 
 <( Joining the Indians, he followed their wanderings 
 for several weeks. To have worn the airs of an invalid 
 would certainly have been an indiscretion since in that 
 case a horse, a rifle, a pair of pistols, and a red shirt 
 might have offered temptations too strong for abori 
 ginal virtue. Yet to hunt buffalo on horseback, over a 
 broken country, when without the stimulant of the chase 
 he could scarcely sit upright in the saddle, was not 
 strictly necessary for maintaining the requisite pres 
 tige. The sport, however, was good, and the faith un- 
 doubting, that to tame the devil it is best to take him 
 by the horns. 7 
 
 The chief trial on this trip was the lack of digestible 
 food. He became worn to a skeleton, was often 
 faint and dizzy, with lack of nourishment, having to 
 be helped into the saddle ; and his mind at times lost 
 its clearness. The prolonged and excessive strain of 
 this journey under these conditions permanently 
 impaired his digestion, thus reducing his powers to 
 resist the development of disease. In this way the 
 Oregon trip was the immediate cause of his infirmi 
 ties, though some of them may have had their source 
 in heredity. Suffering as he did from troubles of 
 digestion, he was unable to sleep during the night ; 
 when at dawn he dozed off, exhausted, his guide had 
 to call him to depart. Thus began the insomnia that 
 wearied him persistently all the rest of his days. 
 From that time onward, during long periods of time, 
 he would get but two or three hours of sleep out of 
 the twenty-four ; he often had less than this, or even 
 
136 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN" 
 
 none, and when four or five hours of unconsciousness 
 came, he enjoyed an unusual blessing. His confi 
 dence in nature made him doubtful of physicians and 
 drugs, and gave him most hope in the natural powers 
 of the body. Insomnia so prolonged and persistent 
 was one of the greatest of his physical trials ; it in 
 deed seemed that insanity must at last result from 
 this exhausting and irritating form of suffering. 
 
 Inflammation and weakness of the eyes naturally 
 increased with the decline of his general health on 
 the Oregon trip. The disease never afterwards left 
 him, though it fluctuated often, and diminished 
 somewhat as he grew older. Still another physical 
 misfortune was his to bear: rheumatic gout with 
 effusion in one of the knees. Finally, the overstrain 
 of his early life was most regrettable in helping to 
 develop some inherited tendency to disorders of the 
 brain and nervous system. His general troubles 
 were believed by the doctors to "come from an 
 abnormal state or partial paralysis of certain arteries 
 of the brain." 1 
 
 The Oregon Trail trip thus cost Parkman his 
 health for life ; but so predominant was his ambition, 
 so much did he value his Indian studies, and so little 
 compassion had he for his physical being, that he 
 never regretted this costly but fruitful experience. 
 From that time onward he was never free from ill 
 ness of some sort. One or another of his maladies 
 was always undermining his forces ; making his per- 
 i Letter to Abbe H. R. Casgrain, Jan. 26, 1872. 
 
PREPARATION 137 
 
 sistent industry and fortitude one of the most impres 
 sive examples of human achievement and endurance. 
 He used to call his infirmities "the enemy," with a 
 quiet tone of humor and patience; the phrase cov 
 ered many a solitary struggle of untold heroism. 
 
 The history of his health, like that of his life, 
 offers few incidents of note. He passed through at 
 least four severe crises of pain and disability within 
 a period of twenty years. The extent of his suffer 
 ings is nowhere revealed, only hinted at in writing; 
 he is remembered, however, by an intimate friend or 
 two to have said that death would often have been a 
 welcome end of his trials. Generally he passed acute 
 attacks either in turning his thoughts and conversa 
 tion to light and jocose topics, or in silent and patient 
 endurance. Once, when his physician, during a bad 
 attack, encouraged him by saying that he had a strong 
 constitution, Parkman replied quaintly, "I m afraid 
 I have." There is nothing to tell of these crises 
 bevond the patience and fortitude with which he 
 endured them. Sometimes, however, he felt so 
 strongly that he had had more than his share of suf 
 fering, that a fresh attack would cause him to explode 
 in a few very forcible expressions; then his quiet 
 patience soon regained the mastery. 
 
 Parkman s pathological conditions and their rela 
 tions to his work and his experience were altogether 
 remarkable, and I regret not being able to go deeper 
 into the many questions they open. His mysterious 
 nervous disorder, his physical infirmities, his irre- 
 
138 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 pressible mental energy, his remarkable powers of 
 will and of mind contending for self-mastery and 
 for the accomplishment of a vast amount of labor, - 
 such a life and character offered to both physiologist 
 and psychologist a study of exceptional complexity 
 and interest. 
 
II 
 
 PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 DESPITE his reserve, Parkman s individuality 
 stands forth most impressively in his work. He 
 should have been a knight of the Round Table ; few 
 men would have surpassed him in skill at arms, in 
 courage, in doughty deeds, in gallant courtesy, in 
 fidelity in friendship and service, or in winning 
 favors from fair women. His chivalrous spirit, his 
 martial bearing when on horseback, even his per 
 son seem to be embodied in the finest equestrian 
 statue in Venice, that of Condottiere Colleoni. Park- 
 man was much attracted to this work; when in 
 Venice he often went to see it, and he had photo 
 graphs of it on the walls of his study. He may have 
 felt a certain degree of spiritual kinship with this 
 celebrated soldier, and liked in fancy to return to 
 the times when his own manly nature would have 
 found free exercise in chivalrous accomplishments 
 and martial achievements. His chivalrous turn of 
 mind was shown in his school days, when he para- 
 
140 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 phrased parts of the ^Eneid and turned into verse the 
 tournament scene in "Ivanhoe." But, born in the 
 nineteenth century, he had to content himself with 
 choosing for a literary theme the most adventurous 
 epoch of American history, and living by his imagi 
 native sympathy in those experiences. 
 
 In considering Parkman as an historian I shall 
 not depart from the principal aim of this memoir, 
 which is to portray his personality. We shall there 
 fore consider his books not as histories or literature, 
 but rather as a mirror reflecting the author s own 
 character. Nothing about him was more interesting 
 and important than his intimate relations with his 
 work. He enjoyed the rare blessing of harmony 
 between his theme, his culture, his life, and his 
 individuality. Loving his subject as he did, he 
 truly lived in the writing of his books. His methods 
 of working under immense disabilities were so char 
 acteristic of the man that the lesson of his persever 
 ance and success cannot be too widely known. We 
 shall do well to glance once more at his personal 
 qualities, his education, his life, and his labors, the 
 better to get a reflection of the man in his artistic 
 products. 
 
 We have seen that from the start he directed his 
 education so as to cover all needs and topics con 
 nected with his theme ; as he said, writing of himself 
 in the third person, he " entered upon a training well 
 fitted to serve his purpose, slighted all college studies 
 which could not promote it, and pursued with avidity 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 141 
 
 such as had a bearing upon it however remote. His 
 reliance, however, was less on books than on such 
 personal experience as should in some sense identify 
 him with his theme." 1 
 
 Here we touch the most influential force in his 
 preparation and method, the very law of gravita 
 tion of his system. He early saw and obeyed the 
 principle that the artist must seek the closest sym 
 pathy with his subject by knowledge, skill, and feel 
 ing. And he set out at once to attain this sympathy, 
 both ideal and utilitarian, by two lines of effort (1) 
 by personal experience and observation of the ele 
 ments of his subject; (2) by an exhaustive examina 
 tion of documents. 
 
 1. His personal experiences, despite the fact that 
 he had to do with times long past, brought him in 
 contact with many objective elements of his theme. 
 As we have seen, he began even as a child to become 
 familiar with nature, and as years rolled on he in 
 creased this intimacy by some study of the natural 
 sciences, by much observation in the pursuit of his 
 recreations in the woods, and by travel, which culti 
 vated his eye for the larger and more pictorial aspects 
 of nature. 
 
 He visited all the important localities connected 
 with his narratives, and this study of historic scenes 
 did something more than fit him for describing mili 
 tary movements; it enabled him to give his work its 
 remarkable realism. Genuine artist that he was, he 
 
 1 Autobiography, pp. 351-352. 
 
142 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 first seized the large features of a scene, its atmos 
 phere, its light, thus getting his backgrounds; then 
 added the details, of soil and rocks, trees and flowers, 
 birds and beasts peculiar to the region. His love of 
 the vivid, the strong, the effective, was always guided 
 by the desire of accurate knowledge. He must have 
 had a remarkable sureness of glance, of judgment in 
 selection, and of memory; for a few meagre notes 
 sufficed in subsequent years to recall the main 
 features and details of scenes so accurately that they 
 appear in his volumes as if drawn fresh from life. 
 Knowing that his imagination depended on facts for 
 its impetus, he gave free play to his tastes in study 
 ing his theme on its own ground, delighting in expe 
 riencing, as far as possible, the same hardships and 
 adventures that were met by the discoverers, the war 
 parties, the fur traders, and the missionaries of early 
 times. The frontiersman interested him in his jour 
 neys about the wilds of New England and the West; 
 the hardy pioneer in his log cabin in the stump- 
 dotted field surrounded by the forest, made him 
 realize the strenuous and pathetic struggle of the 
 family there for a livelihood; and he had but to 
 imagine Indians lurking under the trees to feel all 
 the horrors of French and Indian massacres. 
 
 Unquestionably, the most important element of his 
 objective study and experience was his observation of 
 Indian life and character. Without an intimate 
 knowledge of the red man he would have failed in 
 some of the principal figures of his compositions. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 143 
 
 His first contact with the Indian is mentioned in his 
 "Half Century." In 1835 or 1836 a party of chiefs 
 and warriors of the Sacs and Foxes visited Boston, 
 and, as he says, " danced a war-dance on the Common 
 in full costume, to the delight of the boy spectators, 
 of whom I was one." l Soon after this his interest was 
 more deeply stirred by reading Cooper; as early as 
 1841 he had become so identified with the novelist s 
 red heroes that he dreamed of them, talked of them 
 more than of anything else, emulated them in wood 
 craft when on his walks and his longer vacation jour 
 neys, often in the full flow of his enthusiasm whooping 
 and jumping about and imitating the calls of wild 
 animals. In his diary of that year occurs this first 
 record of a working interest in the subject: 
 
 " Mr. Williams offered me the use of the notebook of 
 his journies of last year in which he has preserved a con 
 siderable number of Indian legends taken from the lips of 
 Anantz, who is well versed in the traditions of his tribe. 
 I shall certainly avail myself of his offer." 
 
 On his vacation trip of 1842, while at supper in a 
 tavern in Cambridge, Vermont, an old farmer seems 
 to have had an intuition of his propensities : 
 
 " He turned to me and asked if I was not an Indian! 
 I assured him that I was not, on which he coolly shook his 
 head and said that he made it a principle never to contra 
 dict any man. He did not consider it any disgrace, for 
 his part, to be an Indian; he had known Indians well 
 
 1 Half Century, vol. i. p. 333. 
 
144 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 edicated, afore now. He was very far from meaning to 
 offend. He proved, after all, a fine old fellow ; his sins 
 being all of ignorance. Far from being offended, I favored 
 his belief, for the joke s sake." 
 
 Again, in 1844, we find him entertaining his land 
 lord at an Italian inn with tales of Indian life ; and 
 one of his friends of those days says : " His tales of 
 border life, wampum, scalps, and birch-bark were 
 unsurpassed by anything in Cooper." 1 
 
 Once enlisted in the study, he pushed it on with 
 his usual energy. He visited the remnants of tribes 
 still lingering on the borders of civilization in New 
 England, New York, Pennsylvania, Michigan, and 
 Wisconsin; so that in 1845 he could write to a cor 
 respondent that, having read "almost all the works 
 on the Indians, from Lafitau and the Jesuits down to 
 the autobiography of Blackhawk," he had arrived at 
 the conclusion "that their character will always 
 remain more or less of a mystery to one who does not 
 add practical observations to his closet studies. In 
 fact, I am more than half resolved to devote a few 
 months to visiting the distant tribes." 
 
 This resolution he carried into effect the next year, 
 in his Oregon Trail journey. He was well prepared, 
 both physically and mentally, for such an undertak 
 ing. A good shot with the rifle, and an accomplished 
 horseman, fond of the experiences, adventures, and 
 hardships of a wild life, he was ready even to follow 
 the Indian on the war path. Moreover, his extensive 
 
 1 Horatio J. Perry s Reminiscences. 
 

 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 145 
 
 reading, and observation of semi-civilized tribes, had 
 given him what knowledge was then attainable, by 
 which to appreciate what he should see. The wide 
 scope of his interests is revealed in this passage : 
 
 "I had come into the country almost exclusively with 
 a view of observing the Indian character. Having from 
 childhood felt a curiosity on this subject, and having failed 
 completely to gratify it by reading, I resolved to have re 
 course to observation. I wished to satisfy myself with 
 regard to the position of the Indians among the races of 
 men ; the vices and the virtues that have sprung from their 
 innate character and from their modes of life, their govern 
 ment, their superstitions and their domestic situation. 
 To accomplish my purpose it was necessary to live in the 
 midst of a village, and make myself an inmate of one of 
 their lodges." * 
 
 The curiosity to which he alludes was but a small 
 part of his motives in making this perilous journey; 
 he had his life work chiefly in view, and felt that 
 nothing short of this intimate objective knowledge 
 could identify him with his theme. He secured by 
 this course a unique position among American histo 
 rians, for the disappearance or changed condition of 
 these tribes now makes it impossible for any one to 
 enjoy the advantages he seized with such wisdom. 
 
 2. The more one knows of Parkman s character 
 the more interesting, as reflections of his strong per 
 sonality, do his labors and productions become. His 
 study of documents and books impresses one at once 
 
 1 The Oregon Trail, p. 143. 
 10 
 
146 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 with an idea of a just, thorough, and honest mind. 
 From the time when he chose as his subject the 
 "Old French War," he naturally gave much of his 
 attention to history; and soon secured good standing 
 in this department in Harvard. Then, as told us in 
 his autobiographic letter, while attending the law 
 school he "entered in earnest" on a course of general 
 history. Although his labors had regard to a small 
 fraction of the human race and a part of the earth of 
 little value at that time, he very justly looked upon 
 his theme as important, and prepared himself with 
 characteristic thoroughness. 
 
 His originality and independence were evident in 
 his college days, when he broke from the usual 
 methods of historical work. In those times the dis 
 course of the professor stood between the subject and 
 the students ; they were content to accept a second, 
 or even third dilution of the truth. But Parkman 
 soon started out on an independent course through 
 the wilderness of American history, having his own 
 ideas as to equipment, route, and destination, thus 
 becoming one ( of the earliest pioneers in the modern 
 scientific method of historical work the study of 
 comparative history, the search for original sources, 
 and the continual comparison of history with con 
 temporary life and character. Even in his earliest 
 studies he rigorously demanded information at first 
 hand. In a general way, as the various streams of 
 his narrative began their course in England, France, 
 or Spain, he traced them to their beginnings as he 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 147 
 
 would a river in the wilderness ; he familiarized him 
 self with their history, especially with that of France 
 under Louis XIV., as far as the scholarship of that 
 day made it possible, often mastering details that 
 were beyond the needs of his special theme. Then 
 he soon drew upon these sources in more specific 
 ways. We have already seen how carefully he 
 studied the written history and ethnology of the 
 North American Indians, gathering, besides, what 
 ever could be learned of them by personal observa 
 tion. He also ran through all the family papers he 
 could find in New England, the West, and in Canada. 
 His course of study in these lines is nowhere re 
 corded ; but we can see from his works that it must 
 have included many of the deeper questions of civili 
 zation, of national policies, of racial peculiarities, 
 of types of character, and of religious aims and 
 organizations. 
 
 Romanism, as the central force in Canadian history, 
 was soon recognized by Parkman as a subject of 
 capital importance. As early as 1848 he saw that 
 his literary undertaking " required clear impressions 
 of monastic life, and of Roman Catholic ecclesiasti- 
 cism in general." And he continued throughout his 
 life to watch with great interest the effects of this 
 religion on personal and national character. Born 
 and bred a Unitarian, but early escaping from the 
 broad limitations of even this belief, he was quite in 
 different to sectarian distinctions ; or, rather, he was 
 antagonistic to religions of all kinds in proportion to 
 
148 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 their exaltation of doctrine and ritual above practical 
 morality and the growth of character. The Roman 
 Catholic Church repelled him by her moral code, her 
 temporal and ecclesiastical ambition, her superstitions 
 and supernaturalism, and her denial of freedom in 
 mental growth. There can be no doubt that his long- 
 study of this mighty system had an influence over his 
 own development. His most fundamental traits 
 were absolutely opposed to many of the aims and 
 methods of . the church, though his love of truth and 
 fair play never allowed him to ignore what was 
 admirable in the character or conduct of her fol 
 lowers. He would have disliked with equal force 
 any other church possessing equal power for enforc 
 ing similar aims ; he had quite as much aversion for 
 many features of Puritanism, from which he sprang; 
 and he said that had he been writing the history of 
 New England, he would have criticised the Puritans 
 as severely as he did the Catholic Church in Canada. 
 Some interesting glimpses of his studies in this 
 field are given in the diaries of his journey through 
 Sicily and Italy, where he availed himself of every 
 opportunity to visit churches, monasteries, and other 
 religious institutions. He felt the need of under 
 standing not the theological abstractions, but the 
 principles and aims of Romanism in directing a civili 
 zation; the spirit and methods of education and 
 monastic life by which she moulds the character of 
 her followers; the kind of men that she turns out 
 from her institutions. These questions were among 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 149 
 
 the most important interests of his first journey to 
 Europe; without this knowledge he would have 
 lacked the key to many political events, and to the 
 character and conduct of many of the most important 
 personages in Canadian history. In this study he 
 showed a keenness of perception and an impartiality 
 of judgment very uncommon in a youth of twenty 
 possessing strong adverse convictions. 
 
 At Messina he wrote this generous recognition of 
 the good that may be derived from the church s 
 artistic ritual: 
 
 "The church of the Benedictines is the noblest edifice 
 I have seen. This and others not unlike it have im* 
 pressed me with new ideas of the Catholic religion. Not 
 exactly, for I reverenced it before as the religion of gen 
 erations of brave and great men, but now, I honor it 
 for itself. They are mistaken who sneer at its ceremonies 
 as a mere mechanical farce ; they have a powerful and 
 salutary effect on the mind. Those who have witnessed 
 the services in the Benedictine church, and deny what I 
 say, must either be singularly stupid and insensible by 
 nature or rendered so by prejudice." 
 
 Another religious ceremony at Palermo served at 
 least the purpose of stimulating the growth of his 
 imagination : 
 
 "The next day I went to the Capuchin convent, where 
 the holy fathers keep many thousand mummies, in vaulted 
 apartments under ground. I was so edified by the in 
 teresting spectacle, that I bought a mass for fifty cents 
 and appointed four o clock the next morning to hear it 
 
150 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 performed in the sepulchres. Giuseppe waked me and we 
 sallied forth. Though it wanted more than two hours 
 of daylight, many people were abroad. Fires were burn 
 ing outside the cafes and confectioners , with ragamuffins 
 SLudJilles de joie grouped around them for the sake of the 
 warmth. The porter made his appearance at the gate of 
 the convent, and conducted us in, where we found five or 
 six of the fathers assembled with lamps awaiting the 
 coming of the prior. When all was ready we descended 
 into the tombs. The mummies, each from his niche in 
 the wall, grinned at us diabolically as we passed along. 
 Several large cats, kept there for the benefit of the rats, 
 stared at us with their green eyes, and then tramped off. 
 When we got to the little chapel, the prior put off his 
 coarse Capuchin dress, and arrayed himself in white 
 robes the curtain was drawn aside from the image of 
 the Virgin behind the altar, the lamps lighted, and the 
 mass performed. When all was over one of the fathers 
 lighted a torch to show the catacombs by its light. Coffins 
 piled up below, men shrunk to a mere nothing, but 
 clothed as they used to be above ground, all ranged along 
 the wall on either hand, a row of skulls under the cor 
 nices this made up the spectacle, which was rather 
 disgusting. There were one or two children, just dead, 
 and a few men, flung down in a corner, waiting for the 
 drying-up process." 
 
 Here is the account of a more pleasing experience 
 in a convent near the same city : 
 
 " We turned off to the left, and after a long ride, came 
 to the monastery of San Martino, in a wild and sublime 
 situation among mountains. The Benedictines here are 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IX HIS WORKS 151 
 
 all of noble blood. Everything is on a scale of magnifi 
 cence and luxury, pictures, fountains, the church, the 
 chapels, the library, the interminable galleries of the 
 enormous building. There are no tawdry ornaments; 
 everything is in good taste; but for ascetic privations 
 and mortification of the flesh, look elsewhere than at 
 San Martino. The fathers were at the table. I was 
 served with a dinner of lampreys and other delicacies, 
 which a prince might have envied. There is a preserve 
 of wild game, a formidable establishment of cooks and 
 scullions, a beautiful conversazione, and billiard rooms, 
 for the diversion of the pious devotees. In a palace-like 
 hall, below the surface of the ground, sustained by col 
 umns and arches of the rich marbles of Sicily, and lighted 
 from above, is a noble statue of San Martino. He is a 
 young soldier on horseback, with as little savor of the 
 saint about him as any of his votaries in this luxurious 
 monastery." 
 
 In Rome he continued his observations, visited 
 various religious institutions, got himself presented 
 to the Pope, and attended all the ceremonies of Holy 
 Week. He wrote of the last : " These ceremonies of 
 Holy Week, about which so much is said, would not 
 be worth seeing, were it not for the crowd of people 
 they draw together." Outside of his reading and 
 continual observation of the effects of Romanism on 
 character and conduct, his most intimate study of the 
 system was made while spending some days in a Pas- 
 sionist convent in Rome, an account of which was 
 published in " Harper s Magazine " for August, 1890. 
 In it he refers to the efforts made by the Jesuits arid 
 
152 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 others to convert him. One is struck by his fearless 
 ness, in voluntarily facing their heaviest guns, and 
 even putting himself into their hands for the sake of 
 study. He wrote this frank acknowledgment of the 
 learning that was brought to bear on his heresy: 
 
 "It is as startling to a ( son of Harvard to see the 
 astounding learning of these Jesuit Fathers, and the ap 
 palling readiness and rapidity with which they pour forth 
 their interminable streams of argument, as it would be to 
 a Yankee parson to witness his whole congregation, with 
 church, pulpit and all, shut up within one of the great 
 columns which support the dome of St. Peter s a thing 
 which might assuredly be done." 
 
 He continued his study and observation of Roman 
 ism to the last, with increasing aversion for many of 
 its effects on personal and national character. While 
 in camp in Canada, in 1886, we read together Paul 
 Bert s translation of Gury s Moral Theology, in 
 which the wonderful moral code of the church is set 
 forth as a practical handbook and guide for con 
 fessors. I see him now get up from his stool and 
 stride about, giving vent in the most forcible terms 
 to his wrath at such an organized system of pardon 
 ing everything. Yet no one was more ready in 
 acknowledging the worth of Catholic men and 
 women, wherever they showed themselves as faithful 
 followers of the larger Christian principles of that 
 religion, or as strong enough in native manliness and 
 virtue to resist its demoralizing ecclesiastical influ- 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 153 
 
 ences. His own moral earnestness and deep interest 
 in all that helps to elevate mankind forbade him to 
 ignore the good side of Romanism or to treat it in a 
 flippant way. The result is that while some Roman 
 Catholic writers complain of his severe criticisms and 
 exposures, others admit his fairness. And certainly 
 in view of his knowledge of the system, and of his 
 deep-seated temperamental antipathy to much of it, 
 he shows in his writings a remarkable degree of 
 moderation and self-control. 
 
 His study of documents presents the further inter 
 est of bringing to light a part of his long moral dis 
 cipline and many evidences of the power of his 
 elemental will. Having " no natural inclinations " 
 for historical research, he found it " abundantly irk 
 some and laborious." His instincts pointed to free 
 dom and activity out of doors, a kind of life needed 
 by him on account of his delicate health. More 
 over, being financially independent, he might have 
 excused himself for enjoying an existence of idle 
 ease, and also for shirking extreme demands for 
 accuracy, because of the almost insurmountable 
 obstacles to research presented by his weakness of 
 eyes and brain. There was yet another invitation to 
 superficiality in his strong imagination and his great 
 love of the picturesque. It would have been easy 
 for him to give rein to his fancy, and to paint most 
 effective pictures out of little knowledge. But his 
 ambition, energy, and sincerity were more than suffi 
 cient against any such temptations; in fact, none of 
 
154 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 these circumstances tempted him in the least. His 
 highest satisfaction was in doing work well ; he lived 
 for this end. Yet the success he attained sprang 
 from something deeper than the writer s ambition; 
 his persistent industry was a necessity to his in 
 born energy and force of will, while his scholarship 
 and accuracy were the natural result of deep 
 sincerity. 
 
 He developed very early, as we have said, the his 
 torian s passion and skill for getting at original docu 
 ments. It is told of him that when he was beginning 
 his investigations for the writing of "Pontiac," he 
 went to a relative to borrow some money for pur 
 chasing a MS. he needed, his father being at the 
 time in Europe. This lady refused to gratify what 
 she called the whim of a boy; but he said that he 
 should get it elsewhere, and so he did, and thus 
 began his collection of historical documents. When 
 possible he penetrated into the monasteries of Can 
 ada for a sight of their hidden records, or obtained 
 copies of documents referring to his subjects. In 
 his Preface to the first edition of " Pontiac " he gives 
 a very short statement of his long labors, an account 
 that applies in a general way to his researches for 
 the entire series of volumes: 
 
 " The most troublesome part of the task was the col 
 lection of the necessary documents. These consisted of 
 letters, journals, reports, and despatches, scattered among 
 numerous public offices and private families in Europe 
 and America. Contemporary newspapers, magazines, and 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 155 
 
 pamphlets have also been examined, and careful search 
 made for every book which, directly or indirectly, might 
 throw light upon the subject. I have visited the sites of 
 all the principal events recorded in the narrative, and 
 gathered such local traditions as seemed worthy of 
 confidence. 7 
 
 Parkman s personal address was not an insignifi 
 cant part of his equipment. In spite of his reserve, 
 his frankness and good breeding inspired confidence 
 and won friendly assistance in quarters not easy of 
 access ; while his knowledge of men was often most 
 serviceable, even indispensable, in ranging the wide 
 field of his investigations. He fitted himself and his 
 correspondence to the personal temperament and the 
 national customs of tbe people with whom he had 
 dealings. His letters to Frenchmen were written in 
 excellent French, and in the polite forms usual with 
 that people. In all of them there is found a courteous 
 and generous recognition of services rendered, and a 
 readiness to reciprocate favors. Thus he was gen 
 erally very successful in approaching both public and 
 private sources of information on both continents. It 
 is unfortunate that the few letters he wrote refer so 
 seldom to topics of general interest; they deal al 
 most exclusively with the details of the researches 
 he directed; nevertheless, they contain some pas 
 sages sufficiently interesting and characteristic for 
 reproduction. 
 
 The only serious obstacle met with in his researches 
 was the refusal of M. Pierre Margry, director of the 
 
156 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Archives of the Marine and Colonies at Paris, to let 
 him use a large collection of documents concerning 
 La Salle and other explorers of the West. This 
 affair is related in the prefaces to "La Salle," at least 
 as far as Parkman cared to publish it. His account 
 is extremely charitable; for experts censured M. 
 Margry very severely for regarding as private prop 
 erty a collection of papers obtained largely from the 
 documents of which he was the official keeper; and 
 also for the mercenary and " intractable " spirit with 
 which he kept the truth under lock and key. Park 
 man was obliged to publish his volume on La Salle 
 without a sight of these papers, and knowing that he 
 would probably have to rewrite portions of the book. 
 Yet his tact and patience never failed him through 
 years of effort to see those documents, which he at 
 last got published actually for M. Margry s profit by 
 means of an appropriation from Congress. Parkman 
 in a letter 1 thus refers to his efforts in this matter : 
 
 " Petitions were sent in [to Congress] from the princi 
 pal historical societies east and west, from professors of 
 Harvard College, and other persons of literary prominence 
 to whom I explained the nature of the proposed publica 
 tion. During the winter I wrote some forty letters to 
 congressmen and others and made personal applications to 
 various persons whose influence would have weight." 
 
 When this effort had reached a successful issue, 
 after so much trouble that should never have arisen, 
 
 1 To Mr. Harrisse. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 157 
 
 he was capable of writing the following letter to M. 
 Margry, characteristically making light of his own 
 services : 
 
 CHER AMI, Enfin nous avons de quoi nous 
 feliciter. La galere commence a vaguer. Votre derniere 
 lettre (sans date, suivant votre blamable habitude) m a 
 rejoui le coeur. Je vous crie grace de vos taquineries; 
 vous m en avez fait de belles. N importe; soyez gai et 
 gaillard ; riez, plaisantez, quand vos documents seront 
 publies nous aurons, vous et moi, de quoi nous rejouir en 
 semble. Cependant, ecoutez le cerf agile, 1 qui vous parle 
 du fond de ses forets. Courage, dit-il, par ce collier je 
 chasse de la riviere les canots ennemis qui pourraient 
 troubler la navigation; je donne une grande bonace au lac 
 qu il faut traverser, j apaise les vents et je tempere la 
 colere des eaux; je dissipe tous les nuages; je vous net- 
 toie les oreilles afin que vous entendiez la voix de ma 
 sagesse; je rends les chemins unis pour vous faire courir 
 heureus erne nt a -la fin de votre grande entreprise. " 2 
 
 As another example of his keenness of scent and 
 perseverance in hunting down historical materials, 
 
 1 Margry s name for Parkman, on account of his rapid step. 
 
 2 " DEAR FRIEND, At last we may congratulate ourselves. Our 
 troubles begin to take wing. Your last letter (without date, accord 
 ing to your unfortunate custom) did my heart good. Enough of 
 your teasing ! You have given it to me heavy. But no matter ; 
 make merry as you like, laugh and joke, when your documents 
 are published we shall have good reason to rejoice together. And 
 yet, listen to the agile deer, who speaks to you from the depths of 
 his forest. Courage, he says, by this necklace, I drive from the 
 river the enemy s canoes, which might interfere with navigation ; 
 I calm the lake that is to be crossed, I quiet the winds and soothe 
 the anger of the waters ; I blow away all clouds ; I clear your ears 
 
158 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 read this account of his discovering Montcalm s 
 letters to Bourlamaque : 
 
 " Many years ago I was informed that an important 
 collection of autograph letters of the Marquis de Mont- 
 calm was in the possession of a person in Paris who 
 wished to sell them, but I was unable to find the slightest 
 clue to the person in question. At length I was told that 
 the papers were sold, and that the purchaser was said to 
 be an Englishman. Beyond this I could learn nothing. 
 The descendants of the Marquis de Montcalm had heard 
 of the existence of the papers, but were totally ignorant 
 into what hands they had passed. As the late Sir Thomas 
 Philipps was the greatest collector of manuscripts in Eng 
 land, I examined the catalogue of his vast collection, biit 
 made no discovery. It was about fifteen ye&YS since I had 
 heard of the existence of the papers, and all my attempts 
 to view them had completely failed, when a gentleman 
 connected with the British Museum kindly offered his aid 
 in making the inquiry, and, in a few months, sent me the 
 welcome announcement that the custodian of Sir Thomas 
 Philipps s collection had informed him that the Montcalm 
 letters were in his keeping, having been purchased by Sir 
 Thomas, but not catalogued. I at once went to Chelten 
 ham, where this wonderful collection was preserved, and 
 obtained a copy of all the Montcalm letters. They proved 
 to be written to Bourlamaque, one of his chief officers, and 
 are doubly interesting because they were meant for no eye 
 but his, and often contain the injunction, brulez cette 
 lettre, or brulez toutes mes lettres, which, fortunately for 
 us, Bourlamaque did not do. The handwriting of Mont- 
 
 tliat you may hear the voice of my wisdom ; I smooth the roads 
 that you may run easily to the end of your great enterprise." 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 159 
 
 calm is never very clear, and these letters being hastily 
 written, are unusually difficult examples of it. The copy 
 ist, though he took great pains, was now and then at a 
 loss to decipher some intricate passage; yet it is be 
 lieved that every essential part has been successfully 
 transcribed." 
 
 Imagination, judgment, sincerity, industry, scholar 
 ship, and the faculty of identification with his pur 
 suits were thus happily united in Parkman, partly 
 by the constitution of his temperament, and partly by 
 his distinct purpose to balance the studies of the 
 closet by observation and experience. He managed 
 to see and feel nearly everything he had to describe. 
 For much of his work related to primitive and un 
 changed elements, the forest, the main features of 
 historic scenes, the experiences of woodcraft, the 
 border life of pioneers, the fundamental elements of 
 human nature, the life and character of the Indian 
 then still untamed. Gathering together these still 
 present objective remnants of the past, Parkman, 
 with his imagination and his constructive skill, com 
 posed historical pictures of extraordinary vividness 
 and realism. He identified himself with his theme 
 so completely that he was possessed by the one desire 
 to tell his story. To this aim he consecrated his 
 time, strength, and fortune. And this purpose, 
 with some help, it is true, from his philosophy of 
 historical writing, was so absorbing that it almost 
 buried his own personal] ty in his pages ; he rarely 
 showed any consciousness of his own thoughts, feel- 
 
160 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ings, experiences or philosophy; he gave the story, 
 and that only. 
 
 In looking at the great mass of manuscript he col 
 lected and digested, one partially realizes by the 
 material evidence of mere bulk how much he did for 
 the sake of thoroughness, but fully only when one 
 remembers the weakness of eyes and brain that in 
 creased his labors tenfold. In the preface to " A Half 
 Century of Conflict," he thus referred to his collec 
 tion at the close of his labors : 
 
 "The manuscript material, collected for the prepara 
 tion of the series now complete, forms about seventy 
 volumes, most of them folios. These have been given by 
 me from time to time to the Massachusetts Historical 
 Society, in whose library they now are, open to the ex 
 amination of those interested in the subjects of which 
 they treat. The collection was begun forty-five years 
 ago, and its formation has been exceedingly slow, having 
 been retarded by difficulties which seemed insurmount 
 able, and for years were so in fact. Hence the completion 
 of the series has required twice the time that would have 
 sufficed under less unfavorable conditions." 
 
 He spoke in detail in other prefaces of the materials 
 used in the preparation of each volume. 
 
 A collection standing for so much money and labor 
 was, naturally, to him an object worthy of great care. 
 Moreover, it was his witness that he had fairly and 
 thoroughly dealt with all the evidence then attain 
 able. In the interest of historical truth, and in the 
 consciousness of a duty well done, he wished his 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 161 
 
 papers to be kept together in a place of safety that 
 should be easily accessible to students. They were 
 accordingly given to the Massachusetts Historical 
 Society, of Boston. 1 
 
 1 See the Society s Transactions, 2nd series, I. 360-362 ; III. 152, 
 153; VI. 165, 391, 392; VII. 348, 349; VIII. 171. 
 
 11 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE history of literature can hardly show another 
 writer who made his work so predominant an interest 
 throughout his life, who overcame so many serious 
 obstacles, or who worked with so much apparent 
 independence of hindering physical conditions. One 
 naturally asks, How did Parkman manage, with poor 
 sight, to conduct his researches ? How did he make 
 his notes? How did he write or dictate his books? 
 What kind of assistance did he find it possible to 
 employ? Then there is the larger interest of his 
 intellectual processes. What were his methods of 
 planning and constructing his books ? What was his 
 philosophy of writing history? 
 
 The mechanical means by which he overcame the 
 difficulties besetting all writers having defective 
 vision are easily explained; his means of efconomiz- 
 ing and directing the precarious and abnormal ener 
 gies of his brain are not so readily stated, though 
 they will be considered in treating of his daily life 
 and social habits. His intellectual steps and pro 
 cesses of composition are still less within our grasp, 
 for he left very meagre records of them. 
 
 Parkman needed all his money, ability, and will 
 power to face the difficulties of his career. His 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 163 
 
 diseases gave him a much deeper trial than physical 
 suffering; they continually threatened him with 
 an ineffectual life, and a denial of his innermost 
 longings. No one can estimate the power he must 
 have lost in the mere strain of enduring imperfect 
 digestion, insomnia, rheumatism, arthritis, nervous 
 troubles. These, with pains in the head, were one 
 or the other, and often all together, continually sap 
 ping his force. He never saw a perfectly well day 
 during his entire literary career. Still less can we 
 appreciate how much power was lost by the innumer 
 able interruptions, the frittering away of force in 
 continually starting and stopping his intellectual 
 machinery, and by the self-control needed for the 
 preservation of his mental balance. To these diffi 
 culties must be added some specific disorders that of 
 all things were the most discouraging to a historian, 
 weakness of sight and frequent incapacity for con 
 secutive and prolonged thought. 
 
 While never losing either sight or sanity, he used 
 his eyes and his brain always with the understanding 
 that any excess of labor or pleasure would lead to 
 increased suffering and possibly to total disability. 
 His autobiographic letter states in simple terms an 
 experience not matched by any other that I know in 
 literature : 
 
 4 During the past eighteen years (1847-1865), the 
 state of his health has exacted throughout an extreme 
 caution in regard to mental application, reducing it at 
 best within narrow and precarious limits, and often pre- 
 
164 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 eluding it. Indeed, for two periods, each of several years, 
 any attempt at bookish occupation would have been 
 merely suicidal. A condition of sight arising from kin 
 dred sources has also retarded the work, since it has never 
 permitted reading or writing continuously for much more 
 than five minutes, and often has not permitted them at 
 all." 
 
 He could not endure even ordinarily rapid reading, 
 and at his best could work only two hours a day, 
 with many short periods of repose. About ten years 
 of his life were thus lost from work, not counting 
 short interruptions of days, weeks, and months. 
 Writing of this matter in 1886 he said: 
 
 " Taking the last forty years as a whole, the capacity 
 of literary work which during that time has fallen to my 
 share has, I am confident, been considerably less than 
 a fourth part of what it would have been under normal 
 conditions." 
 
 In the face of all these difficulties he took up a 
 labor of exceptional magnitude, one that he estimated 
 at the outset would require, with good health, about 
 twenty years. Moreover, he resolved that nothing 
 should be an excuse for stopping short of the nearest 
 possible approach to finality in research, or in exact 
 ness and fulness of statement. The task took him 
 fifty years instead of twenty, and the thoroughness 
 and extent of his work under such conditions make 
 his achievement certainly one of the wonders of 
 literature. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 165 
 
 In trying to see the conditions that made this labor 
 possible, we find one mystery among some very plain 
 facts of character and culture. We have already 
 had a hint of the helpful harmony that existed 
 between his theme and his temperament; we have 
 seen how good sense, pecuniary independence, and 
 breadth of view as to the historian s duties presided 
 over his education and guided his experience; how 
 comparative freedom from family cares and distrac 
 tions favored the concentration of his strength upon 
 one end; how independent means, an elemental force 
 of will, a happy balance between the driving power 
 of impetuous energy and courage, and the regulating 
 power of caution and method, how all these, com 
 bined with great self-knowledge, enabled him to pur 
 sue his course close along the very verge of disaster. 
 
 Yet all these favorable traits and circumstances 
 would have been unavailing had his physical infirmi 
 ties produced their usual effects on the nervous 
 system and the brain. For the conditions of the 
 physical organism cannot be long ignored, no matter 
 what amount of moral force may drive it for a time. 
 Parkman s case was altogether exceptional. Putting 
 aside the drudge who turns out his daily pages of 
 mediocrity, writers generally find their greatest dif 
 ficulty and their rarest success in keeping up the 
 enthusiasm and sensibility that alone can attune their 
 faculties to harmonious creation. But Parkman s 
 difficulty was not in arousing but in restraining his 
 faculties. His most intimate literary companion 
 
166 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 wrote that his "maladies intensified his impulses to 
 exertion and mental application, while they limited 
 the hours he could wisely give to reading and writ 
 ing." 1 Though an invalid, he was blessed with 
 a very remarkable exemption from an invalid s 
 lassitude. He had an "inborn irritability of con 
 stitution " as he said, which made " labor a pas 
 sion and rest intolerable." His mysterious affection 
 of the brain seems to have consisted in good part 
 of this spurring force. He aptly described his 
 condition as "that of a rider whose horse runs 
 headlong, the bit between his teeth, or of a locomo 
 tive built of indifferent material, under a head of 
 steam too great for its strength, hissing at a score 
 of crevices, yet rushing on with accelerating speed 
 to the inevitable smash." He said: "The exclu 
 sion of thought demanded an effort more severe 
 than the writer ever put forth in any other cause." 
 Thus his inability to work during many periods 
 longer or shorter, was not due to mental inertia; it 
 sprang from the nervous conditions that made it often 
 imprudent or at times even impossible to exercise 
 the brain. During half a century he thus led a life 
 of repressed activity, with spaces of complete idle 
 ness, at the best allowing himself but a brief play of 
 his powers. His self-control was nowhere more note 
 worthy than in this restraint of the mind. His abil 
 ity to work at all depended on the repression of an 
 impetuous temperament and a surplus of energy. 
 
 1 Dr. George E. Ellis. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 167 
 
 The reasonableness of his nature is shown by his 
 success. After actual illness came upon him, and he 
 saw that the " crushing out " policy was a mistake in 
 dealing with his maladies, he always showed great 
 common sense and docility in regulating his habits 
 according to medical advice. But in one particular 
 he persistently refused obedience he would not 
 give up his literary labor wholly, even when the 
 doctors forbade it under threats of the most serious 
 consequences; and when they told him to prepare 
 for death, he straightway prepared to write books. 
 With this supernormal energy continually furnishing 
 a high pressure of nervous force to his ambition and 
 imagination, and with good sense controlling and 
 concentrating his powers on one purpose, he was, in 
 a measure, independent of a surplus of health for 
 creative power. 
 
 His relations to his "work were thus far from un 
 fortunate; they enabled him to wring many advan 
 tages and compensations from his restrictions. One 
 may say even that his disabilities constrained him 
 to reach a standard not wholly in accord with his 
 natural tendencies. The predominance of the utili 
 tarian over the spiritual in his temperament, his 
 eagerness, his love of the tangible and effective, all 
 made him dislike the scholastic idea of perfection. 
 In his own special field he worked under a driving 
 desire to tell his story and the whole of it, and 
 under a fear that his strength might not hold out 
 even from one volume to the next. It would seem, 
 
168 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 therefore, that his dominant qualities and defects, 
 and many of his circumstances forbade much linger 
 ing over his work in the love of artistic perfection. 
 But fate in some measure forced him to build better 
 than he would. Able when in medium health to 
 visit historic localities, examine documents, direct 
 researches and transcriptions, plan his books, digest 
 and arrange materials, thus pushing forward the 
 easier and more clerical parts of his labors, he was 
 compelled by his infirmities to compose only when in 
 his best condition. Thus he followed the plainest 
 requirements of all who expect to do their best, 
 whether prize-fighter or poet. It is doubtful that 
 with his temperament he would have shown this 
 professional conscientiousness had health left him 
 perfect freedom. In one respect, however, he com 
 mended himself to the perfectionist s pains though 
 not to his spirit. In regard to accuracy he was a 
 worker of inexhaustible patience and thoroughness. 
 Here no delay, no trouble, no minutia3 appeared to 
 him fastidious. In the preface to "Pontiac " he thus 
 acknowledged his indebtedness to his misfortunes : 
 
 "I am well convinced that the authorities have been 
 even more minutely examined, more scrupulously collated, 
 and more thoroughly digested, than they would have been 
 under more ordinary circumstances." l 
 
 And so it was that he w r rung the greatest compen 
 sation from adversity. One day in 1886, in talking 
 
 1 Pontiac, p. xii. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 169 
 
 of his books, I expressed, in a few words, my admira 
 tion for them, and my hope that he would be able to 
 complete the series. To my surprise he replied, with 
 a tone of firmness arid some reserved meaning quite 
 mysterious to me: "That doesn t matter much." I 
 felt that I ought not to question him ; and in recall 
 ing the remark often since then, I have not been able 
 to find a place for it in his character or his strenuous 
 efforts, so long continued. Possibly he felt that he 
 had already done enough work under such trials to 
 prove his valor. And although nothing would have 
 got from him any expression of the thought, self- 
 justification under a life so burdened with inactivi 
 ties must have been exceptionally dear to one with 
 such a passionate love of energy and honor. 
 
 Did Parkman succeed in keeping his weakness out 
 of his work? Composing as he did, very slowly, and 
 only in his best hours, he almost accomplished this 
 impossibility. The first twenty years of his labors 
 from 1847 to 1868 contained the most of suffer 
 ing and interruption; then during the next twenty 
 years his brain and his eyes slowly improved a little, 
 so that he enjoyed his best powers of thinking and 
 seeing in his last decade of life. Yet as regards the 
 greater number of its component elements, the work 
 went on with remarkable independence of these 
 fluctuations. The large lines of construction for 
 unity and dramatic effect; the thoroughness of 
 research; the digestion of material; the selection and 
 condensation of matter for rapidity of movement; 
 
170 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the accuracy and fulness of statement in all these 
 points no weakness is shown, even in the volumes 
 written during his worst epochs. Such qualities 
 could be reached by slow and patient labor. But the 
 subtle matter of style springs too much from moods 
 and conditions to be wholly under the guidance of 
 skill and industry; and it seems to me that some 
 reflection of his condition may be seen in his books. 
 "Pontiac," for example, is fascinating not only by 
 its vigorous picturesqueness, but also for the color, 
 flow, and fervor of its diction. Although produced 
 under great difficulties, it was written before he had 
 been permanently affected by his hard experience. 
 His mental habits and creative faculties had not then 
 suffered from the effects of physical infirmities, con 
 tinual interruptions, remouldings of self to meet new 
 conditions, and the strain of prolonged efforts for 
 self-control. The wonder is that he escaped so well 
 in subsequent volumes the inevitable effects of his 
 condition. 
 
 The mechanical and clerical details of his method 
 of working may be easily described. Extreme sensi 
 tiveness of sight obliged him to employ the eyes of 
 others for almost all his reading and writing. In his 
 researches abroad he would take some educated man 
 with him to a library, spending as many hours a day 
 as his strength allowed in listening to the reading of 
 documents, and in noting what he should need for 
 subsequent and more thorough study of a subject. 
 These labors of the book- worm, "abundantly irk- 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 171 
 
 some," as he acknowledged them to be under any 
 circumstances, were especially wearisome when using 
 other men s eyes for hunting through historical hay 
 stacks for possible needles. With his own eyes he 
 could have gleaned with a glance, but now he must 
 listen to every paragraph for fear of losing in some un 
 important and tedious paper a desirable item or refer 
 ence. Then to avoid continually crossing the sea he 
 must examine with care a large range of subjects in 
 each visit ; he must consider not only all the points 
 concerning a given epoch, but also the bearing of 
 these details on the larger interests of his whole 
 series. But whatever his condition or the severity 
 of the task might be, he never shirked the pursuit 
 of every clue and the examination of every original 
 source of information, nor depended on another s 
 judgment in any important matter. He always held 
 his subject in the firmest grasp, and directed his 
 assistants with a clear knowledge and a firm hand. 
 Under such disabilities for writing he naturally 
 took as few notes as possible, and developed a very 
 retentive memory. As the sensitiveness of his eyes 
 often made it impossible for him to look at paper 
 while writing, he caused to be constructed what he 
 called his "gridiron." This simple invention was an 
 indispensable companion in all his labor up to the 
 completion of " La Salle " in 1869. After these first 
 and worst twenty years, he was able to use his eyes 
 enough to make notes, at least, without such a 
 guide. 
 
172 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Copying and collecting documents formed an im 
 portant division of his labors. It was impracticable 
 for him to compose away from home. His working 
 power depended on the most careful hygiene, and on 
 the help of assistants far more devoted and consider 
 ate than any that could be hired. As he based his 
 works on original sources, the most of which had 
 not been printed, he had to have copies made of a 
 vast number of papers. This expensive process cost 
 him a considerable part of his fortune; and he used 
 to say that the income from his books would never 
 give him much more than the cost of his preparatory 
 labors. Having in hand the lists and calendars made 
 in his own researches, he could safely direct the col 
 lection of his materials. He engaged responsible and 
 experienced students and collectors in Canada, Paris, 
 London, to employ copyists, verify the accuracy of 
 their transcriptions, and ship the manuscripts to him 
 at Boston. Having thus collected all his material 
 in his study, he felt himself master of the situa 
 tion. He could work whenever he was able, and 
 when unable, wait for health to return. 
 
 Parkman s characteristic reserve was especially 
 noticeable in regard to his work. He kept his inner 
 workshop locked, and a sign of "no admittance" on 
 the door. The more literary and intellectual steps 
 of his labors are therefore not so easily traced as the 
 clerical and mechanical details. There were among 
 his diaries, letters, notes, papers, no skeletons or 
 guides for the construction of his works. This is the 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 173 
 
 more remarkable from his knowledge of the precari- 
 ousness of his working powers, and his experience of 
 frequent and long interruptions. Fourteen years 
 passed between the production of "Pontiac" and of 
 "The Pioneers," ten of them in absolute separation 
 from his labor; while other interruptions, long or 
 short, continually broke up the course of his thought. 
 His progress at best was made by short steps under 
 such distracting conditions that a detailed chart of 
 his course would seem to have been indispensable. 
 Yet there is no evidence that he ever had such guides 
 on paper. Once, however, he communicated to a 
 friend l at least a general intention concerning " Mont- 
 calm and Wolfe " : 
 
 " Le plan de mon ouvrage sur la guerre de 1755-63 
 n est pas encore arrete, mais en vue des dangers qui 
 menacent toujours les monuments historiques dans ce 
 beau volcan qu on appelle Paris, je voudrais bien avoir 
 entre les mains la partie la plus essentielle des documents 
 qui regardent ces evenements. J essayerai peut-etre 
 d ecrire 1 histoire de la guerre depuis son commencement j 
 peut-etre je me bornerai a la periode comprise entre 
 1 arrivee de Montcalm et sa mort, faisant du grand mar 
 quis la figure centrale de la piece, et groupant les evene- 
 ments autour de lui. Ce plan me semble etre le plus 
 simple et le plus dramatique, mais il demande des ren- 
 seignements les plus etendus et les plus intimes sur les 
 aniiees dont il est question." 2 
 
 1 M. Pierre Margry, no date. 
 
 - Translation: "The plan of my work on the war of 1755-63 is 
 not yet determined, but in view of the dangers that always threaten 
 
174 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Despite the absence of much that we fain would 
 know, we can give a few of the external facts con 
 cerning his method of examining documents and 
 composing his books. In beginning a volume he had 
 all the documents concerning it read to him, the first 
 time for the chief features of the subject. While 
 this reading was in progress he made, now and then, 
 a short note, or walked over from his shady corner 
 to where the reader sat in the light, to mark a pas 
 sage for future reference. The margins of his 
 volumes of documents contain almost no writing, 
 merely crosses, double crosses, and vertical lines in 
 red pencil. He could not listen to this reading for 
 more than an hour or two per day in even his best 
 health, and with the help of frequent rests, requiring 
 in the reader a quiet manner, a low voice, and a slow 
 pace. Having very rarely sight and strength enough 
 to work at stated times, he seldom kept a salaried 
 amanuensis. His assistant was generally some mem 
 ber of his household; at other times he employed a 
 pupil from the public school. As most of his mate 
 rial was in French, of which the pupil was ignorant, 
 and in old French at that, the reading often seemed 
 
 historical monuments in the splendid volcano named Paris, I 
 should like to have in hand the most essential portion of the doc 
 uments concerning those events. Perhaps I shall try to write the 
 history of the war from its beginning; perhaps I shall confine 
 myself to the period comprised between the arrival of Montcalm 
 and his death, making the great marquis the central figure of the 
 composition, and grouping events about him. This plan seems to 
 me the simplest and the most dramatic, but it demands the most 
 intimate and extensive knowledge of that epoch." 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 175 
 
 anything but the accurate and serious information re 
 quired by a historian. Then came a second reading, 
 during which he noted accessory matters and details 
 of the story ; and sometimes a third examination was 
 needed of portions of his great mass of documents. 
 By this slow method he acquired perfect possession 
 of the materials needed for a volume. He then set 
 to work at composition, always finishing one volume 
 before touching another. His inability to compose 
 rapidly, as we have already seen, offered some very 
 valuable compensations for difficulties and delays. 
 It forced him to consider well his plan, to digest his 
 material thoroughly ; and by keeping him living for 
 some time in each part of his subject as he went 
 along, secured freedom and leisure for the exercise of 
 both imagination and judgment. 
 
 In the long hours of enforced solitude and idleness 
 in the subdued light of his study, or during his 
 sleepless nights, his subject pressed upon him with 
 the insistence of an absorbing interest. It is easy to 
 understand that his hardest effort was to keep his 
 mind at rest. Few men could have sustained their 
 interest and power under such tedious delays; but 
 he had precisely the faculties needed to meet the 
 situation, breadth and firmness of grasp for details 
 and general lines, a retentive memory, great construc 
 tive skill, and a vivid imagination, the whole 
 driven by supernormal energy. When it came to 
 writing or dictating the book, he had each day s pro 
 duction already arranged, probably some of it com- 
 
176 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 posed and memorized. He dictated at a moderate 
 pace sometimes holding a few notes in his hand 
 without hesitation and with a degree of finish sel 
 dom requiring any correction. At the close of the 
 morning he would listen to what had been written 
 down, and make necessary changes. During the day 
 he would look over the composition, for he never 
 failed to verify his citations and authorities himself, 
 or to paste with his own hand his notes on the bot 
 tom of the pages. The only record of his methodical 
 habits of working is the orderly arrangement of his 
 papers in bound volumes, and the presence of the 
 word "used" written on each paper when he had 
 taken its substance. But although methodical, he 
 was never fastidious or finical. He marched on as 
 well as he could, with his mind on large, practical, 
 and tangible results more than on niceties of method 
 or execution. 
 
 His amanuenses still speak of their wonder in wit 
 nessing the creation of his books. It must have 
 been, indeed, interesting to watch the transformation 
 operated by the magic of his imagination, the liv 
 ing characters and real scenes suddenly brought forth 
 from dry and disconnected facts read to him in bits 
 for months, or even years. One could hardly get a 
 more intimate contact with the artistic faculty, at 
 least in its activities of preparation and execution. 
 During the last few years of his life his eyes allowed 
 him to write quite freely for very short periods of 
 time. Thus he was able to write out by himself, 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 177 
 
 with pencil on orange colored paper, the greater part 
 of his "Half Century" and "Montcalm and Wolfe." 
 This manuscript shows very few corrections. He 
 had become master of a fluent, chaste, and simple 
 diction. 
 
 His method cannot be dismissed without referring 
 to his exceptional efforts for accuracy, though we 
 can say but little concerning his special means of 
 attaining this marked characteristic of his work. 
 Proofs enough of his efforts are seen in his pages and 
 in the collection of documents he accumulated. The 
 few letters which he wrote and received show what 
 pains he took to examine every possible source, both 
 public and private, in America and Europe. He 
 was averse, however, to the overloading of pages 
 with citations, especially those referring to collateral 
 and illustrative matter, which must necessarily pre 
 dominate "where," as he said, "one adhering to 
 facts tries to animate them with the life of the 
 past." One of his letters reveals his pursuit and 
 careful verification of detail. He wrote to an emi 
 nent astronomer : 1 
 
 "I believe there is a difference between the way of 
 estimating latitude in the seventeenth century and now. 
 Can you without much trouble tell me how this is? In 
 1685 La Salle calculated a certain point on the Gulf of 
 Mexico at 28 18 . What would this correspond to on a 
 modern map? How can I ascertain if a comet a some 
 what remarkable one was visible from the site of 
 
 1 His classmate, Dr. B. A. Gould, June 26, 1868. 
 12 
 
ITS A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Peoria, Illinois, in January, 1681? Also, how can I 
 ascertain on what day of the month Easter Monday, 
 1680, occurred? I want the information to test the ac 
 curacy of certain journals in my possession." 
 
 His pursuit of the truth was shown by his saga 
 city and persistence in ferreting out documents, such 
 as the letters of Montcalm to Bourlamaque, for which 
 he hunted fifteen years. His care and judgment in 
 weighing evidence are displayed on every page. 
 Finally, his love of accuracy carried him cheerfully 
 through the historian s most trying experience, 
 the revision of his works. In writing to a friend 
 apropos of "La Salle," he stated the feeling that 
 animated him from the beginning to the end of his 
 career : " Should evidence turn up showing me to be 
 anywhere in error, in fact or in judgment, I shall 
 recant at once, as I care for nothing but to get the 
 truth of the story." 1 When at last the materials 
 that had been unjustly refused him were published 
 through Parkman s own efforts, he rewrote con 
 siderable parts of "La Salle" without complaint. 
 The revision of his works was still going on at 
 the time of his death; and he proposed a still more 
 important revision after the publication of " A Half 
 Century." Possibly it was the uncertainty of his 
 life and working power that led him to cast his 
 subject in monographs, enabling him to finish the 
 work in pieces as he went along; it is certain that 
 he did not regard his history as complete. While 
 
 i Letter to J. G. Shea, Dec. 14, 1867. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 179 
 
 each volume is a whole in itself, one notes a de 
 ficiency in the larger lines of connection with the 
 Franco-English struggles, and with the history of 
 the American colonies. He intended to make this 
 connection closer and more apparent by remoulding 
 his monographs into a continuous narrative. Unfor 
 tunately he was not spared to put these harmonizing 
 touches to his work. 
 
 Professor Fiske, in speaking of Parkman s perse 
 verance under difficulties, says: 
 
 " The heroism shown year after year in contending with 
 physical ailments was the index of a character fit to be 
 mated, for its pertinacious courage, with the heroes that 
 live in his shining pages." l 
 
 1 John Eiske. Introductory Essay (1897). 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 ART being the inevitable revelation of the soul 
 producing it, the artist s character and productions 
 serve each to the other as a revealing light. A study 
 of Parkman made from either his books or his life 
 alone would be deficient in some essential feature. 
 For his Puritan blood barred him from freedom in feel 
 ing and utterance, while in writing, his philosophy of 
 historical composition and his identification with his 
 theme ruled out any explicit expressions of personal 
 thoughts and emotions. But no man s work is im 
 personal, if the analysis be pushed far enough. We 
 shall see that under the shelter of Parkman s reserve 
 and his philosophy of art, he yet found more or less 
 free play in a theme suited to his temperament. 
 
 Parkman s philosophy of historical writing is a 
 clear illustration of the practicalness and simplicity 
 of his character. In this as in other things, he knew 
 his own nature, and formed his aims and methods 
 accordingly. He seems, indeed, to have formed his 
 philosophy as early as he chose his topic ; or else fol 
 lowing from the start his natural tendencies, he per 
 haps worked according to his philosophy before it was 
 formulated. His writings cannot be divided into 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 181 
 
 epochs or manners ; for although his style developed 
 with the gradual improvement of his taste and skill, 
 his work is a unit as to ai us and method. 
 
 His philosophy is nowhere stated in clear terms. 
 He had no inclination to reveal his creed; and his 
 theme rarely demanded more than simple narration 
 and description. As every artist, however, derives 
 his working formula from his tastes and beliefs, so 
 Parkman s philosophy of writing necessarily sprang 
 from his philosophy of life. We can judge, therefore, 
 of the invisible foundations of his historical structure 
 both from his general attitude towards civilization 
 and the incidental revelations of his pages. From 
 these data it seems to me that his deepest interest in 
 history was embodied in the question : What kind 
 of men and women did a given civilization produce ? 
 Surely no interest can be compared for importance to 
 this study of the growth of individual and national 
 character. 
 
 But his edifice rests also on desires and purposes 
 that are more evident and above-ground. He built 
 on these four cornerstones: (1) Sincerity; never 
 stopping short of the utmost thoroughness and im 
 partiality. (2) Industry; which must not fail be 
 fore any amount of labor and hindrances. (3) 
 Scholarship ; which must embrace a knowledge of 
 topics that are even remotely connected with his 
 theme. (4) Identification with his theme. The 
 general spirit in which he worked is clearly set forth 
 in these golden words : 
 
182 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 " Faithfulness to the truth of history involves far more 
 than a research, however patient and scrupulous, into 
 special facts. Such facts may be detailed with the most 
 minute exactness, and yet the narrative, taken as a whole, 
 may be unmeaning or untrue. The narrator must seek 
 to imbue himself with the life and spirit of the time. He 
 must study events in their bearings near and remote ; in 
 the character, habits, and manners of those who took part 
 in them. He must be, as it were, a sharer or spectator of 
 the action he describes." 1 
 
 Coming now to still more tangible aims, the work 
 ing force of his method was the desire to tell his 
 story with the utmost simplicity, accuracy, and vivid 
 ness. The various merits of his work flowed from 
 these aims as a stream from its sources. He believed 
 that a history should be an artistic creation, having 
 due regard to unity, and with large purposes sweeping 
 on to an effective climax. But he never regarded artis 
 tic aims as an excuse for neglecting prosaic or adverse 
 facts, or for twisting history into drama. In striving 
 to exclude all that could be spared, he was not led 
 to neglect details, even the most minute. It is told 
 of him that he criticised Bancroft for making his 
 tory too dignified. With his frequent vigor of lan 
 guage he said, " Damn the dignity of history ; straws 
 are often the best materials." His objective and 
 practical mind made him desire a very realistic 
 method of treatment : he had no taste for sentiment 
 or theories. 
 
 1 Pioneers, p. xiv. 
 
PARKMAtf AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 183 
 
 One of the most important features of his method 
 was a demand for original sources. He was one of 
 the first to elevate this need and that of individual 
 research to their modern importance, holding that 
 the historian had not done his duty until he had 
 examined every known or discoverable document 
 relating to his theme. Parkman not only desired 
 the original record of an event, and if possible one 
 that was made by an eye-witness while memory and 
 feeling were still vivid, but he wished this record to 
 be given in its first state. "In mending the style 
 and orthography, or even the grammar," he said, " one 
 may rob a passage of its characteristic expression, till 
 it ceases to mark the individuality of the man, or the 
 nature of his antecedents and surroundings." Speak 
 ing of the editorial glosses of the letters of Dinwid- 
 die, he referred to their " good English without char 
 acter, while as written they were bad English with a 
 great deal of character. The blunders themselves 
 have meaning, for Dinwiddie was a blunderer, and 
 should appear as such if he is to appear truly." l 
 
 His method of historical writing included an 
 other aim that was purely a personal matter and 
 very influential over the nature of his works. His 
 history has been criticised as deficient in philosophic 
 depth; and to the casual reader who gives himself 
 up to the charm of his picturesque narration and 
 description, this criticism may seem well founded. 
 His pages are made up of facts, without either 
 
 1 Winsor, The Atlantic Monthly, May, 1894, p. 662. 
 
184 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 generalizations, sermons, sentiments, or personal 
 opinions. In explanation of this unusual reserve, 
 it has been suggested that as generalizations cost a 
 deal of hard thinking, he was deterred by his dis 
 orders of the nervous system from formulating his 
 wisdom. This guess may have some truth, but it 
 seems to be contradicted by all we know of his men 
 tal habits, character, and culture. His reverence for 
 hard truth, and his matter-of-fact and practical turn 
 of mind would have made him at least shy of gen 
 eralizations. The facts of experience and observation 
 rather than the ideal elements, were his natural mate 
 rial. We have seen that at college he neglected phi 
 losophical studies and acquired a very special rather 
 than a broad and general culture, and he was remark 
 able for early crystallization of aims, opinions, and 
 methods. Again his inability to read much would 
 probably have curtailed his subsequent excursions 
 in philosophy had he looked in these directions. 
 It seems, therefore, improbable that he would ever 
 have written otherwise under any circumstances of 
 health. Philosophizing on life may have seemed 
 a too intimate self-revelation for his reserve, even 
 when directed to impersonal or historical topics. 
 
 In spite, however, of this evidence, Parkman really 
 had a philosophical side, and a strongly marked one 
 too. We have seen that he always studied individ 
 ual and national life and character with the interest 
 of the keenest observer. He was distinctly a serious 
 student ; he always impressed people as a man of 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 185 
 
 wisdom. The facts are that with his moral earnest 
 ness, his keen perceptions, and his capable mind, he 
 was of necessity a man of depth and ability in those 
 directions that were opened to him by his organiza 
 tion. With little interest in spiritual, abstract, and 
 metaphysical lines of thought, he possessed excep 
 tional strength and clearness in other directions. His 
 intimates were continually discovering new veins of 
 knowledge in him, especially in regard to history, na 
 ture, and human nature. It is difficult to determine 
 his limitations in these fields: the records of his 
 schooling and subsequent reading are too inade 
 quate : and even if they were full, they would hardly 
 serve to gauge such a memory and such readiness of 
 acquisition. The principal element of his wisdom 
 was perhaps his strong common sense ; he studied 
 life and history with the intelligence of an intensely 
 practical man of scholarly interests. 
 
 There were thus two opposing forces in him, a 
 philosophic interest in life, and a detestation of theo 
 rizing and moralizing. Parkman wrote as a non- 
 philosophizing philosopher. As it happened, I heard 
 from him one day a statement that seems authorita 
 tive as to both his general method and his practice. 
 In discussing a book on French-Canadian life and 
 character, he said to the author, " Describe them just 
 as they are, and let the reader philosophize as much 
 as he likes." " The Old Regime in Canada " reveals 
 most clearly this rule of his method. The volume is 
 full of political philosophy and object lessons of the 
 
186 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAST 
 
 clearest import, though without either sermons or 
 theories. While weighing causes and effects, he 
 seldom mentions them, or formulates any theories of 
 growth. His pages are built up exclusively of facts ; 
 but he presents these in such a way as to carry their 
 own lesson. His work is just the opposite of Gar- 
 neau s, which he said has the manner, but not the 
 matter, of a philosophical history. 
 
 Parkman s theme was the deepest joy of his life. 
 It was at once the attraction and the means that led 
 him onward through his trials to his intellectual and 
 moral development. His practical relations to it are 
 as interesting and characteristic as his philosophy of 
 historical writing. Lowell says that " one of the 
 convincing tests of genius is the choice of a theme . . . 
 In the instinct that led him straight to subjects that 
 seemed waiting for him so long, Mr. Parkman gave 
 no uncertain proof of his fitness for an adequate 
 treatment of them." Some have considered that the 
 direction of his life was providential ; he himself said 
 that it was governed by his tastes and a clear percep 
 tion, when still a mere youth, of his capacities and 
 limitations. He thus told the story, looking back 
 from 1878 l : 
 
 "Vous demandez pourquoi j ai congu le dessein d e- 
 crire 1 histoire des Franqais en Amerique ? C est tout 
 simple. Dans ma jeunesse j avais le gout des lettres; et 
 j avais en meme temps ce des forets, de la cbasse, des 
 sauvages. Je frequentais (leurs) camps, je parcourais les 
 
 1 Letter to M. Pierre Margry, Dec. 6, 1878. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 187 
 
 bois avec eux, j y voyageais a pied et en canot. C etait 
 ainsi que je passais mes vacances. Eh bien, je corapris 
 de bonne heure que ces deux gouts, des livres et des forests, 
 pourraient se reconcilier, pourraient meme s aider recipro- 
 quement, dans le champ d histoire Franco- Americain." l 
 
 He said again, in his autobiography (p. 351) : 
 
 " Before the end of the sophomore year my various 
 schemes had crystallized into a plan of writing the story 
 of what was then known as the Old French War/ that 
 is, the war that ended in the conquest of Canada, for here, 
 as it seemed to me, the forest drama was more stirring 
 and the forest stage more thronged with appropriate actors 
 than in any other passage of our history. It was not till 
 some years later that I enlarged the plan to include the 
 whole course of the American conflict between France and 
 England, or, in other words, the history of the American 
 forest : for this was the light in which I regarded it. My 
 theme fascinated me, and I was haunted with wilderness 
 images day and night." 
 
 His selection at that time did not seem so wise as 
 it appeared when subsequent success had justified 
 it. American history was not popular, and he had 
 
 i Translation : 
 
 " You ask why I conceived the purpose of writing the history of 
 the French in America ? The answer is very simple. In my youth 
 I was fond of letters, and I also liked the forest, shooting, and the 
 Indians. I frequented their camps, I roamed the woods with them, 
 I went shooting, I journeyed on foot and in canoes. I passed my 
 vacations in this way- Well, at an early day I saw that these 
 two tastes, for books and for the forest, could be reconciled, could 
 be made even mutually helpful, in the field of Franco-American 
 history/ 
 
188 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 to create a taste for his subject. His father, in 
 common with many others, took little interest in the 
 old French Wars, a contest of bushrangers for 
 the possession of a wilderness. Parkman pointed 
 out that this conflict was a very important event in 
 the history of the world, since it decided the destiny 
 of a continent. But his father continually ignored 
 or forgot these excellent reasons, and called upon 
 his son again and again to defend his selection. To 
 most minds the subject was barren, "with spaces 
 too vast, heroes too few, and savages too many." 1 
 His undertaking was all the more uncertain because 
 of the unknown nature of his materials. As he 
 said of these : 
 
 " The field of the history was uncultured and unre 
 claimed, and the labor that awaited me was like that of 
 the border settler, who, before he builds his rugged dwell 
 ing, must fell the forest trees, burn the undergrowth, 
 clear the ground, and hew the fallen trunks in due 
 proportion." 
 
 While the topic, however, presented one great 
 source of possible success that of novelty, his 
 style was not considered sufficiently artistic to draw 
 readers to an unpopular subject. Even that remark 
 able volume " The Conspiracy of Pontiac " was de 
 clined by one of the principal publishers of New 
 York in obedience to his reader s opinion that " both 
 the subject and the style " would deny the work 
 
 1 Judge John Lowell. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 189 
 
 any profitable success; and the first reception of 
 the book justified this opinion. The next work, 
 "Vassal! Morton," was a failure. Then, after the 
 appearance of "Pontiac," which met with but a 
 modicum of success, Parkman s state of health kept 
 him for ten years unable to do any literary labor 
 whatever. He thus began his career with what 
 seemed only moderate talents and achievements, and 
 an outlook that was far from encouraging. But he 
 had a true estimate of the possibilities contained in 
 his theme, and a still stronger faith in his own rela 
 tions to it. When his wife, in her affectionate in 
 terest, asked him why he did not write on some 
 European historical topic, which would interest the 
 public, he answered that he u must write what he 
 was made for." His mind indeed moved as gladly 
 and freely in his chosen literary world as he had 
 moved through the forest or over the prairie in his 
 youth. The Franco-English contest was the last 
 great struggle in which personal valor and address 
 triumphed as they did in the days of chivalry. War 
 had not then become a game played with long-range 
 guns. Parkman could throw himself body and soul 
 into this congenial subject ; and he found in it many 
 interests not restricted to time and place. He had 
 to offer the world a study of the last remains of 
 primitive society in the stone age, a picture of the 
 life of the ancestors of every civilized nation of 
 to-day ; he had to record the struggle and fall of the 
 savage races before the civilized powers of Europe, 
 
190 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 He had also to tell the longer story of the three- 
 handed conflict between France, England, and the 
 Indians for dominion in the new world. 
 
 At first sight his history seems to be merely a 
 chronicle of the contest ; and Parkman says in his 
 autobiography that in his earlier years he regarded 
 his subject as the history of the American forest. 
 Thanks to the scenery, the variety of races and 
 characters, the nature of events and experiences, 
 few epochs in history excel his in romance, pictur- 
 esqueness, heroism, and adventure. The subject 
 indeed might easily have demoralized a man of his 
 nature and tastes, and seduced him to an undue 
 expansion of these alluring elements. But fortu 
 nately his theme contained also many deeper prob 
 lems, and called for self-control, judgment, scholar 
 ship, and caution. He had in hand two opposing 
 systems of civilization that of feudal, militant, 
 
 Catholic France in conflict with democratic, indus- 
 
 
 
 trial, and Protestant England. He made this com 
 parison from all points of view, religious, political, 
 military, social, industrial, educational; he omitted 
 nothing essential. He enjoyed a rare happiness 
 that of a new theme, perfectly fitted to the artist s 
 hand. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 WE come now to Parkman s works ; or rather we 
 are still approaching them through questions that 
 probe to the centre of his character. 1. How much 
 of the artistic temperament had he? 2. How far 
 did his works answer the innermost, generative im 
 pulse of the artist to express and justify his person 
 ality? 3. What are the sources of the powerful 
 effect of his books? 
 
 1. Speaking with certain reservations, Parkman 
 cannot be called an artist born. The love of beauty 
 which springs from keen sense-perceptions acting on 
 a mind gifted with spiritual insight, though influen 
 tial in some directions, was not a general force per 
 vading his personality. Yet nature in denying him 
 a keen appreciation of the more delicate and poetic 
 elements of beauty, or much interest in the fine arts, 
 for their own sake, gave him the fullest enjoyment 
 of what is virile, bold, and effective in the physical 
 world and in literature. 
 
 Nothing could have been more fortunate for him 
 than the cultivation of his taste by his journeys to 
 Europe. He thus recorded his own sense of this in 
 1843-44: 
 
192 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 "I have now been three or four weeks in Rome have 
 been presented to his Holiness the Pope, have visited 
 churches, convents, cemeteries, catacombs, common sewers, 
 including the Cloaca Maxima, and ten thousand works of 
 art. This will I say of Rome, that a place on every 
 account more interesting, and which has a more vivifying 
 and quickening influence on the faculties, could not be 
 found on the face of the earth, or at least I should not 
 wish to go to it if it could." 
 
 But in spite of the interest revealed by this one 
 passage, the only one reflecting much enthusiasm for 
 the creations of man, the beautiful in nature was far 
 more to him. He scarcely mentioned works of art 
 in his leisurely journey through Italy; but he de 
 scribed at length scenery, men, life, manners and 
 customs. 
 
 His artistic sensibilities should be judged chiefly 
 in connection with his own art of writing, as we shall 
 do presently ; yet his relations to the other arts are 
 not without interest. Architecture, judging by his 
 diaries, must have interested him most of all, though 
 his references to it do not show any critical enjoy 
 ment of its beauties. Here are the only passages 
 that seem of any importance, and the first one, by 
 its emphasis, shows plainly that his tastes lay in a 
 different direction: 
 
 " A weary week of lionizing. I would not give a damn 
 for all the churches and ruins in Rome, at least such 
 are my sentiments at present. There is unbounded sub 
 limity in the Coliseum by moonlight, that cannot be 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 193 
 
 denied; St. Peter s too, is a miracle in its way, but I 
 would give them all for one ride on horseback among the 
 Apennines." "The Milan Cathedral is worthy of Rome, 
 I like it as well as St. Peter s. 7 
 
 After visiting it from vault to roof, he said further : 
 
 " With every visit the beauty and majesty of its hun 
 dred and sixty marble columns, of its rich tombs, its carv 
 ings, the rich fretwork of the roof and dome, and of the 
 windows painted [with] the histories of saints, strike you 
 with a stronger effect." 
 
 Of painting and sculpture also he said very little. 
 Their chief attraction was their worth as human 
 documents and historical data; painted landscapes, 
 even of the wilderness, were still less important. 
 The gallery of all Europe that interested him most 
 was that of Versailles, with its pictures and statues 
 of historic scenes and persons. When surrounded 
 by the treasures of Rome, he found it worth while 
 to make only this entry concerning art : 
 
 " There is an artist here, Overbeck, from Germany, 
 who is a man of wonderful genius. I visited his studio 
 to-day. His works are scarce more than sketches with a 
 pencil, but every face may be an hour s study, and 
 speaks plainer than words the character of its author s 
 mind, mild, earnest, and devout to enthusiasm. All his 
 subjects are scriptural." 
 
 When in Milan, he found no more to say of 
 Leonardo s " Last Supper," a work that by its extra 
 ordinary force and distinctness of characterization 
 
 13 
 
194 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 should have impressed him as a student of men 
 than this : 
 
 " Leonardo da Vinci s Last Supper is here in the 
 refectory of a suppressed convent, but miserably in 
 jured, or rather destroyed by the dampness of three cen 
 turies and a half. An old man, who has charge of the 
 place, told me that he was at the bridge of Lodi and 
 was a sergeant at Marengo." 
 
 The stage had no deep interest for him. Aside 
 from the little people s theatres at Naples, he men 
 tions none in his diaries, not even the Franais when 
 he was at Paris. Yet as a schoolboy we have seen 
 him an eager and successful actor ; and at the time of 
 this journey he was very much given to the study of 
 men. He seems early to have abandoned the histri 
 onic art as completely as he did chemistry. Perhaps 
 in common with many keen observers of character, 
 he was repelled by the artificialities of theatrical pres 
 entation. It may be said, however, that although 
 he was not a lover of the theatre, he would probably 
 have gone oftener than he did to see a first-rate actor 
 or play, if his eyes could have endured bright lights. 
 
 Music was an unknown world to him ; it never 
 attracted him at any time of his life. Yet he liked 
 the Fifth Symphony, and he had one favorite song 
 in his last years, " Sam Hall," whose dramatic force, 
 grim humor, virility, and anti-clerical sentiments de 
 lighted him. 
 
 His appreciation of painting and the other fine arts 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 195 
 
 grew somewhat with the greater development of his 
 spiritual nature. In the later part of his life he 
 spent much of his enforced idleness in looking at 
 illustrations and photographs ; he enjoyed the perfec 
 tion of Japanese pictures of birds, fishes, monkeys, 
 and flowers ; and had in his study some of Barye s 
 statuettes of animals ; also many engravings chiefly 
 portraits of historic persons. Undoubtedly a part of 
 his failure to develop taste in these directions was 
 due to his sensitive eyes ; but the root of the matter 
 lay in his physical and mental organization. 
 
 A glance at Parkman s relations to nature will not 
 be devoid of interest, to show how happily they con 
 formed to his sensuous and mental sensibilities, to 
 the aims of his ambition, and to the nature of his pro 
 ductions. We have seen that though his senses were 
 not very highly developed, his sight was in many 
 ways keen, as in woodcraft and the study of the 
 natural sciences. In spite of this, he had little ap 
 preciation of the more spiritual elements of beauty ; 
 he seldom remarked the charm of colors, forms, or 
 lines in graceful composition. Even in his favorite 
 pastime of horticulture, his attraction to flowers 
 sprang largely from other things than their beauty. 
 The processes of hybridization and growth, the won 
 der of new varieties, the vigor and perfection of a 
 well grown specimen, these things held his inter 
 est. But he showed no taste or care in the laying 
 out of his garden to secure pleasing effects, and sel 
 dom remarked the beauty of a flower or an autumn leaf. 
 
196 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 He lacked also the poet s gift of sympathy that 
 connects nature with humanity, and the poet-natu 
 ralist s eye for the inner life and spirit of living 
 creatures. Two of his strongest characteristics were 
 love of the real and aversion to the visionary and 
 spiritual ; and such a nature can hardly include the 
 poet s capacity for contemplation and revery. He 
 loved nature, but not as a lover who sits down 
 quietly for intimate communion. He could not 
 abide Wordsworth and his followers. Although 
 admitting that Thoreau was a notable man, he had 
 little sympathy with him ; he felt repelled by what 
 he considered Thoreau s eccentricities, transcenden 
 talism, self-consciousness, and affectation of being 
 natural. Parkman s interest in nature lay in quite a 
 different direction. Were we to confine our atten 
 tion to the externality of his appreciation, and his 
 need of a knowledge of her for literary reasons, we 
 should commit the error of saying that he was more 
 an observer than a lover of nature. It naturally 
 follows that he cared not at all for highly humanized 
 landscapes. The charms of rural England are not 
 mentioned in his diaries, neither does he record any 
 where the sight of picturesque compositions in New 
 England, where with the simplest means man has 
 unconsciously made some of the most charming pic 
 tures. Judged by his diaries and conversation, he 
 saw no beauty in these rough yet not wild scenes ; 
 much less did he feel the subtle connection between 
 this beauty and the pathetic, passionate human expe- 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 197 
 
 riences which it framed. He saw only the objection 
 able effects of meddling with nature, the destruction 
 of his beloved wilderness. He acknowledged in a 
 way his limitations, when descending the Mohawk 
 Valley in 1845 : "I am getting a stronger relish 
 for quiet beauties." We cannot but respect his per 
 fect freedom from sentimentality, and from the slight 
 est pretence of admiring what he did not feel. 
 
 Along the lines opened to him by his organization 
 and his literary projects, his love of nature was very 
 strong indeed. These were the lines that gratified 
 his love of adventure and the picturesque. The 
 wilderness with its free life was perhaps more to 
 him than the softer charms of nature. As his 
 diaries frequently show, he took great pleasure in 
 what is vast, powerful, savage ; often noting the 
 large effects of light and atmosphere over a land 
 scape, breathing most freely on a mountain top sur 
 rounded by limitless plains, responding best to the 
 roaring life and irrepressible activity of cataracts, to 
 the wild energy of a storm sweeping over the prairie 
 or the ocean. In spite of the silence of the diaries 
 on this point, we know that his love of thoroughness 
 and realism were gratified in the natural sciences. 
 He enjoyed the firmer grasp of nature to be had in 
 the details of rocks, soils, trees, plants, and animals ; 
 these things gave him close contact with the actual 
 life of the wilderness. He noted the elements that 
 affect life there, especially the means of subsistence 
 and the exigencies of travel. Lakes, streams, 
 
198 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 swamps, ranges of mountains, windfalls, tangled 
 undergrowth, laurel thickets, game, and fish, the 
 trails of animals and men he delighted in all such 
 features, both for themselves and for their practi 
 cal connection with the ever present object of his 
 ambition. 
 
 It has been said that the love of the wilderness 
 was his ruling passion. He himself refers to it in 
 his autobiographic paper, saying that it " gained full 
 control of the literary pursuit to which he was also 
 addicted." This was undoubtedly true of him as 
 a young man, but it seems equally true that his 
 deepest interest in life and his greatest enjoyment 
 soon came to be centred in the writing of history. 
 It is surprising that he should never once have 
 sought the wilderness during forty years after his 
 trip to the Rocky Mountains. His lameness natu 
 rally made travel in the woods difficult; yet he 
 often journeyed far to collect historic material. 
 But it is probable that he loved the adventures 
 of a wild life more than the wilderness itself; and 
 therefore neither the woods nor the prairies had of 
 themselves power to attract him after his infirmi 
 ties denied him perfect freedom in physical activity. 
 Certainly he drove on his literary labors in spite of 
 obstacles, with a persistence, courage, and energy 
 that would have enabled him frequently to visit 
 the wilderness had the love of nature been his 
 dominant passion. 
 
 We who to-day read his books are interested to 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 199 
 
 see how admirably his relations to nature served 
 his needs as a historian. His scientific knowledge 
 would not be called profound in these days of 
 specialists it was chiefly the knowledge of an 
 intelligent and keen-eyed observer. Yet it was 
 more than sufficient for his purposes, enabling him 
 to give reality to the scenes of his history, by speci 
 fying the fauna, the flora, the rocks and earth of 
 which they were composed. No less than this ex 
 actness and realism would have satisfied his stand 
 ard of thoroughness. The very externality of his 
 relations to nature was fortunate. The poet s dream 
 land, the poet-naturalist s humanized scenes, and the 
 scientific minutiae of the naturalist would each have 
 been more or less dangerous interests. What he 
 needed was just what he had, a ready feeling for 
 large natural forces and effects, a keen perception of 
 the picturesque elements of a scene, and a moder 
 ately scientific knowledge of the geologic and botanic 
 make-up of a landscape. 
 
 But to return to his relations to art. A definite 
 ambition was very early mingled with taste in his 
 pursuit of poetry; but as his favorite authors were 
 Scott, Byron, and Cooper, it seems probable that this 
 kind of reading was chosen to gratify his love of 
 activity and chivalry quite as much as his love of 
 art. At all events, this line was soon abandoned, 
 and the love of mere beauty in writing never again 
 showed itself as a notable element in either his liter 
 ary studies or recreation. Oratory interested him 
 
200 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 much for its importance in directing public opinion 
 in our democracy, and we have seen him an active 
 member of the debating societies in Harvard College 
 and the Law School ; but there is no evidence that 
 he felt any special pleasure in it as an art. He sel 
 dom went to hear noted speakers or actors. 
 
 His skill in writing appears most clearly in the 
 structural elements of composition. He was always 
 bent on large lines and proportions, in spite of the 
 abundance of details that he compelled to contribute 
 to the general effect, using them so as to secure great 
 rapidity of movement. Perhaps the only interrup 
 tions of his admirable dramatic march are some of 
 the more lengthy descriptions of nature. It was here 
 that he expressed beauty the most clearly. These 
 passages show how beguiling to his imagination were 
 the beloved woodland scenes, now to be recalled 
 only in the shadow of his study. He also possessed 
 a fine instinct for choosing the centre of interest 
 and getting the right perspective. Thus, chiefly 
 through the possession of strong common sense, he 
 became truly an artist, even at times a poet ; but he 
 dealt so little with the purely aesthetic and spiritual 
 elements that he cannot be classed with poets in 
 general. This non-philosophizing philosopher wrote 
 profound history without generalizing ; this unpoet- 
 ical poet, by a singular union of realism and pictur- 
 esqueness, painted scenes and told stories full of 
 imaginative effect. 
 
 Coming now to a consideration of his style, we 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 201 
 
 find it everywhere well fitted to his sincerity of 
 thought, to his dominant desire for vividness, 
 strength, and clearness, though lacking in the more 
 sensuous charms of diction. In talking with him 
 one day of the gifts needed for the literary profes 
 sion, he regretted his unmusical ear ; he seldom 
 would listen to authors whose chief merit lay in 
 the charm of their diction; and, indeed, he had a 
 distinct aversion for the professed litterateur. 
 
 There would seem to be a close connection between 
 Parkman s comparative deficiency in sensuous sensi 
 bilities and his frequent use of high coloring and 
 strong language. In his pronounced taste for what 
 is well emphasized in nature and in writing, there 
 was a strong contrast to his love of quietness 
 and simplicity in life, and hatred for what is showy 
 or theatrical. This tendency is most evident in his 
 earlier works ; and it is an interesting fact in his 
 growth that several decades were required to reach 
 the simplicity and gentleness in style that distin 
 guished his maturer character. Native impetuosity 
 and love of action being denied their scope, he clothed 
 the vivid conceptions of his mental world with force 
 ful terms. In his diaries of " The Oregon Trail " the 
 style is natural, simple, sometimes plain almost to bald 
 ness. But when with " Pontiac " he formally entered 
 the lists as historian, something of his native simplicity 
 disappeared perhaps under the high pressure of 
 youthful exuberance and self-confidence, or the recol 
 lection of his rhetorical masters. He himself came to 
 
202 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAtf 
 
 consider this work as turgid and too highly colored. 
 Yet here is shown in its highest development the 
 chief excellence of his writing: its picture-painting 
 quality. 
 
 There is another curious opposition between the 
 exuberance of his style and his extreme reserve. 
 With a sensuous organization which naturally inclined 
 him to forcible expression, his Puritan reserve held in 
 check all excess of sentiment and feeling. Thus 
 caution modified his impetuosity, making him a man 
 of under- rather than over-statement. 
 
 Parkman s love of strong language, however, some 
 times got free play in the intimacy of friendly inter 
 course. Nothing could be more unexpected from this 
 dignified and reserved gentleman than his outbursts 
 of jocose exaggeration and ridicule, touched off with 
 a bit of profanity ; such outbursts were generally 
 fired at contemporary men or measures that he did 
 not approve. His swearing was ruled by its defini 
 tion as " superfluous profanity ; " it never reflected 
 either vulgarity or any degree of the sacrilegious 
 spirit. So far as I know, his swearing was limited to 
 an occasional but emphatic damn, and this expletive 
 often arose from nervous irritability more than from 
 any other cause. The following extract from his diary, 
 written in 1844 at Edinburgh, shows how he regarded 
 the matter : 
 
 " In the castle are the regalia of Scotland, the crown, 
 sword, scepter, and jewels, the first worn by Robert Bruce 
 and all who succeeded him till Charles II. s time. They 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN" HIS WORKS 203 
 
 were hidden from the light for many years. The soldier 
 pointed out the heavy oaken chest where they lay con 
 cealed, until the Scottish nation should have forgotten 
 its ancient independence and become content under its 
 ( annexation to England. I remembered the scene just 
 after the opening of the chest, when a party of literati 
 and ladies were looking at these insignia of ancient glory, 
 and one frivolous fellow lifted the crown to place it on the 
 head of a simpering young lady. No ! By God, ex 
 claimed Scott, who stood by. The man blushed like scar 
 let and laid the crown down. There is a power in a 
 little profanity when it comes from a moved spirit." 
 
 It may be added that his love of strength for its own 
 sake sometimes led him to indulge in humorous 
 exaggeration. Moreover, his rules of damnation were 
 not rigid, for he would now and then damn a thing 
 for which he had not the most utter contempt. 
 
 In the progress of his literary career his prudential 
 traits, together with prolonged infirmities, imposed 
 beneficial restraints on his style. While the necessary 
 slowness of composition, much meditation, and con 
 tinual practice naturally improved his taste and skill, 
 the fashion of the times also moulded him here, by 
 changing from scholastic formality of expression to 
 greater freedom and naturalness. But after all, his 
 best powers came directly from bis spiritual growth, 
 under both suffering and success. Self-control, 
 serenity, and the more delicate powers of sjnnpathy 
 had to come to him, before his style could reflect 
 them in the chastened diction of " Montcalm and 
 
204 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Wolfe." He regarded this volume as his best work ; 
 and certainly it represents him at his ripest, after the 
 sunshine of success had permeated his strong nature 
 with its mellowing rays. 
 
 2. It is manifest from what precedes that Park- 
 man s books bear a very close relation to his character. 
 Indeed the inexorable revelations of every form of 
 art make it impossible for the artist to elude his 
 autobiography ; the question is not as to the reality 
 of the revelation, but who has the eye to read it. 
 Having as a key our personal knowledge of him, we 
 may hope to see at least something of him in his works, 
 and find out how far they reveal and justify his 
 personality. 
 
 Park man s love of truth was almost a religion, 
 and his work might be taken as the altar of his self- 
 sacrifice. In this cult he knew no limit of pains, no 
 fluctuations of feeling. " When you credit me with 
 loyalty and honor," he writes, " you give me praise 
 that I value most of all." 1 The honesty of citation 
 that has been remarked in his pages, is only a small 
 part of the sincerity of his work. His Puritan con 
 science was ever on the watch against the strong 
 temptations offered by the picturesqueness of his 
 theme and his own love of striking effects ; and 
 anticipating that these dangers would be felt by the 
 reader of his graphic pages, he gave this assurance 
 of his exactness : 
 
 "If at times it may seem that range has been allowed 
 to fancy, it is so in appearance only; since the minutest 
 1 To Abbe Casgrain, Jan. 26, 1872. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 205 
 
 details of narrative or description rest on authentic docu 
 ments or on personal observation." 1 
 
 But his work shows that love of truth did not 
 stop at this primary need of accuracy, of which we 
 have spoken in previous pages. Sincerity with him 
 rose to impartiality in all historical questions, despite 
 the strongest prejudices in relation to contemporary 
 men and movements. This apparent inconsistency 
 is easily explained by the obvious difference between 
 historical and contemporary studies, also by his 
 strong conservatism as regards modern civilization. 
 It is rarely possible to collect all the evidence in a 
 contemporary matter, or to free it from the distor 
 tions of passion, prejudice, and a too near point of 
 view. But in writing history Parkman collected 
 all the authorities, weighed the evidence with ex 
 ceptional care, coolness, and wisdom, and finally 
 gave his opinion, entirely independent of feeling. 
 His conservatism met in his themes little to call it 
 forth in the expression of prejudices ; but even if 
 it had been aroused, the completeness of the evi 
 dence and his love of scholarship and fairness would 
 still have made him impartial. The following ex 
 tracts from a letter in reply to a French Canadian 
 critic 2 are of interest here : 
 
 "I am an abonn of the Revue Canadienne/ and have 
 just read your article on The Old Regime, with attention 
 and interest. It is very much what I had expected; 
 
 1 Pioneers, p. xiv. 
 
 2 To Abbe Casgrain, May 9, 1875. 
 
206 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 knowing your views and the ardor with which you em 
 brace them, as well as the warmth and kindliness of 
 your feelings. I could take issue squarely on the prin 
 cipal points you make, but it would make this letter too 
 long, and I do not care to enter into discussions with a 
 personal friend on matters which he has so much at heart. 
 Moreover, I wish to preserve an entirely judicial, and 
 not controversial frame of mind on all that relates to 
 Canadian matters. ... I have also always declared a 
 very cordial dislike of Puritanism. I recognize some 
 most respectable and valuable qualities in the settlers of 
 New England, but do not think them or their system 
 to be praised without great qualifications; and I would 
 not spare criticism if I had to write about them. . . . 
 If you have mistaken my views, I could also point out a 
 good many other mistakes in your article. You say that 
 I see Canadian defects through a microscope, and merits 
 through a diminishing glass. The truth is, I have sup 
 pressed a considerable number of statements and observa 
 tions because I thought that, while they would give pain, 
 they were not absolutely necessary to the illustration of 
 the subject; but I have invariably given every favorable 
 testimony I could find in any authentic quarter; and 
 after I had finished the volume I made careful search in 
 Ferland and Garneau to see if they had discovered any 
 thing which had escaped me. The materials of Canadian 
 history, it is true, proceed almost entirely from the pens 
 of persons born and bred in France for the Canadians 
 themselves wrote very little indeed, but only a very few 
 of these persons wrote in an adverse spirit. Wherever 
 it was possible, I have used their own language. . . . 
 In exhibiting the different workings of two political 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 207 
 
 systems, it was necessary to make comparisons which seem 
 invidious; but these comparisons are not, as you say, 
 continual; for they are confined to three or four pages 
 at the end of the hook, and the points of military effi 
 ciency on which the system of authority had advantages 
 are fully exhibited. ... I am well on in the story of 
 Frontenac, whose good and bad traits I shall endeavor, 
 after my custom, to exhibit clearly. Perhaps, when you 
 read what I have written, you will not think me so 
 partial after all. 7 
 
 This passage enables us to put our finger on one 
 of the most important qualities of Park man s char 
 acter and work. Although by nature more given to 
 strictures than laudation, he was most distinctly a 
 kindly spirit in his life and his writings. Despite 
 the absence of sentiment from his pages, which yet 
 deal so much with experiences calling for pity, this 
 guide lays on the reader a silent hand that is humane 
 and gentle. Then again, his humor, though critical 
 and incisive, is always kind, having generally a 
 moral aim, as against a lack of manliness, common- 
 sense, freedom, or honesty. And in spite of their 
 long lists of hardships and tortures, his books are all 
 cheerful in tone. 
 
 But to return to his love of truth, Parkman s 
 impartiality in historical work is shown in two broad 
 topics that of necessity run through many of his 
 volumes : Catholicism and Feudalism. Romanism 
 in particular, taking it simply as a system of practi 
 cal morality, roused his strongest antipathy by many 
 
208 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 of its fundamental principles in education and daily 
 conduct; but however little Parkman cared about 
 the religious life, he esteemed too highly deep feel 
 ing of some kind as the motive force of character, 
 to treat lightly the sincere practice of any religion. 
 He never failed to appreciate devotion to duty, and 
 victories of the conscience. It was a lofty view of 
 life and character, quite as much as the impartiality 
 of the historian, that led him to set forth the heroic 
 labors and martyrdoms of the early Missionaries of 
 Canada. He said : 
 
 "But when we see them, in the gloomy February of 
 1637, and the gloomier months that followed, toiling on 
 foot from one infected town to another, wading through 
 the sodden snow, under the bare and dripping forests, 
 drenched with incessant rains, till they descried at length 
 through the storm the clustered dwellings of some bar 
 barous hamlet, when we see them entering, one after 
 another, these wretched abodes of misery and darkness, 
 and all for one sole end, the baptism of the sick and 
 dying, we may smile at the futility of the object, but 
 we must needs admire the self-sacrificing zeal with which 
 it was pursued. 
 
 " Yet withal a fervor more intense, a self-abnegation 
 more complete, a self-devotion more constant and endur 
 ing, will scarcely find its record on the page of human 
 history." 1 
 
 His work reflects his equipoise in another matter. 
 Although exceedingly fond of New England, he 
 
 1 The Jesuits, Chapter VIII. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 209 
 
 did not spare the lethargy and factiousness of the 
 English colonists ; and it is noticeable that he seldom 
 went a step out of his way to show the redeeming 
 virtues of his own people. 
 
 His work is characteristic also by the naturalness 
 and simplicity of his conceptions. His elemental 
 temperament led him to keep the reader as much as 
 possible out-of-doors, amid the space, air, and freedom 
 of primeval nature. He conducted his narratives 
 with the same quick, firm step he had in walking; 
 his keen perceptions and good memory enabled him 
 to seize a multitude of details along the way; but 
 he never lost the trail, or failed to subordinate 
 details to the general effect. Such rapidity of move 
 ment is impossible to a mind unable to see things in 
 broad masses. 
 
 The same is true of his treatment of character. 
 He cared little for the underhand elements of his 
 tory the complexities of diplomacy, petty per 
 sonal matters, meanness of motives and conduct 
 received small development under his hand. What 
 ever men and events may have been in their depths, 
 his conception and presentation of them were frank, 
 strong, and simple. Truly fortunate was he to find 
 in his theme so much that was simple and manly. 
 Probably he would not have done so well in writing 
 a history of Europe, entangled in a complex web of 
 many lines of interest and jostled at every turn by 
 crowding peoples of diverse origins and destinies. 
 He needed just what he had, the stories of a few 
 
 14 
 
210 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 single-minded heroes leading small bodies of men 
 through the wide spaces of the wilderness, and the 
 deeper, though still simple history of two opposing 
 systems of colonization and national growth. 
 
 As the production of a " passionate Puritan," 1 his 
 work bears in itself the fire and the reserve of his 
 dual nature. He often wished to get rid of the re 
 pressive force that held him down. In this subter 
 ranean warfare of his nature, Puritanism was nearly 
 always the victor. While willing to expand consid 
 erably a description of the scenic setting of an 
 incident, he was entirely unable to express his sym- 
 
 1 This happy phrase comes from the following poem by his 
 daughter, Mrs. J. T. Coolidge, Jr. 
 
 To F. P. 
 
 Stoic and warrior, through the din of strife 
 Thy path was hewn with strength of iron will. 
 No fear could stay thy dauntless course through life, 
 Nor destiny s decrees thy purpose kill. 
 Straight to the mark with head erect and free, 
 Enduring all, determined to attain, 
 Nor count the cost ; thy strong vitality 
 Transfigured pain to power, and loss to gain. 
 When the long fight was fought, the laurel wreath 
 Of high success was thine, faithful to death. 
 
 Passionate Puritan, master of thy might, 
 
 The faint of heart grew strong in seeing thee ; 
 
 A dominant idea the leading light 
 
 And talisman that gave thee victory. 
 
 Deep in thyself was force of hurning fire 
 
 That nerve must hold until the prize be won; 
 
 Fearlessly guiding it to thy desire 
 
 Thy hand drove on the chariot of the sun 
 
 Until the gates flew wide, and on thy vision 
 
 Burst light of conqueror s calm in Fields Elysian. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 211 
 
 pathy for a victim tortured to death, or to cast over 
 an event the halo of a poetic or moral sentiment. 
 This reserve showed itself so strongly in " Pontiac," 
 written in the exuberant and expansive period of 
 life, as to call forth the following letter from his 
 mentor, Professor Sparks. After referring to the 
 atrocious acts of the Paxton men he says: 
 
 " Altho you relate events in the true spirit of calm 
 ness and justice, yet I am not sure but a word or two of 
 indignation, now and then, at such unnatural and inhuman 
 developments of the inner man would be expected from 
 an historian who enters deeply into the merits of his 
 subject." l 
 
 Parkman was inevitably in his work what he was 
 in his temperament, Puritan, Spartan, and Stoic 
 all in one. We are constantly impressed by his 
 Puritan economy of praise. Few achievements or 
 characters call out any expression of admiration, 
 although his pages glow with their strong diction 
 and rapid movement. Although as a man he suf 
 fered under the strain of these opposite qualities, as a 
 historian he found in them a large part of his success. 
 
 His manner under criticism was naturally that of 
 a strong and independent soul standing on solid 
 ground, and loving a fight. He wrote : " I believe 
 that, when I feel confident in my position, I am not 
 very sensitive to criticism." 2 But he had no fond- 
 
 1 Letter written in 1850. 
 
 2 To Abbe Casgrain, May 23, 1873. 
 
212 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ness for polemical and metaphysical contentions ; 
 he was decisive rather than argumentative. Early 
 in life he formed his opinions on nearly all the topics 
 he afterwards had occasion to handle, and he held to 
 these views with great firmness. His self-defences 
 consisted chiefly of a presentation of facts, rather 
 than any consideration of principles and theories. 
 Once he had given his opinion he was apt to drop 
 the subject, or listen to his opponent in silence. 
 Thanks to thoroughness and the need of economiz 
 ing his strength and sight, he seldom felt obliged to 
 take up his pen in self-defence ; but when he did, he 
 left nothing to be desired in the way of firm thought 
 and incisive expression. In a few papers he has given 
 us a glimpse or two of this side of his nature. 
 
 For what Parkman thought of other historians we 
 have very little data. It is said that he admired 
 Prescott when in college, yet no record of this influ 
 ence or of any other is extant. Later his reading was 
 for the most part determined by the need of relaxation ; 
 so that he knew little history outside his own special 
 field. Unfortunately, but few of his passing remarks 
 on historians have been preserved. We have already 
 given his opinion of Garneau, as having the philo 
 sophical manner without the matter , also his vigor 
 ous censure of Bancroft for estimating too highly the 
 dignity of history, and avoiding the use of homely 
 and trifling incidents. He considered De Gaspe"s 
 " Anciens Canadiens " an " admirable picture of life 
 and manners, one of the chief attractions of which is 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 213 
 
 its manifest truth." 1 Occasionally he wrote a short 
 review of historical works concerning the Indians, 
 such as Stone s " Red Jacket." Rameau, however, in 
 presenting the Roman Catholic view of the old rd- 
 gime in Canada, called forth a review that contains 
 several characteristic passages. 
 
 "He is the bravest of generalizers ; snatches at a de 
 tached fact and spreads it over as much ground as his 
 theories require. . . . His book is a curious example of the 
 manner in which a man of confused brain and weak judg 
 ment, eager to see things in his own way, will distort 
 some facts, overlook others, magnify others that are tri 
 fling into gigantic proportion, and all with 110 apparent 
 intention to deceive anybody." 2 
 
 But these papers are a very inadequate gratifica 
 tion of the general desire to know the opinions of an 
 expert. Parkman s inability to read much is perhaps 
 to be regretted here more than anywhere else ; since 
 his originality and independence would have made 
 his criticism most valuable. 
 
 Despite the fact that a Puritanic economy of praise 
 held a mask before his sympathies, we may yet learn 
 something personal from a view of his gallery of his 
 torical portraits. His self-revelations, however, must 
 be looked for more in his style and treatment than in 
 any evident signs of sympathy. At most we can now 
 and then catch a confidential word to some of his 
 heroes as they march along. 
 
 1 Letter to Abbe Casgrain, June 3, 1871. 
 
 2 Review of Une Colonie Ffodale. The Nation, No. 652. 
 
214 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The strong and effective, in character as well as in 
 nature and language, attracted him. He adhered 
 conscientiously to facts in portraiture, indulging in 
 no hazardous or imaginative touches, however invit 
 ing they might be for the sake of artistic symmetry 
 and completeness. His energy and imagination, con 
 centrated on the ideal world of his solitary study, 
 brought him to look upon his characters as real 
 people; he thus attained much of the novelist s or 
 dramatist s vividness of conception. The range of 
 his knowledge of men and life is shown by the vari 
 ety of classes handled. He seized with certainty the 
 salient traits of men and women, courtiers and sav 
 ages, priests and politicians, seigniors and peasants, 
 nuns and coureurs de bois. Here by sympathy, there 
 by antipathy, more often still by simply a keen intel 
 lectual comprehension, he reached in the long years 
 of slow work and solitary meditation very close rela 
 tions with his characters. The chief wonder is that 
 in this prolonged intimacy he should have given so 
 little of himself. 
 
 Parkman s methods in portraiture were happily 
 varied according to his materials and in view of the 
 literary contrasts and effects he wished to produce. 
 Now the chief traits of a man would be given in a 
 a few lines ; then built up by successive touches 
 brought in as the course of events required; or 
 again the antecedents and education of a person 
 would be set forth in a more or less biographical 
 sketch. Or perhaps a man s own contemporaries 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 215 
 
 were allowed to testify on all sides as to his char 
 acter and conduct, thus reassuring the reader by the 
 most unquestionable impartiality. Parkman s love 
 of unity and effectiveness received the highest grati 
 fication whenever he found a figure that could be 
 justly used as the centre of interest for grouping the 
 men and events of an epoch. La Salle and Fronte- 
 nac were thus favorite subjects with him, while " A 
 Half Century" repelled him by its lack of a hero 
 and a controlling purpose. His love of action made 
 him fond of the dramatic in history : he liked a char 
 acter to portray himself by his acts. This method, I 
 think, was his first choice whenever proportion and 
 material allowed of its employment. 
 
 Parkman s portraits are further interesting as a 
 record of his growth. In the earlier works their 
 firmness of treatment is not free from a certain 
 hardness. Though living and effective, these por 
 traits generally give only the external forces that are 
 made manifest in a public career: they show keen 
 ness of perception more than sympathy. But suffer 
 ing, friendships, years of hard work, and success at 
 last, could not fail to mellow a nature so capable of 
 culture. In his later volumes Parkman shows more 
 interest in the emotional and spiritual forces of 
 character as may be seen in his describing the 
 meanness of Braddock towards women, Montcalm s 
 affectionate and domestic qualities, and the filial and 
 poetic sentiment that graced the pathetic figure of 
 Wolfe. 
 
216 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 If I were restricted to one word that should de 
 scribe both the life and the character of Parkman, 
 that word would be heroic. In following out the 
 harmony of his character with his theme, and seeking 
 for reflections of that character in his works, I was 
 therefore delighted to meet with the following pas 
 sage in Professor Fiske s " Introductory Essay " 
 (p. xxxv): 
 
 " In all the history of the American continent, no 
 names stand higher than some of the French names. 
 For courage, for fortitude and high resolve, for sagacious 
 leadership, statesmanlike wisdom, unswerving integrity, 
 devoted loyalt}", for all the qualities which make life 
 heroic, we may learn lessons innumerable from the noble 
 Frenchmen who throng in Mr. Parkman s pages. " 
 
 If ever an artist was blessed with a congenial sub 
 ject, it was Parkman. And this harmony was espe 
 cially close in the most central and important element 
 the humanity, the life and character connected 
 with his theme. He was continually meeting some 
 trait or experience of his own in following his peo 
 ple; and in one or two cases he stood singularly 
 close to his heroes. 
 
 Parkman s imaginative sympathy, the very heart of 
 the artist, deserves a word for its relations to his por 
 traits. Inevitably allied to the human sympathy 
 from which it springs, it followed the same growth, 
 from its externality in youth and middle life to a 
 deeper insight in his maturity. True, frank, and per 
 sistent though he was in friendship, his faculties and 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 217 
 
 sympathies were unable to reach the spiritual elements 
 of life and character. In his humanities as in his rela 
 tions with nature, he was true to himself, never 
 affecting sentiments not clearly felt by him. In his 
 diaries, for example, he seems to have viewed life as 
 a pageant, men and women not within the circle of 
 his friendship being mere persons in a procession. In 
 training himself for observation and description, he 
 was satisfied with noting only the external, material 
 facts of the show, not even attempting to read the 
 story of intimate experience in any person, class, or 
 nation, nor to penetrate into the recesses of character. 
 But those things that his organization enabled him to 
 perceive he saw very clearly, and devoted his atten 
 tion to them with his usual concentration and energy. 
 We shall see other effects of his specialized sympathy 
 in his miscellaneous papers on public questions. 
 
 His treatment of the Indian is another illustration 
 of this point. It is so exceedingly graphic and impres 
 sive as to carry the general reader along in complete 
 absorption. Yet it has found critics among philan 
 thropic students of to-day who have the advantages 
 of more recent discoveries and methods. They say 
 that his treatment lacks sympathy, as well as a 
 knowledge of the deeper interests connected with that 
 peculiar race of men. While they admire his work 
 for its thoroughness and for its remarkable charm of 
 picturesqueness, they are inclined to treat lightly 
 opinions formed from the superficial works of the 
 Jesuits and other early writers, or on the traditions 
 
218 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 of New England derived from the political economy 
 of Miles Standish, and on the experience of border 
 settlers who had suffered from Indian cruelty and re 
 venge. These critics say that when Parkman went 
 west to see for himself, he confirmed these opinions 
 by a sojourn of only a few months with a band of 
 Sioux, during which time suspicion rather than sym 
 pathy ruled the intercourse, rendering it impossible 
 for him to penetrate beneath the surface ; and that as 
 his infirmities prevented him from closely following 
 subsequent studies, his work must be regarded as 
 the most accurate and graphic picture of the pag 
 eantry alone, the bare external life and character of 
 men in the stone age. On the other hand, many 
 people, especially frontiersmen, who consider modern 
 philosophic lines of appreciation as visionary, hold 
 to the simpler conceptions of Parkman as the true, 
 practical, and sufficient portrayal of the Indian. 
 
 The only point that concerns us here is the sig 
 nificance of his study as a revelation of his own 
 personality. At the time of his investigations the 
 science of ethnology had not yet been even named ; 
 much less had the doctrine of evolution been applied 
 to the study of it. No one then dreamed of studying 
 the tribal life of Indians as a connecting link between 
 the prehistoric epoch and the earliest recorded period 
 of civilization. But even had these ideas been in 
 force, it seems doubtful that Parkman would have 
 followed them, having no taste for such philosophical 
 studies, or for psychological phenomena in traditions, 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 219 
 
 ,* 
 
 ceremonies, and language. He described just what 
 lie most liked to observe the pageantry of wild life 
 and the manifest, effective traits of Indian character. 
 He could not decorate his accurate work with vision 
 ary savages; he could use neither the romance of 
 Cooper nor the abstractions of ethnological specula 
 tion. He followed his own bent for realism. 
 
 In his solitary study Parkman dwelt with a com 
 pany very real to his imagination. Some of them he 
 obviously hated ; he treated others in his reserved way 
 as friends ; and one he seems to have regarded almost 
 as a brother. In looking at his gallery of portraits, it 
 would seem as if fate had selected the leaders of New 
 France with special reference to her future historian. 
 Except a few men and women of the soft and saintly 
 type, the persons in that history were generally of 
 heroic temper; and even the exceptions often came 
 within the range of his feeling by their heroic labors 
 and hardships. The men who left luxurious France 
 to face the savagery of early America, had to have a 
 certain measure of manliness. But Parkman presents 
 his heroes as he spoke of his friends in real life 
 without praise in even the soberest terms. A sense 
 of sympathy and comprehension are conveyed by the 
 simple noting of facts ; or some close, forcible phrase, 
 giving the motive or quality of character or conduct, 
 serves for explicit appreciation. Thus when Daulac 
 took Parkman with him on his heroic expedition to 
 the Long Sault, the latter opened his own heart in 
 saying : " The enthusiasm of honor, the enthusiasm 
 
220 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 
 
 of adventure, and the enthusiasm of faith were its 
 motive forces." 1 
 
 I do not ignore the slightness of the evidence con 
 tained in such historical facts and obvious appreci 
 ations taken as autobiographic confessions, and I am 
 aware that to those who have never known Parkman 
 personally, this evidence will have little value. But 
 to those who knew the man, these slight signs may 
 be not unwelcome additions to the interest felt in his 
 works. The chivalrous Champlain, the brave and 
 loyal Tonty, the lion-hearted Bre boeuf, and many 
 others, appealed to his own natural parts ; and he 
 unconsciously responded in his treatment. His an 
 tipathies were equally stimulated by Menendez, 
 Marie de Me*dicis, and Pompadour. Nothing struck 
 fire from his steel more quickly than the assumptions 
 of the church in temporal affairs. His animation 
 of feeling on this point is frequently met in Fron- 
 tenac s contests with the Jesuits and with Bishops 
 Laval and Saint Valier. Dearly did he love a fight, 
 and a good fighter; witness his lengthy account of 
 Frederick the Great s single-handed struggle with all 
 Europe, a struggle not closely related to the war in 
 America. As a minor figure that appealed to the same 
 martial taste, take Rogers the Ranger, who captured 
 Parkman s youthful enthusiasm and led him to follow 
 the Ranger s trails about Lake George and Lake Cham- 
 plain, and to write the only poem he ever published. 2 
 
 His detestation of duplicity may be seen in his 
 
 1 Old Regime, p. 123. 2 See Appendix. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 221 
 
 treatment of Laloutre and other Indian-agent mis 
 sionaries, as well as of many ecclesiastical poli 
 ticians. Another example is his presentation of that 
 curious compound of feminine wiles and Roman 
 Catholic morality, Madame de la Peltrie. 1 On the 
 other hand, he gave himself out with equal distinct 
 ness in dealing with the admirable personalities of 
 his group. The portrait of that strong woman, Marie 
 de I lncarnation, shows his ready appreciation of 
 power and native nobility. Perhaps his nearest ap 
 proach to sentiment and pathos is the account of 
 Jogues mourning for his murdered companion Gar- 
 nier; yet this impression is conveyed only by the 
 facts of the incident. An exceptional estimation 
 of poetic beauty in character is shown in the por 
 trait of Marquette : 2 
 
 "He was a devout votary of the Virgin Mary, who, 
 imaged to his mind in shapes of the most transcendent 
 loveliness with which the pencil of human genius has ever 
 informed the canvas, was to him the object of an adoration 
 not unmingled with a sentiment of chivalrous devotion. 
 The longings of a sensitive heart, divorced from earth, 
 sought solace in the skies. A subtile element of romance 
 was blended with the fervor of his worship, and hung like 
 an illumined cloud over the harsh and hard realities of his 
 daily lot. Kindled by the smile of his celestial mistress, 
 his gentle and noble nature knew no fear. For her he 
 burned to dare and to suffer, discover new lands, and con 
 quer new realms to her sway." 
 
 \V 
 
 1 P. 316. 2 La Salle, p. 50. 
 
222 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 But within the wide circle of these friends of 
 second degree, there was a small group of men who 
 drew him into still closer sympathy. Lord Howe, 
 the cultured gentleman and "complete model of 
 military virtue," was a figure that Parkman took by 
 the hand. Under similar circumstances he himself 
 would have shown the same earnestness and practical 
 wisdom that Howe displayed in serving under Rogers 
 to study the needs of men fighting in the wilderness, 
 and in reorganizing the service to suit these condi 
 tions. Pitt, in spite of certain weaknesses, also drew 
 forth some sympathetic words ; Parkman could not 
 stand aloof from the gifted, ambitious, incorruptible 
 patriot, the commanding and inspiring statesman who 
 was leading England to success in all quarters of the 
 globe. 
 
 Wolfe was another of his affinities. Wolfe s por 
 trait contains many touches that are surprisingly true 
 of Parkman in his early manhood ; and these resem 
 blances would have been still more striking had the 
 historian s martial instincts been brought to light by 
 a military career. For example : l 
 
 " Wolfe was a delicate and sensitive child, but an im 
 petuous and somewhat headstrong youth who from child 
 hood had dreamed of the army and the wars, and who had 
 showed along with a painstaking assiduity a precocious 
 faculty for commanding men. . . . Always ardent, al 
 ways diligent, and constant in military duty. He made 
 friends readily and kept them, a$d was usually a pleasant 
 
 1 Montcalm and Wolfe, vol. ii. p. 184. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 223 
 
 companion, though subject to sallies of imperious irrita 
 bility, which occasionally broke through his strong sense of 
 good breeding. For this his susceptible constitution was 
 largely answerable. ... In spite of his impatient out 
 bursts, the officers whom he had commanded remained 
 attached to him for life, and in spite of his rigorous 
 discipline, he was beloved by his soldiers. Frankness, 
 directness, essential good feeling, and a high integrity 
 atoned for all his faults. In his own view, as expressed 
 to his mother, he was a person of very moderate abilities, 
 aided by more than usual diligence ; but this modest 
 judgment of himself by no means deprived him of self- 
 confidence, nor, in time of need, of self-assertion. He 
 delighted in every kind of hardihood : and in his con 
 tempt for effeminacy, once said to his mother : Better 
 be a savage of some use than a gentle, amorous puppy, 
 obnoxious to all the world. He was far from despising 
 fame, but the controlling principles of his life were duty 
 to his country and his profession, loyalty to the King, 
 and fidelity to his own ideal of the perfect soldier. To 
 the parent who was the confidant of his most intimate 
 thoughts, he said : All that I wish for myself is that I 
 may at all times be ready and firm to meet that fate we 
 cannot shun, and to die gracefully and properly when the 
 hour comes. Never was wish more signally fulfilled. 
 And again he tells her : i My utmost desire and ambition 
 is to look steadily upon danger. And his desire was 
 accomplished. His intrepidity was complete. No form 
 of death had power to daunt him. Once and again when 
 bound on some deadly enterprise of war, he calmly counts 
 the chances whether or not he can compel his feeble body 
 to bear him on till the work is done. A frame so deli- 
 
224 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cately strung could not have been insensible to danger ; 
 but forgetfulness of self, and the absorption of every 
 faculty in the object before him, shut out the sense of 
 fear. He seems always to have been at his best in the 
 thick of battle ; most complete in his mastery over him 
 self and over others." 
 
 Parkman in his darkened study, combating his 
 infirmities and difficulties, bore himself as Wolfe did 
 in sailing for Quebec : 
 
 " In a few hours the whole squadron was at sea, the 
 transports, the frigates, and the great line of battleships 
 with their ponderous armament and their freight of rude 
 humanity, armed and trained for destruction ; while on 
 the heaving deck of the Neptune, wretched with seasick 
 ness and racked with pain, stood the gallant invalid who 
 was master of it all." 
 
 Frontenac is another member of his inner circle of 
 friends, but one whose closeness did not depend 
 chiefly on resemblances to Parkman. While some of 
 their most fundamental traits were found in both, 
 many of the Frenchman s peculiarities were quite 
 foreign to the self-restrained Puritan. Frontenac 
 held his place by a variety of circumstances. Parkman 
 said : l " The history of New France is a great and 
 significant drama, enacted among untamed forests, 
 with a distant gleam of courtly splendors and the 
 regal pomp of Versailles." The volume " Frontenac 
 and New France under Louis XIV." is the climax 
 of this drama, and its denouement is " Montcalm and 
 
 1 Preface to Frontenac. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 225 
 
 Wolfe." Count Frontenac was thus a most fortu 
 nate find for the historian, being in true perspective 
 the central figure of the whole work. They were 
 closely related by several personal traits, a frank 
 manner, clear and decisive speech, martial tastes, in 
 dependence, keenness and fire, love of action, master 
 ful energy, and strength of will. Even Frontenac s 
 violent outbursts in connection with the Jesuits were 
 in accord with Parkman s controlled impetuosity. 
 The historian could not but enjoy such a man in 
 such surroundings, a man of whom he said: "A 
 more remarkable figure in its bold and salient indi 
 viduality and sharply marked light and shade is no 
 where seen in American history." 1 Then again 
 Frontenac gathered about him topics that enlisted 
 his liveliest interest, such as the conflicts of church 
 and state, and the vast plans that Frontenac imposed 
 as the future policy of France in America. Frontenac 
 may be regarded as Parkman s masterpiece in por 
 traiture. 
 
 But he had a still more intimate friend. La Salle, 
 whose character and labors appealed with exceptional 
 force to his sympathies, and drew out of him auto 
 biographic touches of the most intimate kind, was 
 almost a brother. In La Salle he found his own manly 
 character matched, and inevitably warmed to the man 
 who had shown such courage, hardihood, and strength 
 in the wilderness, who pursued with so much deter 
 mination and energy plans of the greatest importance. 
 
 1 Frontenac,?. 436. 
 15 
 
226 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Through the sympathy born of these and other essen 
 tial similarities, Parkman seems often to have spoken 
 of himself in describing La Salle; and this opinion 
 is further sustained both by our knowledge of the 
 former s traits and by the fervor, insight, and sure- 
 ness of touch shown in his chapter on the explorer s 
 character. Take, for example, these temperamental 
 traits of the young La Salle : 
 
 "The cravings of a deep ambition, the hunger of an 
 insatiable intellect, the intense longing for action and 
 achievement, subdued in him all other passions. ... A 
 youth whose calm exterior hid an inexhaustible fund of 
 pride, whose inflexible purposes, nursed in secret, the 
 confessional and the manifestations of conscience could 
 hardly drag to light; whose strong personality would not 
 yield to the shaping hand, and who by a necessity of his 
 nature, could obey no initiative but his own, was not after 
 the model that Loyola had commended to his followers. A 
 young man in whom the fire of youth glowed not the less 
 ardently for the veil of reserve that covered it ; who would 
 shrink from no danger, but would not court it in bravado ; 
 and who would cling with an invincible tenacity of grip 
 to any purpose which he might espouse." 1 
 
 Nor could Parkman be more autobiographic than in 
 saying : 
 
 "The staple of La Salle s character, as his life will 
 attest, was an invincible determination of purpose, which 
 set at naught all risks and all sufferings." 2 
 
 Aside from the difference of Parkman s ultimate suc 
 cess and La Salle s failure, the following passage 
 
 i La Salle, p. 3. 2 Ibid., p. 17. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 227 
 
 again is true of Parkman, not only as to his personal 
 history in regard to labor, risk, and fortitude, but also 
 as regards his spirit, at least in the early and middle 
 epochs of his career: 
 
 " He had staked all, and all had seemingly been lost. 
 In stern and relentless effort, he had touched the limits of 
 human endurance, and the harvest of his toil was disap 
 pointment, disaster, impending ruin. The shattered fabric 
 of his enterprise was prostrate in the dust. His friends 
 desponded; his foes were blatant and exultant. Did he 
 bend before the storm? No human eye could pierce the 
 depths of his reserved and haughty nature ; but the sur 
 face was calm, and no sign betrayed a shaken resolve or 
 an altered purpose. Where weaker men would have 
 abandoned all in despairing apathy, he turned anew to his 
 work with the same vigor and the same apparent confi 
 dence as if borne on the full tide of success. " 
 
 And later: 
 
 "He had no thought but to grapple with adversity, and 
 out of the fragments of his ruin to build up the fabric of 
 
 success. 7 
 
 Even La Salle s reserve and pride, marred by cold 
 ness and irritating hauteur, were well within Park- 
 man s comprehension; for, possessing the former 
 traits, he escaped the latter only through the oppos 
 ing force of frankness and geniality. He felt keenly 
 for La Salle in the isolation that must always result 
 from such a temperament: 
 
 1 La Salle, p. 188. 
 
228 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 "We have seen La Salle in his acts. Few men knew 
 him, even of those who saw him most. Reserved and 
 self-contained ... he was a sealed book to those about 
 him. His daring energy and endurance were patent to 
 all; but the motive forces that urged him, and the influ 
 ences that wrought beneath the surface of his character, 
 were hidden where few eyes could pierce." l 
 
 Parkman also appears to say a word in his own defence 
 when recognizing in La Salle " an incapacity to ex 
 press, and much more to simulate feeling, a trait 
 sometimes seen in those with whom feeling is most 
 deep." 2 Still other passages are both biographic 
 and autobiographic: 
 
 " He was the hero, not of a principle nor of a faith, but 
 simply of a fixed idea and a determined purpose. As 
 often happens with concentrated and energetic natures, his 
 purpose was to him a passion and an inspiration; and he 
 clung to it with a certain fanaticism of devotion." 8 
 
 Again : 
 
 " Such was the indomitable nature of this man, whom 
 no peril could deter, and no failure discourage. So he 
 remained to the end, battling against destiny with the 
 same unflinching mettle. Fate hounded him to death, 
 but could not shake his courage ... La Salle was a 
 grand type of incarnate energy and will. 7 
 
 These words also would seem to spring from Park- 
 man s own experience : 
 
 i La Salle, p. 307. 2 Ibid., p. 319. 
 
 Ibid., p. 406. * Ibid., p. 446. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 229 
 
 "All that appears to the eye is his intrepid conflict 
 with obstacles without, but this, perhaps, was no more 
 arduous than the invisible and silent strife of a nature at 
 war with itself; the pride, aspiration and bold energy 
 that lay at the base of his character battling against the 
 superficial weakness that mortified and angered him. In 
 such a man, the effect of such an infirmity is to concen 
 trate and intensify the force within." 1 
 
 He recognized in La Salle his own central fire, a 
 " deep enthusiasm of character which may be read in 
 his life, but to which he rarely allowed the faintest 
 expression." 2 And finally, he could not have painted 
 himself with more striking veracity, in at least the 
 harder periods of his life, than in this summary : 
 
 " Cavalier de la Salle stands in history like a statue 
 cast in iron ; but his own unwilling pen betrays the man 
 and reveals in the stern, sad figure an object of human 
 interest and pity." 3 
 
 Parkman s success in dealing with many of his 
 personages thus sprang from intimate personal sym 
 pathy with them and a knowledge of himself. It is 
 very doubtful that any other historical writings pre 
 sent such versatility of acute interest and clear 
 comprehension of character. 
 
 3. The sources of Parkman s power are deeply 
 interesting to the student of literature and history. 
 First of all, there is the richness of the theme itself, 
 
 1 La Salle, p. 320. 
 8 Ibid., p. 320. 
 
230 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 freely offering vivid pictures, dramatic events, and 
 striking characters. Also it has the freshness of 
 originality, in the strictest sense: no other epoch of 
 history takes us so far back towards our origin, by 
 furnishing such graphic accounts of the life and 
 character of man in the stone age, or by the experi 
 ences of civilized men in the wilderness. But the 
 broadest material distinction that marks his work is 
 its realism. Both the man and his books are felt to 
 be solid. His work is built of facts as a palace of 
 dressed stones, which, without mortar, hold them 
 selves together and form a fair edifice. In por 
 traiture his sincerity forbade him to pass beyond 
 appreciations that were natural to his organization, or 
 to put in any touches not justified by good evidence. 
 Keeping his eye on the actual, and on broad, posi 
 tive, effective traits and motives, he avoided the 
 weakness of possible contradictions in details, and 
 made his men and women consistent, vital, and full 
 of action. But in this exceptional devotion to the 
 matter, he never lost sight of the spirit and general 
 effect. A fact was simply a stone in his edifice, and 
 as such, kept subordinate to the general plan. The 
 singular combination of an eye for the picturesque 
 with a practical, matter-of-fact mind enabled him to 
 appreciate both detail and mass. Thus he enjoyed an 
 advantage that subsequent historians can hardly hope 
 to have, even when the sciences of ethnology and 
 psychology shall have made clearer the permanent 
 and the transient in history, and connected more 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 231 
 
 closely the present with the past. Professor Fiske 
 in his "Introductory Essay" (p. xxiii) presents this 
 excellent summary of the effectiveness of Mr. Park- 
 man s realism: 
 
 "This elaborateness of preparation had its share in pro 
 ducing the intense vividness of Mr. Parkman s descrip 
 tions. Profusion of detail makes them seem like the 
 accounts of an eye-witness. The realism is so strong that 
 the author seems to have come in person fresh from the 
 scenes he described, with the smoke of the battle hovering 
 about him, and its fierce light glowing in his eyes. 
 Such realism is usually the prerogative of the novelist 
 rather than of the historian." 
 
 But all these basic realistic elements were merely 
 the body that needed the breath of life ; we must pen 
 etrate to the more intimate elements of personality if 
 we would understand the sources of his power. We 
 meet at once his ardent nature and the supernormal 
 energy by which his work profited and his body 
 suffered. He ran his race on a fiery steed, revelling 
 in the freedom and swiftness of motion over solid 
 ground. This energy, felt everywhere in his work, 
 despite the moderation and dignity necessary to his 
 torical writing, animates the reader much as music 
 does, independently of specific aims; being keenly 
 alive, the bare facts give him vivid impressions, 
 which may be largely determined by his own know 
 ledge and powers of sympathy. 
 
 Another central and permeating force, perhaps the 
 
232 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 very soul of all this body of facts and fire, was his 
 chivalrous spirit. What we might call a matter- 
 of-fact imagination was exalted by intense love of 
 romance. In possessing these traits, each in a high 
 degree, he was blessed with two of the most effective 
 forces of the historian. Although his histories are 
 peculiarly American, largely scientific in method, and 
 modern in interests, their power over the reader 
 depends very much on the mediaeval spirit of the 
 theme and of the writer. Parkman s romantic turn 
 was not towards the mystical and ideal, but towards 
 the adventurous, the courageous, the picturesque. 
 Take for example his description of the founding of 
 Montreal : l 
 
 " Maisonneuve sprang ashore, and fell on his knees. 
 His followers imitated his example ; and all joined their 
 voices in enthusiastic songs of thanksgiving. Tents, bag 
 gage, arms, and stores were landed. An altar was raised 
 on a pleasant spot near at hand ; and Mademoiselle 
 Mance, with Madame de la Peltrie, aided by her servant, 
 Charlotte Barre, decorated it with a taste which was the 
 admiration of the beholders. Now all the company 
 gathered before the shrine. Here stood Vimont, in the 
 rich vestments of his office. Here were the two ladies 
 with tbeir servant Montmagny, no very willing spectator; 
 and Maisonneuve, a warlike figure, erect and tall, his men 
 clustering around him, soldiers, sailors, artisans, and 
 laborers, all alike soldiers at need. They kneeled in 
 reverent silence as the Host was raised aloft ; and when 
 the rite was over, the priest turned and addressed them : 
 1 The Jesuits, p. 208. 
 
PAKKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 233 
 
 " l You are a grain of mustard seed that shall rise arid 
 grow till its branches overshadow the earth. You are few, 
 but your work is the work of God. His smile is on you, 
 and your children shall fill the land. 
 
 " The afternoon waned ; the sun sank behind the west 
 ern forest, and twilight came on. Fireflies were twinkling 
 over the darkened meadow. They caught them, tied them 
 with thread into shining festoons, and hung them before 
 the altar where the Host remained exposed. Then they 
 pitched their tents, lighted their bivouac fires, stationed 
 their guards, and lay down to rest. Such was the birth- 
 night of Montreal/ 
 
 This passage closes with the question: "Is this 
 true history, or a romance of Christian chivalry? 
 It is both." 
 
 As a summary of his entire work and its intimate 
 relation to himself, this remarkable picture may stand 
 alone : 
 
 " The French Dominion is a memory of the past ; and 
 when we evoke its departed shades, they rise upon us 
 from their graves in strange romantic guise. Again their 
 ghostly campfires seem to burn, and the fitful light is cast 
 around on lord and vassal, and black-robed priest, min 
 gled with wild forms of savage warriors, knit in close 
 fellowship on the same stern errand. A boundless vision 
 grows upon us ; an untamed continent ; vast wastes of 
 forest verdure ; mountains silent in primeval sleep ; river, 
 lake, and glimmering pool ; wilderness oceans mingling 
 with the sky. Such was the domain which France con 
 quered for civilization. Plumed helmets gleamed in the 
 
234 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN" 
 
 shade of its forests, priestly vestments in its dens and 
 fastnesses of ancient barbarism. Men steeped in antique 
 learning, pale with the close breath of the cloister, here 
 spent the noon and evening of their lives, ruled savage 
 hordes with a mild, parental sway, and stood serene before 
 the direst shapes of death. Men of courtly nurture, heirs 
 to the polish of a far-reaching ancestry, here, with their 
 dauntless hardihood, put to shame the boldest sons of 
 toil." l 
 
 We have been looking into Parkman s books not 
 so much with the purpose of discussing them as lit 
 erature or history, as aiming to find in his pages 
 reflections of his nature. As the exactness of these 
 reflections depends on the accordance of the artist s 
 inmost being with his subject, training, and experi 
 ence, we have incidentally searched for these har 
 monies. But this study, of fundamental importance in 
 the biography of any creator, has been too superficial 
 to give much satisfaction. We are still a long way 
 from any real knowledge of the psychological facts 
 and principles required for good biography. 
 
 Yet in glancing back at his career we cannot fail 
 to get some valuable lessons. Nature had endowed 
 him with good though not wonderful intellectual 
 powers ; but she had been lavish in the manly gifts of 
 energy, common sense, will, persistence, and courage. 
 Ambition drove his mind and body strangely com 
 pounded of weakness and strength through the 
 most beneficial intellectual and moral discipline, and 
 
 1 Pioneers, p. xii. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 235 
 
 pushed on his growth to full maturity. Unavowedly 
 he has described his own career in the passage placed 
 on the title-page of this memoir. Even among artists 
 who have been financially as independent as he, few 
 if any, have directed their lives and labors so closely 
 in accord with their interior forces. He allowed none 
 of the usual distractions of life to interfere with him. 
 Neither physical weakness, personal tastes or habits, 
 outward pleasures, domestic cares, counsel of friends, 
 changes of aim or method, nor the influence of criti 
 cism and public opinion, had any effect on this man 
 of clear vision and iron will. 
 
 Parkman s highest wisdom lay in his perception of 
 the dangers lurking in the pursuit of technique. He 
 knew how readily the mind becomes enamoured of the 
 hand; how rarely the artist possesses breadth and 
 strength enough to resist the fascination, so that only 
 the very greatest escape blindness to the fundamen 
 tal human interests of art; he saw that the most 
 painful aberrations of judgment, the worst of mis 
 takes in subject and treatment as related to vital 
 interests, are to be found in works of great technical 
 excellence. Thus he feared the atmosphere of the 
 study, warned students against " emasculate scholar 
 ship," and desired to keep himself broad and sane by 
 all possible contact with the world. 
 
 It was a great pleasure to observe his quiet but pro 
 found happiness in his own success, as an offset to the 
 unfortunate side of his life. If this Spartan at times 
 wished for death as a relief from suffering, he received 
 
236 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 at last a double crown, one for his heroic endurance 
 and another for his productions. 
 
 External success answered generously to his sacri 
 fices. It is true that for a long time his financial 
 profits were far short of a reasonable recompense for 
 his heavy outlays of money and labor; but in other 
 ways his reward w r as great. The most prudent and 
 competent critics recognized him as a writer of 
 accuracy, vivid imagination, cautious temper, and 
 independent judgment; one who in his pages united 
 sound scholarship and a wide interest in life with 
 literary charm; who had cast a halo of genuine 
 romance over the whole of North America; and 
 whose achievement was only the better assured by 
 the passage of time, which would deny to his suc 
 cessors personal contact with the Indian and the fron 
 tiersman. He could not have asked for a more 
 substantial reputation in his specialty. Those who 
 looked beyond immediate accomplishment to the 
 farther reach of spiritual aims, looked upon him as 
 one of the most important figures in American liter 
 ature, not only by the brilliancy of his productions, 
 but also by the exaltation he gave to thoroughness 
 and discretion in scholarship. He had the further 
 satisfaction of never feeling his work or his fame on 
 the decline, for his last books were the best. Many 
 degrees and honors came to him from institutions and 
 societies of learning in America and Europe; but the 
 reception now and then of a letter from some live boy 
 who wrote to express his enjoyment of " La Salle " or 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 237 
 
 "Pontiac" delighted him quite as much as these 
 public marks of appreciation. This brings to light 
 another of the oppositions in his make-up. In 
 describing Vassall Morton as "ambitious and fond 
 of applause," and in referring more than once in his 
 other writings to these traits, he surely gave an auto 
 biographic touch. Nothing short of the greatest 
 ambition could have carried him through such difficult 
 labors ; and to value commendation of the right kind 
 was perfectly in keeping with his nature. But re 
 serve, dignity, good breeding, and hatred of all 
 forms of self-aggrandizement made it impossible for 
 him to bid for applause in any way. He was notice 
 able for never doing anything to make himself per 
 sonally prominent, or even to advertise his literary 
 productions. Yet so inextricably is one s life and 
 character interwoven with his artistic aims and works, 
 that Parkman s heroism became known abroad and 
 attended his books around the world. No man had 
 a more sovereign scorn than he for physical or mental 
 weakness, or for the pity and sympathy that is apt to 
 come so annoyingly close to the victim of them. One 
 day, in talking over a biographical notice in which a 
 friend had dwelt on the historian s feebleness, he ex 
 claimed : " Damn it, I m not feeble ! " But although 
 his peculiar temper and habit of stoical endurance 
 always kept him personally somewhat aloof from 
 pity and tenderness, his sensitive nature accepted 
 gratefully a straightforward expression of sympathy, 
 especially if offered with a certain reserve. 
 
238 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The world thus offered him its highest tribute in 
 recognizing the merit of his work and the personal 
 worth for which it stands. He must have had, too, 
 the inward happiness of feeling though he never 
 would have uttered it that what he had done per 
 fectly satisfied the artist s need of self-expression. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE picturesqueness of Parkman s character ap 
 pears vividly in his citizenship. The making of 
 history was fully as interesting to him as the writing 
 of it. Such an eager student of life and character 
 could not be indifferent to the lines of our national 
 growth. He regarded "the direction of affairs of 
 State as the noblest field of human effort;" saying 
 also: "That greatest and most difficult of sciences, 
 the science of government, dealing with interests so 
 delicate, complicated, and antagonistic, becomes a 
 perilous guide when it deserts the ways of temper 
 ance." He took his civic duties to heart and, con 
 sidering his disabilities, fulfilled them generously. 
 Indeed, these impersonal topics were sometimes a 
 welcome outlet for feelings that could hardly break 
 through the barrier of his reserve in personal mat 
 ters, or get suitable opportunity for outlet in his 
 torical writing. There was a certain grandeur in 
 the impersonality of his relations to life. If his 
 sympathies were limited on the spiritual side, they 
 were strong and quick on the side of culture and 
 public interests. Nowhere else did he experience so 
 
240 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 much emotion, or give such forcible expression to his 
 individuality. 
 
 His miscellaneous papers, therefore, although few 
 in number and limited in range, are important docu 
 ments in studying him. His intimate conversation 
 was exceedingly characteristic, vigorous, and racy 
 when dealing with public men and measures ; but it 
 was not recorded at the time, and it cannot be recalled 
 with any accuracy of detail. Parkman showed him 
 self a ready and acceptable speaker on the few occa 
 sions when he accepted invitations to speak at dinners 
 or other meetings. Although only occasionally al 
 lowing himself to write or talk of current events, his 
 opinions on many topics were highly valued by con 
 servatives, and the country lost much by the infre- 
 quency of the warnings from this keen-eyed student 
 of life. Feeling so much concern as to the lines of 
 our national development and such alarm at the 
 gigantic evils growing up under the shelter of our 
 political system, it is quite certain that he would 
 have written much more on public affairs had his 
 health permitted. 
 
 The miscellaneous papers left by Parkman admit 
 us to some of the innermost courts of his character; 
 for they were written under the impulsion of strong 
 .feeling and without the restraints necessary in histor 
 ical composition. They reveal, therefore, many of 
 the qualities and defects that were structural in his 
 nature as opposed to those acquired by experience, 
 culture, and force of will. This distinction was less 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 241 
 
 easily perceived in his latter years, when many of his 
 native tendencies had been subdued to an uncommon 
 degree. How should one suspect that this man of 
 quiet manners and patient, gentle spirit was funda 
 mentally remarkable for exactly the opposite qual 
 ities ? Yet one of his classmates said that Parkman s 
 manner in the college debating club was almost pugi 
 listic in its vehemence. Even in old age, talking of 
 certain national tendencies, he would become hot 
 with indignation, speaking in unmeasured terms, and 
 clenching his fist with the desire to fight injustice 
 and corruption. Two other structural elements of 
 his character are displayed in these papers, con 
 servatism and prejudice. Both sprang from his in 
 most constitution; yet, as we shall see, their lines 
 were happily softened by liberality and the judicial 
 spirit. Whatever court of his character we visit in 
 these unrestrained, unstudied pages, we encounter 
 solidity, practicality, objectivity, hatred of theories; 
 yet we also find these materialistic elements infused 
 with noble ambitions for honesty and culture. Finely 
 compounded were the contradictions of this non- 
 philosophizing philosopher, this unpoetical poet, this 
 utilitarian idealist. 
 
 The deepest and broadest question that history has 
 to answer is : What kind of men and women does a 
 given civilization produce ? Parkman held truly that 
 the level of a civilization depends on the worth of its 
 units, and that a democracy cannot pursue a success 
 ful career without placing the direction of public 
 
 16 
 
242 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 affairs in the hands of worthy, capable, and educated 
 leaders. This was the very corner-stone of his polit 
 ical edifice. 
 
 As a friend of learning and a patriot, he felt the 
 scholar s debt to civilization in return for the bless 
 ings of culture and protection. Education, especially 
 the higher education of leaders or statesmen, was 
 consequently the civic subject that most fully com 
 manded his sympathies and as much time and strength 
 as could be spared from literary labors. He expressed 
 his hopes and fears for education and its relations to 
 our national life, in the following article : 1 
 
 " THE TALE OF THE RIPE SCHOLAR. 
 
 " Not many years ago, a certain traditional prestige, 
 independent of all considerations of practical utility, at 
 tached to the scholastic character, at least in New Eng 
 land where the clergy long held a monopoly of what passed 
 for learning. New England colleges were once little 
 more than schools for making ministers. As the clergy 
 has lost in influence, so the scholar has lost in repute, 
 and the reasons are not hard to find. The really good 
 scholars were exceptions, and very rare ones. In the 
 matter of theology some notable results were produced, 
 but secular scholarship was simply an exotic, and a sickly 
 one. It never recovered from its transplantation, and 
 drew no vital juices from the soil. The climate was hos 
 tile to it. All the vigor of the country drifted into prac 
 tical pursuits, and the New England man of letters, when 
 
 1 The Nation, Dec. 23, 1869. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 243 
 
 he happened not to be a minister, was usually some per 
 son whom constitutional defects, bodily or mental, had 
 unsuited for politics or business. He was apt to be a 
 recluse, ignorant of the world, bleached by a close room 
 and an iron stove, never breathing the outer air when he 
 could help it, and resembling a mediaeval monk in his 
 scorn of the body, or rather in his utter disregard of it. 
 Sometimes he was reputed a scholar merely because he 
 was nothing else. The products of his mind were as 
 pallid as the hue of his face, and, like their parent, void 
 of blood, bone, sinew, muscle, and marrow. That he 
 should be provincial was, for a long time, inevitable, but 
 that he was emasculate was chiefly his own fault. As his 
 scholarship was not fruitful of any very valuable results, 
 as it did not make itself felt in the living world that 
 ranged round it, as, in short, it showed no vital force, it 
 began at length to be regarded as a superfluous excres 
 cence. Nevertheless, like the monkish learning of the 
 middle ages, it served a good purpose in keeping alive 
 the traditions of liberal culture against a future renais 
 sance. We shall be told that we exaggerate, and, in one 
 sense, this is true, for we describe not an individual, but 
 a type, from which, however, the reality was rarely very 
 remote, and with which it was sometimes identified. The 
 most finished and altogether favorable example of this 
 devitalized scholarship, with many graceful additions, 
 was Edward Everett, and its echoes may still be heard 
 in the halls of Congress, perplexing Western members 
 with Latin quotations, profuse, if not always correct. 
 
 " As the nation grew in importance and in sensitiveness, 
 the want of intellectual productiveness began to trouble 
 the popular pride, and an impatient public called on its 
 
244 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 authors to be original. Spasmodic efforts were made to 
 respond, and the results were such as may be supposed. 
 The mountain went into convulsions of labor and pro 
 duced a mouse, or something as ridiculous. After an 
 analogous fashion some of the successors of our pallid 
 clerical scholars raise the cry, Let us be strong, and 
 fall into the moral and physical gymnastics of muscular 
 Christianity. This, certainly, is no bad sign, in so far as 
 it indicates the consciousness of a want; but neither 
 originality nor force can be got up to order. They must 
 spring from a deeper root and grow by laws of their own. 
 Happily our soil has begun to put forth such a growth, 
 promising in quality, but as yet in quantity and in ma 
 turity, wholly inadequate to the exigent need. 
 
 "In times of agitation, alive with engrossing questions 
 of pressing moment, when all is astir with pursuit and 
 controversy, when some are mad for gold, and some are 
 earnest, and some rabid for this cause or for that, the 
 scholarship of the past is naturally pronounced not up 
 with the times. Despite his manifold failings, the self- 
 made man, with his palatial mansion, his exploits in 
 the gold-room, in the caucus, on the stump, in Congress, 
 and in the presidential chair, flatters popular self-love and 
 fills the public eye. Only a slight reason is wanted for 
 depreciating the scholar, and a strong one is offered. 
 Because the culture which our colleges supplied, and 
 which too many of them still supply, was weak, thin, 
 and unsuitable, it was easy to depreciate all culture. By 
 culture we mean development, not polish or adornment, 
 though these are its natural and by no means useless 
 belongings. Using the word, then, in this sense, culture 
 is with us a supreme necessity, not for the benefit of a few, 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEX IN HIS WORKS 245 
 
 but of all. The presence of minds highly and vigorously 
 developed is the most powerful aid to popular education, 
 and the necessary condition of its best success. In a 
 country where the ruling power is public opinion, it is 
 above all things necessary that the best and maturest 
 thought should have a fair share in forming it. Such 
 thought cannot exist in any force in the community with 
 out propagating its own image, and a class of strong 
 thinkers is the palladium of democracy. They are the 
 natural enemies of ignorant, ostentatious, and aggressive 
 wealth, and the natural friends of all that is best in the 
 popular heart. They are sure of the hatred of charlatans, 
 demagogues, and political sharpers. They are the only 
 hope of our civilization; without them it is a failure, a 
 mere platitude of mediocrity, stagnant or turbid, as the 
 case may be. The vastest aggregate of average intelli 
 gences can do nothing to supply their place, and even 
 material growth is impeded by an ignorance of its con 
 ditions and laws. If we may be forgiven the metaphor, 
 our civilization is at present a creature with a small and 
 feeble head, a large, muscular and active body, and a tail 
 growing at such a rate that it threatens to become un 
 manageable and shake the balance of the vital powers. 
 
 "The tendency of a partial education, such as the best 
 popular education must of necessity be, is to produce an 
 excess of self-confidence; and one of its results in this 
 country is a prodigious number of persons who think, 
 and persuade others to think, that they know everything 
 necessary to be known, and are fully competent to form 
 opinions and make speeches upon all questions whatever. 
 As these are precisely the persons who make the most 
 noise on the most momentous questions of the day, who 
 
246 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 have the most listeners and admirers, and who hold each 
 other up as shining examples for imitation, their incom- 
 petency becomes a public evil of the first magnitude. If 
 rash and ignorant theorizing, impulsive outcries, and 
 social and political charlatanry of all sorts are to have 
 the guiding of our craft, then farewell to the hope that 
 her voyage will be a success. The remedy is to infuse 
 into the disordered system the sedative and the tonic of 
 a broad knowledge and a vigorous reason. This means to 
 invigorate and extend the higher education ; to substitute 
 for the effete and futile scholarship which the popular 
 mind justly holds in slight account, an energetic and 
 manly development, trained to grapple with the vast 
 questions of the present, and strong enough in members 
 to temper with its mature thought the rashness of popular 
 speculation. Our best colleges are moving hopefully in 
 this direction; none of them with more life and vigor 
 than the oldest of them all. The present generation will 
 see an increase in the number of our really efficient 
 thinkers, but it is a positive, not a relative increase and 
 is far behind the fast increasing need. Powerful causes 
 are at work against it, and we will try to explain what, 
 to our thinking, some of these causes are. 
 
 " Perhaps the most obvious of them is the ascendency of 
 material interests among us. To the great mass of our 
 population, the clearing of lands, the acquiring of new 
 territory, the building of cities, the multiplication of rail 
 roads, steamboats, and telegraph lines, the growth of 
 trade and manufactures, the opening of mines, with the 
 resulting fine houses, fine clothes, and sumptuous fare, 
 constitute the real sum and substance of progress and 
 civilization. Art, literature, philosopl^, and science 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IK HIS WORKS 247 
 
 so far as science has no direct bearing on material inter 
 ests are regarded as decorations, agreeable and credit 
 able, but not essential. In other words, the material 
 basis of civilization is accepted for the entire structure. 
 A prodigious number of persons think that money-making 
 is the only serious business of life, and there is no cor 
 responding number who hold a different faith. There are 
 not a few among us who would improve our colleges 
 into schools of technology, where young men may be 
 trained with a view mainly to the production of more 
 steamboats, railroads, and telegraphs; more breadstuffs; 
 more iron, copper, silver, and gold; more cottons and 
 woollens; and, consequently, more fine houses and fine 
 clothes. All this is very well, but it does not answer 
 the crying need of the time. The truth is, our material 
 growth so greatly exceeds our other growth that the 
 body politic suffers from diseases of repletion. A patient 
 bloated with generous living, and marked already with 
 the eruptions of a perverted, diseased blood, is not to be 
 cured solely by providing him with more food. 
 
 " The drift towards material activity is so powerful 
 among us that it is very difficult for a young man to 
 resist it; and the difficulty increases in proportion as his 
 nature is active and energetic. Patient and devoted 
 study is rarely long continued in the vortex of American 
 life. The dusty arena of competition and strife has fas 
 cinations almost irresistible to one conscious of his own 
 vigor. Intellectual tastes may, however, make a com 
 promise. Journalism and the lecture-room offer them a 
 field midway between the solitude of the study and the 
 bustle of the world of business; but the journal and the 
 lecture-room have influences powerfully adverse to solid, 
 
248 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 mature, and independent thinking. There, too, is the 
 pulpit, for those who have a vocation that way; but in 
 this, also, a mighty and increasing temptation besets the 
 conscientious student. As for politics, they have fallen 
 to such a pass that the men are rare who can mingle in 
 them without deteriorating. 
 
 " Paradoxical as it may seem, the diffusion of education 
 and intelligence is at present acting against the free de 
 velopment of the highest education and intelligence. 
 Many have hoped and still hope that by giving a partial 
 teaching to great numbers of persons, a stimulus would 
 be applied to the best minds among them, and a thirst for 
 knowledge awakened which would lead to high results ; 
 but thus far these results have not equalled the expecta 
 tion. There has been a vast expenditure of brick and 
 mortar for educational purposes, and, what is more to the 
 purpose, many excellent and faithful teachers of both 
 sexes have labored diligently in their vocation; but the 
 system of competitive cramming in our public schools has 
 not borne fruits on which we have much cause to con 
 gratulate ourselves. It has produced an immense number 
 of readers ; but what thinkers are to be found may be said 
 to exist in spite of it. The public school has put money 
 in abundance in the pockets of the dealers in sensation 
 stories, sensation newspapers, and all the swarm of trivial, 
 sickly, and rascally literature. From this and cheap 
 newspapers thousands, nay, millions, draw all their men 
 tal improvement, and pamper their mental stomachs with 
 adulterated, not to say poisoned, sweetmeats, till they 
 have neither desire nor digestion for strong and whole 
 some food. But we would speak rather of that truly 
 intelligent and respectable public which forms the audi- 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 249 
 
 tories of popular preachers and popular lecturers, which 
 is the lavish patron of popular periodical literature, which 
 interests itself in the questions of the day, and has keen 
 mental appetites of a certain kind. This public is strong 
 in numbers and very strong in collective wealth. . Its 
 voice can confer celebrity, if not reputation; and it can 
 enrich those who have its favor. In truth, it is the Amer 
 ican people. Now, what does this great public want ? 
 It is, in the main, busied with the active work of life, 
 and though it thinks a little and feels a great deal on 
 matters which ought to engage the attention of every 
 self-governing people, yet it is impatient of continuous 
 and cool attention to anything but its daily business, and 
 sometimes even to that. Indeed, the exciting events of 
 the last ten years, joined to the morbid stimulus applied 
 to all departments of business, have greatly increased this 
 tendency; and to-day there are fewer serious and thought 
 ful readers than in the last decade. More than ever 
 before the public demands elocution rather than reason 
 of those who address it; something to excite the feelings 
 and captivate the fancy rather than something to instruct 
 the understanding. It rejoices in sweeping statements, 
 confident assertions, bright lights and black shadows 
 alternating with something funny. Neither does it care 
 much for a terse, idiomatic, and pointed diction, but gen 
 erally prefers the flatulent periods of the read}?- writers. 
 On matters of the gravest interest it craves to be excited 
 or amused. Lectures professing to instruct are turned to 
 a tissue of jokes, and the pulpit itself is sometimes en 
 livened after a similar fashion. The pill must be sugared 
 and the food highly seasoned, for the public mind is in a 
 state of laxity and needs a tonic. But the public taste is 
 
250 A LIFE OF FRAXCIS PARKMAN 
 
 very exacting, and it offers great and tempting rewards to 
 those who please it. 
 
 "That which pleases it pays so much better in money 
 and notoriety, and is so much cheaper of production, than 
 the better article which does not please it, that the temp 
 tation to accept light work and high wages in place of 
 hard work and low wages is difficult to resist. Nothing 
 but a deep love of truth or of art can stand unmoved 
 against it. In our literary markets, educated tastes are 
 completely outridden by uneducated or half-educated tastes, 
 and the commodity is debased accordingly. Thus, the 
 editor of a magazine may be a man of taste and talents ; 
 but his interests as a man of letters and his interests as 
 a man of business are not the same. Why don t you 
 make your magazine what it ought to be ? we once asked 
 a well-known editor. Because, he replied, if we did 
 we should lose four-fifths of our circulation. A noted 
 preacher not long ago confessed to us that the temptation 
 to give his audience the sort of preaching which they 
 liked to hear, instead of that which it was best that they 
 should hear, was almost irresistible. 
 
 "The amount of what we have been saying is, that the 
 public which demands a second-rate article is so enor 
 mously large in comparison with the public which de 
 mands a first-rate article that it impairs the quality of 
 literary production, and exercises an influence adverse to 
 the growth of intellectual eminence. Now, what is the 
 remedy ? It seems to us to be twofold. First, to direct 
 popular education, not to stuffing the mind with crude 
 aggregations of imperfect knowledge, but rather to the 
 development of its powers of observation, comparison, 
 analysis, and reasoning; to strengthening and instruct- 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 251 
 
 ing its moral sense, and leading it to self-knowledge and 
 consequent modesty. All this, no doubt, is vastly more 
 difficult and far less showy in its results than the present 
 system of competitive cramming, and requires in its 
 teachers a high degree of good sense and sound instruc 
 tion. The other remedy consists in a powerful re- 
 enforcement of the higher education, and the consequent 
 development of a class of persons, whether rich or poor, 
 so well instructed and so numerous as to hold their 
 ground against charlatanry, and propagate sound and 
 healthy thought through the community. He who gives 
 or beqiieathes money to a well-established and wisely- 
 conducted university confers a blessing which radiates 
 through all the ranks of society. He does a service 
 eminently practical, and constitutes himself the patron 
 of the highest and best utilitarianism." 
 
 One of the most important influences Parkman had 
 on his times was to stimulate a love of thoroughness 
 in scholarship. This was done through his works, 
 and through his relations with individual men, insti 
 tutions, and the press. His interest in public libraries 
 needs hardly to be stated. He helped by his mem 
 bership and counsel a large number of learned socie 
 ties in the United States, Canada, and Europe. The 
 Archaeological Institute of America felt his influence 
 perhaps more than any other society. It was orig 
 inally projected by scholars of especially classical 
 tastes ; but not meeting with sufficient support they 
 soon called on Parkman and others for help. At the 
 organizing meeting the classicists for a time had their 
 
252 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 own way and imposed European subjects as the aim 
 of the society s labors ; but Parkman so ably and vig 
 orously presented the claims of America as to cause 
 the enlargement of those aims to cover a broader field. 
 As long as he served in the executive committee and 
 the council, he remained the champion of American 
 themes. The investigations carried on by Gushing, 
 Bandelier, Captain Bourke, Miss Fletcher, and 
 others, naturally attracted him, and, although he 
 could not read enough to follow their labors closely, 
 he personally aided them in many ways. With no 
 fondness for ancient history and classical subjects, 
 he yet contributed to the fund for establishing the 
 American School of Classical Studies at Athens. 
 All students and societies seeking information found 
 him ever generous with his stores of learning. Some 
 of his hardest efforts, indeed, made at times when 
 labor was most difficult, were put forth to help 
 students of history in collecting or publishing 
 documents, as in the case of Stevens, Margry, 
 Bannestier, and others. 
 
 His interest in our public schools was of the deep 
 est, even as his demands for them were of the highest. 
 He said: 
 
 4 1 We are told that, to make a bad voter a good one, we 
 have only to educate him. His defect, however, is not 
 merely intellectual. It consists also in the want of the 
 feeling that his own interests are connected with those of 
 the community, and in the weakness or absence of the 
 sense of moral and political duty. The evil is not to be 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 253 
 
 cured by reading, writing, and arithmetic. The public 
 school may cram his brain with all it is capable of con 
 taining, and he will be no whit the better citizen for the 
 process. It might train instead of cramming him, lay 
 the foundation of a sound morality, and teach him some 
 thing of political and social duty; but such education is 
 more difficult than that now in vogue, and demands 
 more judgment and ability in those who conduct it. 
 To teach the teacher must be the first step ; and here, as 
 in everything else connected with public education, we 
 find ourselves moving in a vicious circle. To whom have 
 we entrusted these high and delicate interests? They 
 demand the best intelligence and the best conscience of 
 the community ; and yet their control rests, in the last 
 resort, with legislatures and municipal bodies represent 
 ing in part that very public which needs education the 
 most wretched, wire-pulling demagogues, ignorant as 
 the constituencies that chose them, reckless of public 
 duty, and without the faintest notion of what true edu 
 cation is. In such education rests the only hope of 
 democracies; but it is vain to look for it unless the wiser 
 half of the public can regain its virtual control." l 
 
 Parkman s concern for education thus sprang from 
 love of learning and patriotism combined. Speaking 
 of the Catholic attacks on our public schools he 
 said: 
 
 "The common school system with its harmonizing and 
 assimilating influences is the life of our institutions; and 
 if New England is not to lose all that is best in her we 
 
 1 North American Review, July, 1878, p. 9. 
 
254 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PAKKMAN 
 
 must defend it with a firmness at once temperate and 
 unyielding. " 
 
 He was, however, opposed to any bigoted anti- 
 Catholic agitation, and believed that "the most 
 effective defence of public schools will be the increase 
 of their teaching efficiency and the maintenance 
 and growth of their superiority over the parochial 
 schools." 1 
 
 But much as he valued popular education, he had 
 little faith in it by itself to safeguard our institu 
 tions; insisting that it must be directed by minds 
 of superior culture, and that if common schools 
 are necessary to a democracy, universities of the 
 highest excellence are still more important. 
 
 His most important activities as a citizen and a 
 friend of learning were his laboTs in helping the 
 growth of Harvard College into a university. With 
 his strong sense of civic obligation he maintained 
 that every rich man must give freely, and every 
 educated man must labor earnestly for the welfare 
 of the land that shelters him. The infirmities that 
 imposed so many privations upon his course of life, 
 deprived him of strength for serving in public and 
 exacting positions. Harvard therefore furnished a 
 welcome outlet for his patriotism, and a precious 
 opportunity for discharging a sacred obligation. 
 Nothing outdoes the Board of a great university in 
 the diversity and importance of the questions which 
 come up for discussion; they range over the entire 
 
 1 Our Common Schools. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 255 
 
 field of civilization, art, science, religion, industry, 
 war, commerce, politics, in short, every human 
 interest ; and back of all these external achievements 
 lies the heart of the matter: the growth of character. 
 Parkman was especially valuable in this place, and 
 gave himself freely to the duties of his office. As 
 no records exist of his efforts therein, we can only 
 sketch roughly the general lines of his views. 
 
 Parkman had strong local attachments, and Har 
 vard College in particular commanded his affection 
 and gratitude. He was indeed closely bound to her, 
 for many of his ancestors were sons of Harvard ; his 
 father had been an Overseer and benefactor; he him 
 self had formed there many lasting friendships, and 
 conceived the object of his life-work. " La Salle " 
 was dedicated to the class of 1844, " Montcalm and 
 Wolfe " to Harvard College. His official connection 
 with the college began in 1852, when the Overseers 
 appointed him to a vacancy in the committee for 
 examining in history. By 1868 his fame led the 
 alumni to select him as one of the Overseers for the 
 term of six years ; but he was able to serve only half 
 that period. In 1874 he was again elected to the 
 same office by a large majority. In 1875 the most 
 gratifying tribute of all was paid to his worth and 
 eminence election as a Fellow of the Corporation 
 of Harvard College. In this Board of seven mem 
 bers he served until obliged by infirmities to resign 
 in 1888. 
 
 His position on the Board was unique, he being 
 
256 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the first man chosen into the corporation during the 
 present century because of his eminence as a student 
 and author. As thus distinguished from those emi 
 nent in the so-called learned professions, he was the 
 last scholar on the Board. His state of health pre 
 venting him from attending to practical matters of 
 administration, he was little more than an adviser; 
 but as such distinctly represented the higher scholarly 
 interests. Thus his wisdom had an important influ 
 ence in the development of the university. 
 
 He was always faithful in attendance when his 
 infirmities did not absolutely prevent it. His love 
 of discipline and order showed itself in his punctu 
 ality; if ever five minutes late at a meeting, he failed 
 not to apologize; and whenever he met Mr. Eliot, 
 who was ten years his junior, he always addressed 
 him as Mr. President. His attendance at the meet 
 ings was often touching, as an evidence of his inter 
 est and sense of duty. After sitting perhaps an 
 hour, the knitted brows, the flushed face, and a dazed, 
 oppressed expression showed that his brain could no 
 longer endure the strain of mental application. He 
 would then excuse himself, get up and walk about 
 the room, or go out of doors, returning in a few min 
 utes to his place at the table. 
 
 The general lines of Parkman s educational work 
 were apparently irreconcilable with some of his basic 
 traits. Intensely conservative in most things, he 
 represented the liberals in education and the radicals 
 in religion. Out of sympathy as he was with many 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 257 
 
 elements of modern life, he yet labored in unison 
 with President Eliot not merely to expand Harvard 
 College into a university, but to fit it closely to mod 
 ern needs. 
 
 But his deepest concern in culture regarded its 
 influence in the development of character. 
 
 "We of ISTew England, 7 he wrote, "are a bookish 
 people. With us, the idea of education is inseparable 
 from school-houses, schoolmasters, lyceums, public libra 
 ries, colleges, and diplomas. Yet these are but second 
 ary agencies pallid, nerveless, and emasculate, beside 
 those mighty educational powers which spring out of the 
 currents of life itself, the hopes, the fears, the responsi 
 bilities, the exigencies, the action or the idleness, the 
 enjoyment or the suffering, the associations, the friend 
 ships, enmities, rivalries, and conflicts, which make the 
 sum of each man s vital history." * 
 
 He thus depended on the cultivation of judgment by 
 close contact with nature and men, quite as much as 
 on the pursuit of technical learning. In his own 
 schooling he had followed this idea and won a rich 
 reward. He hated bookworms and "unproductive 
 digs," fearing the mirage of the study, and continu 
 ally warning men against "emasculate scholarship." 
 Strangely enough, he cherished great aversion for 
 many elements of the intellectual life, and detested 
 even the words culture and refinement, because of 
 the artificialities connected with them. 
 
 Viewing education as the beginning of a growth 
 
 1 A letter to the Boston Daily Advertiser, July 17, 1863. 
 17 
 
258 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 that must continue throughout life, he felt that the 
 student s chief need was manly virtue. His own 
 love of the wilderness clearly reflected itself in his 
 ideals. He demanded that the student should be an 
 improved savage, virile, natural, full of strength 
 and dexterity, resourceful in emergencies, and inti 
 mate with nature ; but at the same time governed by 
 delicacy and decorum. 
 
 If ever a man believed in the motto, "A healthy 
 mind in a healthy body," that man was Parkman. 
 His contempt was called forth by physical weakness 
 more frequently, I think, than by any other defect of 
 humanity. He would often exclaim, "How I hate 
 em," in speaking of weakly or unattractive specimens 
 of the race. The ground on which he built his hopes 
 for America was large families of strong, healthy 
 children. Now and then he uttered strong language 
 against the small families of our Americans ; for he 
 saw in the decline of the native Protestant element 
 in our population the gravest dangers to our national 
 institutions. 
 
 His admiration for strenuous virility was the chief 
 cause of his amusing aversion for ministers. Despite 
 a long line of clerical ancestors, this feeling sprang 
 up in his boyhood, and under the paternal roof. 
 One day when a pious old lady, who was noted for 
 her admiration of clergymen, called on the Reverend 
 Dr. Parkman, Frank sat down by the window to 
 amuse himself by drawing caricatures. When on 
 rising to depart she went over to see his sketch, she 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 259 
 
 found a picture of three devils carrying off three 
 ministers on pitchforks, gowns and bands fluttering 
 in the air with the speed of their progress. He never 
 lost this dislike of the cloth. In his old age, writing 
 of a boy who had been named after him, he said 
 jocosely : " I hope the youngster will do honor to the 
 name. He should be brought up to some respect 
 able calling and not allowed to become a minister." 
 He had seen in history only too often how prone 
 were theological studies to make men narrow, hypo 
 critical and cruel; and shrank, instinctively, from 
 nearly every element of their training, life, and 
 character, often gratifying his love of humor and of 
 strong language by calling them "vermin." He 
 thought them, as a class, vague, gushing, soft, spoilt 
 by women s attentions, sentimental, unenergetic, and 
 insincere in their professions of faith. It is perhaps 
 needless to add that this instinctive dislike of the 
 profession did not prevent him from counting among 
 his friends several members of it for whom he had the 
 highest regard. Until the Harvard Theological 
 School was made non-sectarian, he could not be in 
 duced to take the slightest interest in it, nor did he 
 like any mention of the chair in it that was founded 
 by his father. 
 
 The education of woman called forth very few 
 utterances from Parkman ; and these were such inci 
 dental remarks in the discussion of woman-suffrage 
 that they were hardly heard. While favoring the 
 establishment of Radcliffe College in affiliation with 
 
260 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Harvard, he opposed the granting of diplomas to 
 women, and distrusted the employment of the already 
 fully occupied professors of Harvard as teachers in 
 RadclifTe. Yet his interest in woman s education was 
 sincere and far-sighted. In speaking of maternity 
 he said: 
 
 "It is the root and stem of national existence, while 
 the occupations of men are but the leaves and branches. 
 On women of the intelligent and instructed classes de 
 pends the future of the nation. If they are sound in 
 body and mind, impart this soundness to numerous off 
 spring, and rear them to a sense of responsibility and 
 duty, there are no national evils that we cannot over 
 come. If they fail to do their part, then the masses of 
 the coarse and unintelligent, always of rapid increase, 
 will overwhelm us and our institutions. ... To give 
 women a thorough and wholesome training both of body 
 and mind; to prepare such of them as have strength and 
 opportunity for various occupations different from what 
 they usually exercise, and above all for the practice of 
 medicine, in which we believe that they may render valu 
 able service; to rear them in more serious views of life 
 and its responsibilities, are all in the way of normal and 
 healthy development. ... In the full and normal de 
 velopment of womanhood lie the best interests of the 
 world." 
 
 Although not sympathizing greatly with the training 
 of woman for any career that takes them away from 
 home, he desired for them breadth of culture in the 
 fundamentals of character. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 261 
 
 His term of service in Harvard covered a period of 
 important changes. The adoption of elective courses, 
 the granting of more freedom and self-government to 
 students, the change from the old recitation to the 
 lecture system, the development of all kinds of 
 athletic sports, and the expansion of the curriculum 
 to promote the higher intellectual culture, these 
 features wrought a complete transformation of college 
 life. And Parkman welcomed them all, for all 
 appealed to manliness and a sense of responsibility. 
 A firm belief in the inductive method led him to a 
 deep interest in the development of scientific lines of 
 education. He took much pleasure in his meetings 
 with Agassiz, Wyman, Gray and other scientists ; and 
 showed towards some of this class, whom personally 
 he did not like, a respect and deference not common 
 in his self-reliant mentality. But, although drawn to 
 the scientific, practical, objective side of things, he 
 deprecated any tendency to convert a university into 
 a group of merely technical schools; it should, he 
 thought, remain distinctly the centre of the highest 
 intellectual culture and influence. As to methods of 
 instruction and discipline, he would leave students 
 and professors perfectly free, with the exception of 
 one unfailing demand as to results thoroughness, 
 without sterilization by too exclusive pursuit of eru 
 dition. Perhaps one of his best traits was an utter 
 contempt for superficial education; he had a mission 
 to puncture shams and expose the dangers of preten 
 tious ignorance. It may be noted in passing that his 
 
262 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 conservative spirit led him always to call the institu 
 tion by its, old name of Harvard College, though it is 
 quite possible this practice was in part due to that 
 high standard of sincerity which would hold back the 
 greater name until the school should really attain its 
 full growth. 
 
 In addition to these general interests in the devel 
 opment of Harvard, Parkman held one special aim of 
 prime importance. Having at heart our national 
 welfare, he could never lose sight of the privileges 
 and responsibilities of the university in regard to 
 national growth. He dreaded the levelling-down 
 tendencies of democratic equality. An extract from 
 " The Failure of Universal Suffrage " will show this 
 plainly : 
 
 "The slow but ominous transfer of power from supe 
 rior to inferior types of men, as shown in city coun 
 cils, legislatures, and Congress, has told with withering 
 effect on the growth of true political ability. Debased 
 as our politics are, they do not invite, and hardly even 
 admit, the higher and stronger faculties to a part in 
 them. Liberal education is robbed of its best continu 
 ance and consummation, in so far as it is sbut out from 
 that noblest field of human effort, the direction of affairs 
 of state; that career of combined thought and action 
 where all the forces of the mind are called forth, and of 
 which the objects and results are to those of the average 
 American politician what the discoveries and inventions 
 of applied science are to the legerdemain of a street 
 juggler. The professions still remain open, and in these 
 comparatively limited fields the results are good. Liter- 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 263 
 
 ature offers another field; but here the temptation is 
 powerful to write or speak down to the level of that 
 vast average of education which makes the largest returns 
 in profit and celebrity. The best literature we have has 
 followed the natural law arid sprung up in two or three 
 places where educated intelligence has reached a point 
 high enough to promise it a favorable hearing. For the 
 rest, our writers address themselves to an audience so 
 much accustomed to light food that they have no stomach 
 for the strong. The public has its effect too on the 
 pulpit. It is pleasanter to tell the hearer what he likes 
 to hear than to tell him what he needs ; and the love of 
 popularity is not confined to the laity. From one point 
 of view, the higher education is of no great use among 
 us. It is not necessary to make a millionaire, a party 
 leader, such as our party leaders are, or a popular 
 preacher or writer. So little is it needed for such pur 
 poses, that the country is full of so-called practical 
 men, who cry out against it in scorn. Yet, from a 
 true point of view, it is of supreme use and necessity, 
 and a deep responsibility rests on those who direct it. 
 What shall be its aims? Literature, scholarship and 
 physical science, are all of importance, but, considered 
 in themselves, their place is subordinate, for they cannot 
 alone meet the requirements of the times. It has been 
 said that liberal culture tends to separate men from the 
 nation at large, and form them into a class apart; and, 
 without doubt, this is to a certain degree true of the 
 merely aesthetic, literary or scholastic culture. What we 
 most need is a broad and masculine education, bearing 
 on questions of society and government; not repelling 
 from active life, but preparing for it and impelling 
 
264 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 toward it. The discipline of the university should be 
 a training for the arena." 
 
 A man who really believes that the salvation of a 
 democracy depends on its having leaders of worth 
 and culture, will naturally insist on the formation of 
 statesmen. Parkman maintained that orators will 
 always exert great influence over the masses, and 
 not lose their power even with the growth of the 
 press. He therefore proposed and urged the estab 
 lishment of the course called "English 6," whose 
 object is to develop debaters, and prepare men to 
 discuss questions connected with political science 
 and history. 
 
 Parkman s labors in Harvard sprang chiefly from 
 one side of his nature. By inheritance a conserva 
 tive utilitarian, he became in education a liberal, 
 and almost an idealist. His associates speak of 
 him as distinctly the representative of the higher 
 scholarly interests. From one point of view this is 
 surprising; since he felt little personal interest in 
 philosophical, sesthetic, or spiritual questions. Pos 
 sibly this estimate sprang from a perception of the 
 purity and energy of his intellectual nature, quite as 
 much as from his particular desires and efforts. He 
 sought especially the welfare of the students in re 
 gard to developing manliness, and watched the policy 
 of the university in regard to elevating our national 
 life; he promoted all elements of education that 
 could contribute to these ends, according to the na 
 ture of each individual student. He regarded even 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 265 
 
 philosophy, aesthetics, and receptive and sympathetic 
 spirituality not as ends, but as means to the devel 
 opment of character. In short, he would have a 
 society composed of men and women of sound bodies 
 and thorough culture, having intellectual energy 
 and public spirit, and following a high standard of 
 character and manners. He himself was what he 
 once described as a " patron of the highest and best 
 utilitarianism." 
 
 The same temperament that fitted him so marvel 
 lously for his chosen work placed him in opposition 
 to nearly every characteristic movement of nineteenth 
 century civilization. He was not affected by any one 
 of the great forces, social philanthropy, natural 
 science, or religion. In fact, the various reformatory 
 measures growing out of them were to him irritating 
 topics to be avoided; only now and then would he 
 cast at reforms a bit of his humorous exaggeration 
 or run them through with a thrust of his keen 
 invective. 
 
 1. Democratic philanthropies could hardly appeal 
 to such a man as Parkman. A heroic man of martial 
 temper, he was naturally a hero-worshipper ; and his 
 enthusiasm for the study of character carried him 
 in the same direction. Yet being more critical than 
 laudatory, more acutely accurate than broadly affec 
 tionate, his interest in great men did not include 
 much personal fondness and admiration. They were 
 forces in history rather than objects of partisan 
 devotion. 
 
266 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 We are hardly surprised to find in Parkman strong 
 aristocratic tendencies. In this as in many other 
 things his nature was at war with itself. An 
 elevated character will always hate what is vulgar, 
 but, unquestionably, a certain ancestry and environ 
 ment will predispose a man to esteem birth and 
 social conditions, even in the most highly developed 
 democracy, as very influential powers. Parkman 
 believed in blood. He would continue his confidence 
 in a man of good family even against some serious 
 errors of conduct; and by the same token he seldom 
 hoped much from a man born of a family of inferior 
 quality. It need not be said that he felt no reverence 
 for the arbitrary distinctions of titles ; his patent of 
 nobility was personal worth. Thus by tempera 
 mental inclination as well as by conviction, he came 
 to regard leaders of worth and capacity as the regen 
 erating powers of civilization. 
 
 The limitations of Parkman s sympathy and in 
 sight had a decided effect on his political opinions. 
 Instinctively regarding the lower classes from a dis 
 tance, and practical to the core, he perceived, chiefly, 
 the roughnesses and discords inseparable from the 
 life of average mankind; seldom penetrating to the 
 inner spiritual elements, the fundamental unisons of 
 humanity. He seldom expressed sentiments of pity 
 and tenderness either for himself or for humanity 
 at large. He deplored the modern tendency to dis 
 cover "objects of sympathy in vagabonds, thieves, 
 and ruffians." Thus, partly from a martial manli- 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 267 
 
 ness that hated every defect of body and mind, 
 partly from inborn aristocratic tendencies, and partly 
 from an aversion to philanthropic sentimentality, he 
 was temperamentally unsympathetic with the lower 
 ranks of men. On his vacation trip of 1842 about 
 Lake George, he could write in his diary such a 
 passage as this: 
 
 "There could be no finer place for gentlemen s seats 
 than this, but now, for the most part, it is occupied by a 
 race of boors about as uncouth, mean, and stupid as the 
 hogs they seem chiefly to delight in." 
 
 And even in his full maturity in 1878 he called the 
 working classes "the barbarians of civilization." l 
 
 Yet a careful view shows these hard utterances 
 to be misleading exaggerations in regard to his faith 
 in humanity taken as a whole. He distrusted the 
 wealthy quite as much as the mired masses. Wit 
 ness the following: 
 
 " Two enemies, unknown before, have risen like spirits 
 of darkness on our social and political horizon an 
 ignorant proletariat and a half-taught plutocracy. Be 
 tween lie the classes, happily still numerous and strong, 
 in whom rests our salvation. ... In the platitudes of 
 democratic society two counter-influences are apparent 
 the one a curse, and the other a blessing : First tbose 
 sudden upheavals of accumulated wealth which break 
 with sinister portent that broad distribution of property 
 which once formed our safety; and, secondly, this recent 
 reinforcement of trained intelligence. Each confronts 
 1 Article on Failure of Universal Suffrage, p. 4. 
 
268 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the other; for culture is no friend of vulgar wealth, and 
 most of the mountains of gold and silver we have lately 
 seen are in the keeping of those who are very ill fitted to 
 turn them to the profit of civilization." 1 
 
 The civil war struck fire from his martial spirit in 
 many ways; and the heroism of the people often won 
 from him expressions of admiration such as this: 
 "Degenerate as our public men may be, the people 
 at large of our time do not lose in comparison with 
 their fathers." 2 He believed in human goodness as 
 the power to work out the regeneration of civiliza 
 tion; and in trusting to this rather than to the re 
 mote powers of the Unknown, he only followed his 
 strong common-sense. But, going still farther away 
 from the visionary, he insisted that to be effective 
 human goodness must be embodied in individual 
 leaders of ability and worth. Under such leaders his 
 faith in humanity was unbounded. 
 
 It is evident that Parkman must have regarded 
 with profound aversion the so-called democratic prin 
 ciple of equality. He wrote of it : 
 
 " Vague and half unconsciously, but every day more 
 and more, the masses hug the flattering illusion that one 
 man is essentially about as good as another. They will 
 not deny that there is great difference in the quality of 
 horses or dogs, hut they refuse to see it in their own 
 genus. A jockey may be a democrat in the street, but he 
 is sure to be an aristocrat in the stable. And yet the 
 
 1 Failure of Universal Suffrage, pp. 4, 17. 
 
 2 The Atlantic, January, 1868, p. 128. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 269 
 
 essential difference between man and man is incompar 
 ably greater than that between horse and horse, or dog 
 and dog; though, being chiefly below the surface, the 
 general eye can hardly see it. Mountains and molehills, 
 deserts and fertile valleys, and all the universal inequal 
 ity of Nature, are but types of inequality in men. To 
 level the outward world would turn it into barrenness, 
 and to level human minds to one stature would make 
 them barren as well. The history of the progress of man 
 kind is the history of its leading minds. The masses, 
 left to themselves, are hardly capable of progress, except 
 material progress, and even that imperfectly. Through 
 the long course of history, a few men, to be counted by 
 scores or by tens, have planted in the world the germs of 
 a growth, whose beneficent vitality has extended itself 
 through all succeeding ages; and any one of these men 
 outweighs in value to mankind myriads of nobles, citizens, 
 and peasants, who have fought or toiled in their genera 
 tion, and then rotted into oblivion." 1 He pictured us as 
 a nation subject to the " tyrant of organized ignorance, 
 led by unscrupulous craft, and marching, amid the ap 
 plause of fools, under the flag of equal rights." 2 
 
 Such a picture from the pen of an American 
 patriot is startling; but although characteristic of 
 Parkman s independence of mind and vigor of speech, 
 it would not be fair to take it by itself as embodying 
 his political faith. His an ti- democratic tendencies 
 were more than matched by an ardent love of free 
 dom and fairness. He strenuously demanded: "A 
 society where liberty is complete, and where all men 
 
 1 Failure of Universal Suffrage, p. 5. 2 Ibid., p. 2. 
 
270 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAST 
 
 have equal opportunities of development, according 
 to their several qualities." 1 This demand was not 
 incompatible with a distrust of modern democratic 
 methods, and Parkman had his own ideas as to the 
 best means of reaching development and freedom. 
 He said again: 
 
 11 Shall we look for an ideal society in that which tends 
 to a barren average and a weary uniformity, treats men 
 like cattle, counts them by the head, and gives them a 
 vote apiece without asking whether or not they have the 
 sense to use it; or in that which recognizes the inherent 
 differences between man and man, and gives the prepon 
 derance to power, to character and intelligence, yet re 
 moves artificial barriers, keeps circulation free through 
 all its parts, and rewards merit wherever it appears with 
 added influence ? " 2 
 
 In all sociological matters he was oddly divided 
 against himself. While his manner was entirely 
 without hauteur, he needed every whit of the common 
 sense, kindliness, and human interest that were his, 
 to restrain a contempt for inferiority of all sorts. He 
 was a "good fellow " with any man of any rank whose 
 character commanded his respect; or even, for the 
 sake of studying life and character, with many whom 
 he did not approve. But, democratic in personal 
 relations, he was an undoubted aristocrat in politics 
 and in his intellectual relations to humanity. He 
 believed in equality of opportunity, but not in equality 
 of power to rule. 
 
 1 Failure of Universal Suffrage, p. 2. 2 Ibid., p. 6. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 271 
 
 Despite certain idealistic tendencies, he hated 
 abstractions, theories, and sentiments in matters of 
 government. He said: "Iroquois legislation in 
 vented nothing ; like all sound legislation, it built of 
 materials already prepared." l And again: 
 
 " There are no political panaceas, except in the imagi 
 nation of political quacks. To each degree and each 
 variety of public development there are corresponding 
 institutions best answering to the public needs; and 
 what is meat to one is poison to another. Freedom is for 
 those who are fit for it. The rest will lose it or turn it 
 to corruption." 2 
 
 This passage shows a distrust of all forms of gov 
 ernment viewed as essential means to national salva 
 tion. A republic was to Parkman not necessarily 
 the summit of political wisdom. But if he distrusted 
 democracy he still more distrusted oligarchy, auto 
 cracy, and aristocracy. 
 
 His political activities were limited by his disabili 
 ties to the writing of a few articles for the press. 
 We find his work more critical than constructive; 
 treating of broad national needs, never concerning 
 itself with party politics. For all this, he was, during 
 the civil war, an ardent Union republican; and, until 
 he became a "mugwump," always voted the republi 
 can ticket when able to go to the polls. He was a 
 
 1 Manners and Customs of Primitive Indian Tribes. North Amer* 
 ican Review, July, 1865. 
 2 Old Regime, p. 446. 
 
272 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 regular reader of the New York "Nation," believing 
 its severe criticism of our evils a salutary tonic. 
 
 We cannot but look upon this stern, strenuous 
 figure as a prophet calling for political righteousness, 
 and proclaiming the dangers that have grown up 
 under the shelter of our free institutions. He dis 
 trusted the very corner-stone of democracy: 
 
 "That the ignorant, incompetent and vicious of any 
 color or either sex should vote, I regard as a peril to civ 
 ilization, and an injury to the. entire community, them 
 selves included. Promiscuous suffrage is the deepest 
 source of our present political evils. 71 
 
 He protested against the ballot being "an educa 
 tion in itself, capable of making good citizens out of 
 the poorest material;" 2 and maintained that the un 
 restricted franchise a safeguard in the hands of a 
 limited population of patriots such as we had in colo 
 nial times had become a peril in the hands of a 
 mixed population under the domination of dema 
 gogues and material interests. He said: 
 
 "When a majority of the people become convinced that 
 no aggregate of folly can produce sense, and no aggregate 
 of worthlessness can produce honesty, and when they re 
 turn to the ancient faith that sense and honesty are essen 
 tial to good government, then it will become possible 
 not, perhaps, peaceably to abolish a debased suffrage 
 but to counteract and so far neutralize it that it 
 serve as a safety-valve and cease to be a danger. 7 
 
 1 Letter to Col. T. W. Higginson, June 5, 1876. 
 
 2 Failure of Universal Suffrage, p- 9. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 273 
 
 His paper on " The Failure of Universal Suffrage " 
 deserves the attention it received both at home and 
 abroad, for its earnest consideration of the gravest 
 topics. Woman-suffrage naturally fell under his dis 
 approval as a part of "promiscuous " suffrage, and for 
 other reasons which we shall consider later. 
 
 The lowest deep of Parkman s hatred was reserved 
 for selfish politicians. By as, much as he considered 
 statesmanship the highest calling, so did he despise 
 the demagogue as a "political reptile." There was 
 nothing in our national life that he feared to the 
 same degree. Boundless perils were held in store for 
 us by "the machine " and the demagogue s control of 
 an ignorant proletariat. His words on the subject 
 are swords of flame: 
 
 "Never, since history recorded the life of nations, was 
 such a people so led, or rather so entangled in such a 
 political mesh-work. We make no allusion to this party 
 or that. Men and parties will change, but the same 
 bad system rules rampant over all. Still the same wither 
 ing machinery of caucuses and conventions, the same com 
 binations, wheel within wheel, of adroit and selfish 
 managers, the organized scramble of mean men for petty 
 spoils, clogging the avenues and outlets of public opinion, 
 jealously vigilant of the rostrum and the press, and limit 
 ing the votes of an acquiescent people to such candidates 
 as may suit, not the national interests, but their own. 
 As freemen and sovereigns we go to the polls and cast our 
 votes, not after our own judgment, but at the dictation of 
 self-constituted knots and combinations of men whom we 
 can neither esteem nor trust. If we did otherwise our 
 
 18 
 
274 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 vote would be thrown away. A many-headed despotism 
 is exercised in the name of the largest liberty. If to 
 degrade public morals, sink the national reputation, 
 weaken the national counsels, rout out the race of states 
 men, and place pliant incompetency in control of our 
 destiny, if those are the ends of government, then is 
 our political management a masterpiece of human wit." * 
 
 Parkman s want of confidence in the masses seems 
 to have been aroused by this obedience of theirs to 
 demagogues, more than from any essential lack of 
 respect for humanity. He had full faith in the feel 
 ing of the people, though not in their judgment. 
 He wrote thus of them: 
 
 " We are told to look at the great popular uprising of 
 the civil war. Here, indeed, democracy revealed itself 
 in its grandest aspect. The degrading elements had not 
 then reached the volume and force that they have reached 
 to-day. There were no doubts and no complications. 
 Victory meant national integrity, and defeat meant 
 national disintegration. Above all, the cause had its 
 visible emblem the national flag; and thousands and 
 hundreds of thousands of eyes were turned upon it in 
 loving and ardent devotion. We heard a great deal at 
 that time about * thinking bayonets/ The bayonets did 
 not think, nor did those who carried them. They did 
 what was more to the purpose they felt. The emer 
 gency did not call for thought, but for faith and courage, 
 and both were there in abundance. The political reptiles 
 hid away, or pretended to change their nature, and for a 
 time the malarious air was purged as by a thunder-storm. 
 
 1 Letter to the Boston Daily Advertiser, July, 1863. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 275 
 
 Peace brought a change. Questions intricate and diffi 
 cult, demanding brains more than hearts, and discretion 
 more than valor, took the place of the simple alternative, 
 to be or not to be. The lion had had his turn, and now 
 the fox, the jackal, and the wolf, took theirs. Every sly 
 political trickster, whom the storm had awed into obscur 
 ity, now found his opportunity. The reptiles crawled out 
 again, multiplied, and infested caucuses, conventions, and 
 Congress. But the people were the saddest spectacles; 
 the same people that had shown itself so heroic in the 
 hour of military trial, were now perplexed, bewildered, 
 tossed between sense and folly, right and wrong, taking 
 advice of mountebanks, and swallowing their filthy nos 
 trums. The head of Demos was as giddy as his heart had 
 been strong." l 
 
 Parkman felt that the corruption of our political 
 life presented another danger of the greatest magni 
 tude, and that it must be energetically opposed by 
 civil service reform. 
 
 " There is no hope," he said, "but in purging and 
 strengthening the republic. The remedy must be slow, 
 not rash and revolutionary. A debased and irresponsible 
 suffrage is at the bottom of the evil, but the state is sick 
 of diseases that do not directly and immediately spring 
 from this source. Something is due to the detestable 
 maxim that to the victor belongs the spoils, and the 
 fatuity that makes office the reward of party service, de 
 mands incessant rotation, dismisses the servant of the 
 public as soon as he has learned to serve well, prefers 
 
 J Failure of Universal Suffrage, p. 10. 
 
276 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the interests of a needy politician to the interests of the 
 whole people, sets a premium on trickery and discourages 
 faithful industry. When the scraps and marrow-hones of 
 office are flung down to he scrambled for, the dogs are sure 
 to get the lion s share." 1 
 
 But the immediate evil of vitally injuring the public 
 service is small as compared with the general moral 
 and intellectual ruin it causes. In this regard he was 
 concerned not only for the national conscience and 
 standard of duty, but especially for the higher edu 
 cation and development of character in the cultured 
 class. He said: 
 
 "While the faculties that win material success are 
 spurred to the utmost, and urged to their strongest 
 development, those that find their exercise in the higher 
 fields of thought and action are far from heing so. For 
 minds that mere wealth and mere notoriety cannot satisfy, 
 the inducements are weak and the difficulties great. The 
 slow hut ominous transfer of power from superior to 
 inferior types of men, as shown in city councils, legisla 
 tures, and Congress, has told with withering effect on the 
 growth of true political ability. Debased as our politics 
 are, they do not invite, and hardly even admit, the higher 
 and stronger faculties to a part in them. Liberal educa 
 tion is robbed of its best continuance and consummation, 
 and in so far as it is shut out from that noblest field of 
 human effort, the direction of affairs of state." 2 
 
 His deep sense of civic duty made him call on young 
 men of worth and culture to undertake our political 
 regeneration : 
 
 1 Failure of Universal Suffrage, p. 12. 2 Ibid., p. 17. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 277 
 
 "Here, then, is a career worthy of the best, for none | 
 but they can grapple with the complicated mischiefs of 
 our politics. Those gallant youths, and others such as 
 they, who were so ready to lay down life for their coun 
 try, may here find a strife more difficult and not less 
 honorable. If there is virtue in them for an effort so 
 arduous, then it is folly to despair. If a depraved politi 
 cal system sets them aside in favor of meaner men, and 
 denies them the career to which the best interests of the 
 nation calls them, then, let them attack this depraved 
 system, and, in so doing, make a career of their own. 
 The low politician is not a noble foe, but he is strong and 
 dangerous enough to make it manly to fight him ; and the 
 cause of his adversary is the cause of the people, did they 
 but know it ; or at least of that part of the people that is 
 worth the name. No doubt, the strife is strangely un 
 equal ; for on one side are ranged all the forces of self- 
 interest, always present and always active ; and on the 
 other only duty and patriotism. But if the virtue and 
 reason of the nation can be as well organized as its folly 
 and knavery are organized to-day, a new hope will rise 
 upon us, and they who can achieve such a result will not 
 lack their reward." l ^^-J 
 
 Patriots, then, were the men for whom Parkman 
 had the greatest admiration, and Washington stood 
 at their head. This grand figure should be the beau- 
 ideal of American youth; and in his estimation one 
 of the worst results of the Rebellion was the relative 
 obscurity into which it had cast Washington by exalt 
 ing others of less worth. Hamilton came second 
 
 1 Failure of Universal Suffrage, p. 19. 
 
278 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 only to Washington. Franklin was "a great man," 
 and admirable in many ways, but too thrifty and 
 materialistic. Jefferson he disliked exceedingly for 
 his sentimental following of the French democracy; 
 Jean- Jacques Rousseau was "a depraved and half 
 crazy man of genius." He came at last to admire 
 Lincoln, though thinking him generally over-rated, 
 a man whose undeniable worth and usefulness 
 were due to circumstances more than to inherent 
 ability. Sumner he considered as not only senti 
 mental, but deficient in courage and manliness: 
 Garrison and Phillips also won little admiration 
 from him. 
 
 Parkman s political ambition for the nation em 
 bodied his broadest and highest aspirations. As 
 might be expected from his practical and simple way 
 of taking all questions, his creed was short and 
 simple : 
 
 11 My political faith," he wrote, "lies between two 
 vicious extremes, democracy and absolute authority, each 
 of which I detest the more because it tends to reach into 
 the other. I do not object to a good constitutional mon 
 archy, but prefer a conservative republic, where intelli 
 gence and character, and not numbers hold the reins of 
 power." 
 
 And again: 
 
 " Our safety is in the development and use of the states 
 manship latent among us, and long kept latent by the 
 
 1 Letter to Abbe H. R. Casgrain, May 9, 1875. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 279 
 
 perverted action of our political machinery. . . . Let 
 the best rule is the maxim of aristocracy ; let the best 
 serve is the maxim of the only healthful and permanent 
 democracy. Who are the best ? They are gone j their 
 race has died out. Surely as effect follows cause, for a half 
 century they have withered and dwindled away. The 
 race, we mean of legislators and statesmen, minds trained 
 to apply great principles to practice, to grapple with great 
 affairs, to guide the nation with a wise and temperate 
 vigor along the giddy heights of that grand destiny which 
 awaited her, and perhaps awaited her in vain. When 
 will such men return ? When a deep and abiding sense 
 of our deep need of them has seized and possessed the 
 national heart, when the fallacies that have deluded us so 
 long shall be thrown from us as debasing and perilous 
 illusions, and the national mind rises to a true conception 
 of republican freedom." * 
 
 The saviours of civilization were thus to be leaders 
 of ability and worth, men who could direct the masses 
 with wisdom, successfully oppose both selfish dema 
 gogues and selfish capitalists, serve the nation as 
 civic officials, warriors, and statesmen, and raise the 
 national ambition above mere material interests. He 
 manifestly sketched his ideal of healthy national 
 growth in thus speaking of England: 
 
 " Through centuries of striving she had advanced from 
 stage to stage of progress, deliberate and calm, never 
 breaking with her past, but making each fresh gain the 
 base of a new success, enlarging popular liberties while 
 
 1 Article in Boston Daily Advertiser, July, 1863. 
 
280 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 bating nothing of that height and force of individual de 
 velopment which is the brain and heart of civilization." 1 
 
 In 1862 he wrote this wise counsel for our own guid 
 ance, counsel that recent events and the passage of 
 years only makes more valuable: 
 
 " If the people will learn that no expansion of territory, 
 no accumulation of wealth, no growth of population, can 
 compensate for the decline of individual greatness, if they 
 can learn to recognize the reality of superior minds, and 
 to feel that they have need of them ; to feel, too, that in 
 rejecting and ignoring them they prepare the sure though 
 gradual ruin of popular government, that beneficent 
 lesson would be cheaply bought by years of calamity and 
 
 Again at the close of his life and labors he sounded 
 the same manly challenge, raised the same standard 
 by which we shall be judged in the procession of 
 races : 
 
 "She [the United States] has tamed the savage conti 
 nent, peopled the solitude, gathered wealth untold, waxed 
 potent, imposing, redoubtable; and now it remains for 
 her to prove, if she can, that the rule of the masses is 
 consistent with the highest growth of the individual; that 
 democracy can give the world a civilization as mature and 
 pregnant, ideas as energetic and vitalizing, and types of 
 manhood as lofty and strong, as any of the systems which 
 it boasts to supplant." 2 
 
 1 The Old Regime, p. 451. 
 
 2 Montcalm and Wolfe, vol. ii. p. 414. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 281 
 
 2. Parkman, though much more friendly towards 
 science than towards socialism, was even here not 
 entirely in harmony with his times. We have seen 
 that he favored the fullest development of this side 
 of education, and that he enjoyed an observer s prac 
 tical knowledge of those sciences which brought him 
 into contact with nature. No doubt he would have 
 gained a broader general knowledge of the subject 
 had his culture not been so restricted by considera 
 tions of health. But in truth he cared more for 
 exact knowledge and tangible things than for specu 
 lations as to the origin of things. Evolution, and 
 the philosophical investigation that has influenced so 
 profoundly the course of modern life, had but little 
 interest for him. In all phases of citizenship he was 
 still true to his character of historian, and viewed 
 scientific thought as he did other things, as one of 
 the forces affecting civilization. Here came in his 
 idealism, qualifying his admiration of science with 
 disapproval of many of her most notable achievements 
 and most potent influences. He did not look to it 
 alone for the regeneration of mankind. 
 
 He regarded the predominance of material interests 
 in our national life as still another danger of great 
 moment. Writing of our condition at the beginning 
 of the Rebellion, he said : 
 
 " Luxury and commerce have sometimes emasculated a 
 people naturally warlike. Tke former has injured us only 
 partially, but the spirit of trade, in the excess of its pre 
 dominance, has done us a widespread and deadly mis- 
 
282 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 chief. The morality of commerce has become confounded 
 with universal morality, and the word honor/ to the 
 minds of half of those who use it, means little but com 
 mercial honor. The pride of a good bargain has overborne 
 the pride of manhood, and much that is vital to worth and 
 nobleness is treated as illusory. So, from highest to low 
 est, this influence pervades this vigorous and practical 
 race, courageous, indeed, as all roused and energetic 
 peoples are, but not spurred to acts of courage by the same 
 exacting and unanswerable demands which urge, on the 
 one hand, ruder nations, and on the other, nations of a 
 more balanced and normal civilization." 1 
 
 He saw that " the intellectual growth of the coun 
 try bears no proportion to its material progress." To 
 give this idea a tangible illustration, we may quote 
 the following passage written in 1875: 
 
 " That the present condition and prospects of American 
 literature are not very flattering will hardly be denied. 
 A score or more of years ago there seemed a fair hope that 
 the intellectual development of the country would not be 
 absolutely disproportioned to its material growth ; but 
 thus far the hope has not been fulfilled, and, relatively to 
 our vast increase in wealth and population, the value, 
 though not the volume of literary products is less than 
 before. This proceeds, naturally enough, from several 
 causes. The excitement of the war and the inflation of 
 the currency, with the morbid stimulus it applied to 
 trade and industry, were no doubt strong anti-literary 
 influences ; but a violent impulse had been given long 
 before to all kinds of material activity by the discovery of 
 l Letter to Boston Daily Advertiser, June, 1863. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 283 
 
 gold in California. Here, more than anywhere else, be 
 gan that frenzy of speculation and that race for wealth 
 which have created an atmosphere where the scholar and 
 the thinker find it hard to breathe." 1 
 
 In his diaries we read his regrets that the " Yankee 
 spirit of improvement," in clearing the land of forest, 
 should be " destroying the chief ornament of the coun 
 try." This feeling led him almost to regret the 
 spread of civilization over the continent, resulting in 
 the extermination of the buffalo, the taming of the 
 Indian, and the building of railroads. This Spartan 
 sufferer had no weakness for luxuries; he liked 
 simple, even primitive modes of life; preferring the 
 saddle or canoe to the stage coach, and the latter to 
 railway or steamboat. For all this, he was actually 
 indifferent rather than antagonistic to modern im 
 provements, accepting them as conveniences, without 
 giving them any thought or admiration. 
 
 The material productions of science, however, 
 roused a deeper feeling when viewed in their effects 
 on our national life. 
 
 "Nor am I at all enthusiastic for the nineteenth cen 
 tury, many of the tendencies of which I deplore, while 
 admiring much that it has accomplished. It is too demo 
 cratic and too much given to the pursuit of material inter 
 ests at the expense of intellectual and moral greatness 
 which I hold to be the true [aim or end] and to which 
 material progress should be but a means. " 2 He depre- 
 
 1 Review of Bancroft s Native Races of the Pacific States, in 
 North American Review, January, 1875, p. 34. 
 
 2 Letter to Abbe H. R. Casgrain, May 9, 1875. 
 
284 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cated our " overstrained and morbid activity, and incessant 
 tension of nerves the men in the struggles of active 
 life, the women in the ambitions, anxieties, and worries 
 of social existence." 
 
 He could not abide the acceptance of material pros 
 perity as proof of our national greatness, and no one 
 irritated him more than the man who regards them 
 as the summum lonum of progress. A highly civil 
 ized man, he disliked the over-refinements and com 
 plexities of civilization. On the other hand, while 
 he loved the wilderness and its adventures, and pos 
 sessed the hardihood and courage of a Boone, he 
 never would have led the life of an Indian, nor 
 become even a frontiersman. Wealth, especially 
 when concentrated in the hands of men deficient in 
 culture and public spirit, inspired him with a certain 
 suspicion. He condemned our popular admiration 
 for the "self-made man" and the "practical man," 
 had the keenest scent for vulgarity, crudeness, pre 
 tentiousness, exaggeration, and spread-eagleism, and 
 the sharpest tongue to denounce them, attributing 
 them to the ignorance and complacency born of undue 
 material prosperity. 
 
 3. Of Parkman s religious opinions and feelings, 
 to be dwelt on in a later chapter, it is sufficient to 
 say here that his antagonism to all theological organ 
 izations and sectarian aims necessarily limited his 
 influence on the public life of his generation. He 
 had no interest whatever in the religious movements 
 of his time, except a fear of the growing power of the 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 285 
 
 Roman Catholic Church, and of the proposed " peace 
 ful conquest of New England " by the French Cana 
 dians under the leadership of priests. 
 
 On other questions of the day, it is interesting to 
 note his clean-cut expressions of independent opinion. 
 The latest extreme form of the so-called temperance 
 movement he condemned as the " corrupting farce of 
 a prohibition which does not prohibit, which in large 
 communities does not prevent or even diminish 
 drunkenness, but which is the fruitful parent of mean 
 ness, fraud, lying, and contempt of law." 
 
 His love for the wilderness and for certain types of 
 wild men had no force in relation to the Indian 
 question. He never approved of Penn s peace 
 policy. 
 
 "In fact, the benevolent and philanthropic view of the 
 American savage is for those who are beyond his reach. 
 It has never yet been held by any whose wives and chil 
 dren have lived in danger of his scalping-knife." l 
 
 The effort to educate Indians seemed to him to spoil 
 them as wild men, at the same time failing to civilize 
 them. The following passage is very characteristic 
 of his love of justice and firmness in all the relations 
 of life that were open to his vision : 
 
 " A word touching our recent Indian policy. To sup 
 pose tbat presents, blandishments, kind treatment, even 
 when not counteracted by fraud and lawlessness of white 
 
 1 Half Century, vol. i. p. 215. 
 
286 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 men, can restrain these banditti [the Apaches, Comanches, 
 and other tribes of Arizona and New Mexico] from molest 
 ing travellers and settlers, is a mistake. Robbery and 
 murder have become to them a second nature, and, as just 
 stated, a means of living. The chief enemies of peace in 
 the Indian country are the philanthropist, the politician, 
 and the border-ruffian ; that is to say, the combination of 
 soft words with rascality and violence. An Apache, a 
 Comanche, or an Arapaho neither respects nor comprehends 
 assurances of fraternal love. In most cases he takes them 
 as an evidence of fear. The government whose emissaries 
 caress him and preach to him, whose officials cheat him, 
 and whose subjects murder him, is not likely to soothe 
 him into the ways of peace. The man best fitted to deal 
 with Indians of hostile dispositions is an honest, judicious, 
 and determined soldier. To protect them from ruffians 
 worse than themselves, strictly to observe every engage 
 ment, to avoid verbiage and speak on occasion with a de 
 cisive clearness absolutely free from sentimentality, to 
 leave no promise and no threat unfulfilled, to visit every 
 breach of peace with a punishment as prompt as circum 
 stances will permit, to dispense with courts and juries, 
 and substitute a summary justice, and to keep speculators 
 and adventurers from abusing them such means as 
 these on the one hand, or extermination on the other, will 
 alone keep such tribes as the Apaches quiet. They need 
 an officer equally just and vigorous ; and our regular army 
 can furnish such. They need an army more numerous 
 than we have at present ; and its business would be to 
 restrain white men no less than Indians. They need in 
 the executive a courage to which democracy and the news 
 paper sensation-monger are wofully adverse. Firmness, 
 
FARKMAN AS SEEX IN HIS WORKS 287 
 
 consistency, and justice are indispensable in dealing with 
 dangerous Indians, and so far as we fail to supply them 
 we shall fail of success. Attempts at conciliation will be 
 worse than useless unless there is proof, manifest to their 
 savage understanding, that such attempts do not proceed 
 from weakness or fear." * 
 
 Feeling, as he did, that universal suffrage was a 
 mistake, especially in a large and mixed population, 
 he took great interest in the restriction of immigra 
 tion in order to save our institutions from any further 
 strain by a "muddy tide of ignorance rolled in 
 upon us." 
 
 The anti-slavery question was by no means a burn 
 ing one with him, although he recognized "the 
 sound and earnest basis of this agitation." He said 
 further : 
 
 "Some half century ago, a few devoted men began 
 what seemed a desperate crusade against a tremendous 
 national evil. American slavery has now passed into 
 history. It died a death of violence, to our shame be it 
 said; for the nation had not virtue, temperance, and wis 
 dom enough, to abolish it peacefully and harmlessly; but 
 it is dead." 2 
 
 The war, however, aroused his utmost sympathy, 
 as shown by the white-heat of his few contributions 
 on the subject to the press. The Union was to be 
 preserved at no matter what personal and national 
 
 1 Review of Bancroft s Native Races of the Pacific States, in 
 North American Review, January, 1875, p. 43. 
 
 2 Failure of Universal Suffrage, p. 19. 
 
288 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cost. Moreover, he regarded martial traits as the 
 most essential and fundamental virtues of a manly 
 personality. 
 
 " Since the world began, no nation has ever risen to 
 a commanding eminence in the arts of peace, which has 
 not at some period of its history, been redoubtable in war. 
 And in every well-balanced development of nations, as of 
 individuals, the warlike instinct and the military point 
 of honor are not repressed and extinguished, but only 
 refined and civilized. It belongs to the pedagogue, not 
 to the philosopher, to declaim against them as relics of 
 barbarism." These instincts, he further insisted, are 
 " always strongest in the strongest and richest nature." l 
 
 Believing that the progress and stability of civiliza 
 tion depend on force, and despising what he called 
 the " milksop " principle of turning the other cheek 
 also, he was yet the last man to desire an unneces 
 sary or an unjust war. 
 
 The woman suffrage movement is the only topic 
 which Parkman treated in a spirit that would seem 
 to require apology or explanation on the part of his 
 biographer. This remark applies chiefly to the pam 
 phlet entitled " Some of the Reasons against Woman 
 Suffrage, printed at the request of an Association of 
 Women." The fuller statement in his article in the 
 "North American Review," October, 1879, is less 
 open to criticism. It is quite unnecessary to our 
 aim of portraiture to discuss his views, but his argu 
 ment is of interest as a revelation of his mental traits. 
 
 1 Letter to the Boston Daily Advertiser, June, 1863. 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 289 
 
 He thought that by the limitations and inabilities 
 imposed on woman by sex and her maternal duties, 
 
 "God and nature had ordained that she shall not he 
 forced to join in the harsh conflicts of the world mili 
 tant ; " that, considering the poor health of American 
 women it is " cruel to add to the excitements which are 
 wasting them other and greater excitements, and to 
 cares too great for their strength other and greater 
 cares. ... To hold the man responsible and yet deprive 
 him of power is neither just nor rational, for the man is 
 the natural head of the family, he is responsible for its 
 maintenance and order; hence he ought to control the 
 social and business agencies which are essential to the 
 successful discharge of the trust imposed upon him. . . . 
 Woman suffrage must have one of two effects: if, as 
 many of its advocates complain, women are subservient to 
 men, and do nothing but what they desire, then woman 
 suffrage will have no other result but to increase the 
 power of the other sex; if on the other hand women vote 
 as they see fit, without regarding their husbands, then 
 unhappy marriages will be multiplied and divorces re 
 doubled." The danger of " inconsiderate and rash legis 
 lation . . . would be increased immeasurably if the most 
 impulsive and excitable half of humanity had an equal 
 voice in the making of laws, and in the administration 
 of them, abstract right would then be made to prevail 
 after a fashion somewhat startling." The better class of 
 women, instead of controlling others, " will be outvoted 
 in their own kitchens, without reckoning the agglomera 
 tions of poverty, ignorance, and vice, that form a start 
 ling proportion of our city populations; the female vote 
 
 19 
 
290 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 would enormously increase the evil, for it is often more 
 numerous, always more impulsive and less subject to rea 
 son, and almost devoid of the sense of responsibility. Here 
 the bad politician would find his richest resources. . . . 
 It is not woman s virtues that would be prominent or 
 influential in the political arena; they would shun it by 
 an invincible repulsion; and the opposite qualities would 
 be drawn into it. The Washington lobby has given us 
 some means of judging what we may expect from the 
 woman inside politics. If politics are to be purified by 
 artfulness, effrontery, insensibility, a pushing self-asser 
 tion, a glib tongue, then we may look for regeneration; 
 for the typical female politician will be richly endowed 
 with all these gifts, besides the potency of feminine 
 charms aided by feminine wiles. The woman inside 
 politics will not fail to make use of an influence so 
 subtle and strong, and of which the management is pecu 
 liarly suited to her talents. If she is not gifted with 
 charms of her own, she will have no difficulty in finding 
 and using others of her sex who are. Delilah has al 
 ready spread her snares for the congressional Samson. . . . 
 Woman suffragists have done nothing to prove their fit 
 ness for a share in government not having produced a 
 single sound and useful contribution to one side or the 
 other of any question of current politics. ... As the ma 
 jority of women are averse to the suffrage " it should 
 not be granted at the request of a minority of agita 
 tors. " All usages, laws, and institutions have risen and 
 perished, and risen and perished again. Their history 
 is the history of mutability itself. But from the earliest 
 records of mankind down to this moment, in every race 
 and every form or degree of civilization or barbarism, 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 291 
 
 the relative position of the sexes has been essentially 
 the same, with exceptions so feeble, rare and transient 
 that they only prove the rule. Such permanence in the 
 foundation of society, while all that rests upon it has 
 passed from change to change, is proof in itself that this 
 foundation lies deep in the essential nature of things ; " 
 that it is unreasonable to demand woman suffrage as a 
 right. "Government by doctrines of abstract right, of 
 which the French Revolution set the example and bore 
 the fruits, involves enormous danger and injustice. No 
 political right is absolute and of universal application. 
 Each has its conditions, qualifications and limitations. 
 . . . Rights may be real or unreal. Principles may be 
 true or false; but even the best and truest cannot safely 
 be pushed too far, or in the wrong direction. The 
 principle of truth itself may be carried into absurdity. 
 The saying is old that truth should not be spoken at 
 all times; and those whom a sick conscience worries 
 into habitual violation of the maxim are imbeciles and 
 nuisances. . . . The voting of a large non-combatant class 
 is dangerous to civil harmony." The "suffragists 7 idea 
 of government is not practical, but utterly unpractical, 
 not American but French. It is that government of 
 abstractions and generalities which found its realiza 
 tion in the French Revolution, and its apostle in the 
 depraved and half-crazy man of genius, Jean- Jacques 
 Rousseau. . . . Out of the wholesome fruit of the earth, 
 and the staff of life itself, the perverse chemistry of man 
 distils deleterious vapors which, condensed and bottled, 
 exalt his brain with glorious fantasies, and then leave 
 him in the mud. So it is with the unhappy suffragists. 
 From the sober words of our ancestors they extract 
 
292 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the means of mental inebriety. . . . The question is, 
 whether the persistency of a few agitators shall plunge 
 us blindfold into the most reckless of all experiments; 
 whether we shall adopt this supreme device for develop 
 ing the defects of women, and demolish their real power 
 to build an ugly mockery instead. For the sake of 
 womanhood let us hope not. ... In the full and normal 
 development of womanhood lie the best interests of the 
 world. Let us labor earnestly for it; and, that we may 
 not labor in vain, let us save women from the barren 
 perturbations of American politics. Let us respect 
 them; and, that we may do so, let us pray for deliver 
 ance from female suffrage. " 
 
 Both advocates and opponents felt that the general 
 tone of this pamphlet did Parkman injustice. It 
 does, indeed, surprise one by the absence of the im 
 partiality and thoroughness of his historical works, 
 by its lack of discrimination as to the different classes 
 of woman suffragists, and by the roughness and dis 
 courtesy in some of its remarks on women. But his 
 opinions and feelings as to woman, her development 
 and her rights as a whole, are not to be confounded 
 with his hatred and fear of woman suffrage. In all 
 these matters his views were unconsciously influenced 
 somewhat by his personal tastes; for here, as else 
 where, his preferences were distinct and strong, being 
 quite opposed to the typical " strongminded " and 
 oratorical woman. His social environment and 
 family traditions supported his view of woman s limi 
 tations and his antipathy for everything connected 
 with the agitation on her behalf. This pamphlet 
 
PARKMA1ST AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 293 
 
 brought upon him some sharp criticism; but he thus 
 recorded his indifference to such attacks : 
 
 "I am occupied as usual with historical matters, varied 
 with other avocations, including (in a literary way) some 
 reviews that have brought as I expected, a beehive about 
 my ears, or rather several beehives, or waspnests, com 
 posed of ultramontane catholics, ultra democrats, and 
 woman suffragists. Though their buzzing is great and 
 furious, I do not yet find that they sting." 1 
 
 The other side of his attitude towards woman s 
 functions and rights is plain for those who knew him; 
 but the stranger who should read only this pamphlet 
 might easily be misled as to his total view on this 
 question. The exigencies of an argument which had 
 to be brought into small compass probably constrained 
 him to dwell rather on the incapacities of women 
 than on their abilities and worth. He does express 
 here and there, however, his aims and hopes for 
 women in no uncertain terms ; and his demands are 
 both fundamental and far-reaching. Here is his 
 general estimate of their importance in civilization : 
 
 "They can, if they will, create and maintain higher 
 standards of thought and purpose, raise the whole tone 
 of national life, and give our civilization the fulness 
 that it lacks; for if they raise themselves they will 
 infallibly raise the men with them." 
 
 He believed that the hope of civilization rests upon 
 the most perfect discharge of the maternal functions, 
 that early marriages and large families are most 
 i To B. A. Gould, Feb. 1, 1880. 
 
294 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 desirable, and that the home duties of a woman leave 
 little time for any other labors. His friendships with 
 noble women, and their devotion to him, are unques 
 tionable proofs of his chivalric appreciation. What 
 can a man say stronger than this: "Truth itself 
 would seem hardly worth the pursuit if women were 
 not in the world." 
 
 In examining Parkman s attitude towards these 
 topics of the times, we have seen something of his 
 intellectual traits; but perhaps we may still pursue 
 this subject for a moment, to get a more intimate 
 glimpse of his general spirit and moral sensibilities. 
 He differed from many writers of his time in having 
 a definite philosophy of civilization. The laissez- 
 aller policy was completely foreign to him. His 
 philosophy and hopes of civilization were based on 
 his dominant traits so fully discussed in this book, 
 and his philosophy of life. He took all questions 
 simply and directly, seeking always the practical, 
 positive and exact. He was strongly opposed to 
 many elements of philanthropic reform, and could 
 not accept, either for himself or others, any project 
 that put into the second rank the virtues of independ 
 ence, industry, and honesty. Indeed he opposed 
 himself so bluntly and broadly to all philanthropic 
 reforms and their advocates as almost to appear in 
 different to the welfare of the race. The isolation in 
 which he was compelled to live may have had some 
 thing to do with this habitual mode of thought; for 
 few men of equal eminence ever had so little personal 
 or intellectual contact with the liberal leaders of their 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN" IN HIS WORKS 295 
 
 time. As heredity made him stronger in antipathies 
 than in admirations and sympathies, he was necessa 
 rily a severe critic of life. His own asperity was 
 hateful to him, but he could not cut loose from that 
 side of his nature. Helped by the warmth of per 
 sonal contact and friendship, we find him judging 
 men charitably and generously ; but in the absence of 
 this humane influence he was neither charitable nor 
 generous. He did not take at their best either causes 
 or champions that he disapproved; on the contrary, 
 his keen eye never failed to find some personal weak 
 ness in a reformer, some false assumption or some 
 exaggeration; and he held this up to view with 
 caustic humor. Excepting a vile politician, no one 
 repelled him more than a reformer marked by extreme 
 views and eccentric conduct. Those from whom he 
 differed in questions of life and morals often got 
 themselves characterized as "fools." It seems but 
 just to point out that Parkman s controversial 
 papers offer the only exception to the kindliness 
 and urbanity of his manners. Those of his read 
 ers who feel that he was lacking in courtesy and 
 fairness, will understand him better if they remem 
 ber the continual inward pressure under which he 
 wrote. 
 
 A sense of civic duty made him ride hard against 
 idealists and reformers. He considered that tran 
 scendentalism was weakening to common-sense and 
 dangerous to practical aims. "The ideal reformer," 
 said he, "is generally a nuisance when he tries to 
 
296 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 deal with the broad and many-sided questions in 
 volved in the government of nations." 
 
 But with all his vehemence Parkman made no 
 personal enemies; he was too considerate to talk of 
 people lightly, and he despised gossip; his censure, 
 even the most energetic, was not only free from any 
 mean or personal motives, but made distinctly for the 
 elevation of life and character. 
 
 Parkman combined two sharply opposed beings, 
 a conservative and a liberal. In the firmness of 
 his conservatism he might be likened to a statue; 
 but the marble was aglow with a fiery zeal for growth. 
 In him conservatism was the resistant medium which 
 brought his spirit to expression, denning his aspira 
 tions nearly as well as direct statements of liberalism 
 would have done. Environment, moreover, had done 
 little for a not very elastic nature. So he continued 
 to live, with his usual loyalty and persistence, faithful 
 to the traditions of his family and community. His 
 capacity for culture may be thought to have failed in 
 giving him breadth of sympathy in citizenship ; never 
 theless, it was effective even while not changing the 
 lines of his hopes for humanity. It could have been 
 no common conservatism that mastered a man of 
 such courage and initiative, shown not by ventures 
 but by opposition to ventures. He instinctively 
 regarded changes as evils. And yet, despite the 
 historical cast of his mind, his conservatism was 
 unpoetized by any sentimental regard for tradition; 
 an idea did not attract him because of its antiquity 
 
PARKMAN AS SEEN IN HIS WORKS 297 
 
 but because of the truth it contained. Though pessi 
 mistic he was not a pessimist in the depressing, philo 
 sophic sense; his pessimism sprang from doubts not 
 of divine but of democratic wisdom; while especially 
 hating what he stigmatized as " the senseless optimism 
 which leads so many Americans to imagine that all 
 will go well in the end, whatever they may do or fail 
 to do ; and that our Ship of State cannot be wrecked, 
 whether the crew do their duty or not," 1 he recog 
 nized that " Faith is indispensable to all achievement ; 
 but it must not quarrel with common sense, nor walk 
 with eyes shut." He was a fighting, inspiring pes 
 simist, always ready to lead even a forlorn hope. His 
 essential liberality was no less real because of its con 
 finement to certain lines. While his bugbear was the 
 levelling-down tendencies of modern democratic in 
 stitutions, his hopes of civilization were unshakable, 
 standing on the worth of the individual citizen. 
 His liberality was intensely earnest in desiring what 
 ever favors the growth of character. With his love 
 of nature not stopping at the edge of the forest 
 he wished people to enjoy the utmost freedom for 
 growth, each according to his individual capacities. 
 
 Parkman s hopes, then, rested on good birth, the 
 best culture, the subordination of materialism, and the 
 leadership of worthy statesmen. For these things he 
 worked with all the enthusiasm of his nature, along 
 the lines of a conservative and high-minded student 
 of history and of life. 
 
 1 Our Common Schools, p. 1. 
 
III 
 
 SPIRITUAL GROWTH 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 PARKMAN S greatest triumph was not the writing 
 of books, but the self-command acquired in remould 
 ing his nature to his conditions. For the peculiar 
 conditions of his nervous system made everything 
 depend upon the issue, not only the execution of 
 his literary project, but also his physical health, his 
 sanity, life itself. This contest involved all the 
 forces of his being ; it showed the most striking traits 
 of his character; it occasioned the most impressive 
 experiences of his career ; it moulded his daily life ; 
 it modified his spiritual and intellectual growth ; and 
 it determined to a certain degree the methods, limits, 
 and qualities of his work. I am therefore reluctantly 
 compelled to ignore his distaste for even the mention 
 of his personal health, and give some space to its 
 consideration. 
 
 Self-mastery was doubly necessary, both from the 
 nature of his maladies and from the need of extreme 
 caution in using whatever strength they left him. 
 He literally had to remake himself. 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 299 
 
 Parkman was a pathetic figure to those who knew 
 his life, though nothing could be farther from his 
 wishes than to appear in any such character. Let 
 us rehearse for a moment the advantages of his 
 career, which made this pathos the more striking. 
 He had a boundless ambition, and his equipment for 
 its fulfilment was all that could be desired. Birth 
 and fortune had united to give him all the advan 
 tages derivable from a good social position ; he had 
 discovered the bent of his tastes and gifts at a very 
 early age, and followed them closely with zeal and 
 intelligence; he had directed his own education with 
 the utmost economy of forces to secure the special 
 culture needed for his chosen labors; travel had 
 bestowed inestimable opportunities for observing life 
 and character; the stimulus of public appreciation 
 coming early had spurred him on to complete achieve 
 ment; domestic circumstances enabled him to de 
 vote himself wholly to his work; he had the help 
 of a great theme that entirely commanded his sym 
 pathies, and focussed all his powers throughout life 
 on a field of definite extent; finally, he possessed in 
 generous measure the moral and intellectual qualities 
 needed for the execution of his task. It would 
 seem that nothing could have been lacking in the 
 happy prospect opened before him. 
 
 But almost from the start his progress was made 
 difficult, even dangerous, by shadows about him as 
 strong as the light above. He soon became not only 
 unable to mse his eyes with safety, but he was weak- 
 
300 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAtf 
 
 ened by sufferings that would have paralyzed the 
 powers and courage of most men. "The enemy," 
 like his Iroquois, often held him prisoner, and meas 
 ured out to him with pitiless atrocity just as much 
 torture as he could endure. Parkman never talked 
 of these trials ; he hardly more than hints at them in 
 his autobiographic paper, to which he confided more 
 than he ever said to even his most intimate friends. 
 Our only way of realizing the strain he successfully 
 bore is to note the strength of the faculties opposed by 
 his infirmities. We shall see that nearly every fun 
 damental tendency of his nature was refused its 
 normal action by physical and mental conditions of 
 the most exasperating and discouraging kind. These 
 deep-reaching privations touched the very heart of 
 the vigorous man, the social friend, and the ambitious 
 author. His personal inner life for a long while 
 lacked, to a painful degree, the unity and harmony 
 that marked so strongly his literary career. 
 
 Some of Parkman s strongest characteristics were 
 not shown in early youth. His teacher described 
 him as a " quiet, gentle, and docile boy; " this general 
 character, so opposed to his subsequent mercurial 
 activity, may have been due to his lack of abounding 
 health at that time. Patience was not one of his 
 natural traits. Nor was he more truthful and mag 
 nanimous than the average boy of his community. 
 We must note another youthful tendency, and one 
 that was not curbed until his moral sense had gained 
 the fullest development: a domineering spirit. This 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 301 
 
 tendency was more an expression of his independence 
 of judgment and force of will, than any mere disposi 
 tion to tyrannize or command. A masterful spirit at 
 all periods of his life, he never interfered with the 
 freedom of others, or followed petty aims or personal 
 gratifications. Without this quality of strength and 
 mastery he could not have reached his goal ; and he 
 seems never to have allowed even its defects to grow 
 beyond the clearest and most imperative needs of his 
 condition and work. 
 
 As we often have occasion to say, Parkman s 
 ruling ideal was manliness. It is not easy to give 
 the fullest impression of this quality as expressed in 
 him. It was more of the intellectual and physical 
 or martial type than of the spiritual. Yet fate denied 
 him physical activity and called upon him for the 
 utmost strength of many spiritual qualities. He 
 has told us that his first boyish fancy was "for a 
 life of action and death in battle," and we know that 
 the severest disappointment of his life was his inability 
 to enter the army during our civil war. Rarely in 
 his books does he give any expression to his own 
 feelings and tastes, but he revealed one of the deep 
 est recesses of his nature in speaking, in "The 
 Jesuits," of Maisonneuve, "The religion which 
 animated him had not destroyed the soldierly pride 
 which takes root so readily and so strongly in a manly 
 nature." 
 
 Many of Parkman s traits of mind and character 
 were distinctly those of a soldier. He liked a fight 
 
302 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 for its own sake, and for the energy, courage, and 
 strength it called forth. Especially did he warm to 
 it if the triumph of justice and freedom were helped 
 thereby. He showed particular pleasure when his 
 little granddaughter beat off two ruffian boys who 
 tried to take a sled from one of her playmates. He 
 never forgave the Quakers for refusing to fight the 
 Indians and defend the country. A newspaper arti 
 cle by him contains the following : 
 
 "In every well-balanced development of nations as of 
 individuals, the warlike instinct and the military point 
 of honor are not repressed and extinguished, but only 
 refined and civilized. It belongs to the pedagogue, not 
 to the philosopher, to declaim against them as relics of 
 barbarism." 
 
 He loved the experiences and the objective elements 
 of a military life, the activity, the adventure, 
 hardship, danger. In a larger view of his mental 
 attitude, his papers on Suffrage show that he counted 
 a great deal on physical force in government ; by his 
 temperament and his study of history, he naturally 
 exalted war to a very important role in civilization. 
 Moreover, he regarded war as a valuable aid in the 
 development of personal and national character. I 
 do not recall in his writing any recognition of its evil 
 effects on men. Despite all this, however, we can 
 not find in him any admiration for the bully or the 
 " jingo." 
 
 But Parkman s nature had even more of the mili 
 tant than these feelings and opinions would indicate, 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 303 
 
 Many of his talents fitted him especially for a mar 
 tial career. In the first place, he possessed in their 
 greatest force five of the most fundamental requisites 
 of a commander: practical wisdom, energy, courage, 
 prudence, and intellectual power. His love of order 
 and his spirit as shown in self-discipline, promised 
 well for the discipline of an army. Thanks to his 
 exceptional judgment of men, he would have been 
 most capable in selecting subordinates. Although 
 without the overflowing personal magnetism that 
 quickly wins popularity on the largest scale and in 
 fuses the masses with enthusiasm, yet he had the 
 dignity, the ability, and the genial sincerity that win 
 friendship and inspire at last the fullest confidence of 
 a people. As for the tenacity and firmness of pur 
 pose required to follow a plan to its ultimate issue, 
 no one could give more unquestionable assurance. 
 
 When the civil war caused him to look up from his 
 books, Parkman longed for a chance to serve his 
 country and try his hand. Unable to go to the war 
 himself, he gave vent to his feelings by showing a 
 keen interest in young men who could go, and by 
 writing, now and then, for the press a piece that 
 glowed with the fire and elevation of his patriotism. 
 He always remembered with bitterness his inability, 
 and closed his autobiography with an expression of 
 this disappointment, in words that suggest a deeper 
 meaning for himself than a reference to the needs of 
 the hour: "Irksome," he said, as may have been his 
 infirmities, they were "far less oppressive than the 
 
304 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 necessity they involved of being busied with the past 
 when the present has claims so urgent, and holding 
 the pen with a hand that should have grasped the 
 sword." 
 
 His love of action always pulled against his love of 
 study. Such seemingly incompatible passions are 
 rarely seen together in such force. Even in his col 
 lege days, while still in good health and much inter 
 ested in physical culture, he was remarked as a man 
 of retirement and industry, a reserved, brooding stu 
 dent, who seldom invited any one to his room, and 
 at the same time an impetuous, social youth. But 
 action was his first instinctive mode of expression, 
 his chief pleasure in life. And it was, moreover, a 
 kind of abnormal, physical necessity, as well as a 
 propensity of his mind. An incident of the Oregon 
 Trail journey shows this trait very plainly. One 
 night when Tete Rouge came to the tent and said 
 that Indians were stealing the horses, Parkman 
 seized his rifle and rushed out, erect as a target, 
 instead of following the more cautious tactics usual 
 with men of the prairies. He did so, not because 
 he was ignorant of the risk, but, having a courage 
 utterly indifferent to danger, he followed his first 
 and strongest impulse. Idleness and confinement 
 were therefore the hardest experience life could im 
 pose. Every fibre of the man recoiled from such 
 an existence, and he abominated the spirit of resig 
 nation. He tells of the trial in these words to a 
 friend, written in 1849: 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 305 
 
 " From a complete and ample experience of both, I can 
 bear witness that no amount of physical pain is so intol 
 erable as the position of being stranded, and doomed to 
 lie rotting for year after year. However, I have not yet 
 abandoned any plan which I ever formed, and I have no 
 intention of abandoning any." 
 
 The tension of the strain put upon him is well told 
 by Vassall Morton when confined in an Austrian 
 dungeon, p. 208: 
 
 "It is but a weak punishment to which Milton dooms 
 his ruined angel. Action, enterprise, achievement, a 
 hell like that is heaven to the cells of Ehrenberg. He 
 should have chained him to a rock, and left him alone to 
 the torture of bis own thoughts; the unutterable agonies 
 of a mind preying on itself for want of other sustenance. 
 Action! mured in this dungeon, the soul gasps for it as 
 the lungs for air. Action, action, action! all in all! 
 What is life without it ? A marsh, a quagmire, a rotten, 
 stagnant pool. It is its own reward. The chase is all; 
 the prize nothing." 
 
 And how personal are his reflections on the prospect 
 of no escape from his misfortunes : 
 
 " Yet it is something that I can still find heart to face 
 my doom ; that there are still moments when I dare to 
 meet this death-in-life, this slow-consuming horror, face 
 to face, and look into all its hideousness without shrink 
 ing. To creep on to my end through years of slow decay, 
 mind and soul famishing in solitude, sapped and worn, 
 eaten and fretted away, by the droppings of lonely - 
 
 20 
 
306 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 thought, till I find my rest at last under these cursed 
 stones! " 
 
 The passage is only too intimate and painful to any 
 one who knows Parkman s experience and character. 
 Yet there was no melancholy in his temperament, 
 and his consequent cheerfulness sweetened his 
 fortitude. 
 
 Parkman s love of study was second only to his 
 love of action. Lowell saw deeply into his nature 
 in speaking of his " aptitude for culture." And Park- 
 man undoubtedly recognized his own gifts and ten 
 dencies very clearly; he makes the woman who has 
 the most insight and knowledge of Vassall Morton 
 say to him (p. 372), " You seem to me a person with 
 a singular capacity of growth. You push forth fibres 
 into every soil, and draw nutriment from sources 
 most foreign to you." His weakness of eyes and 
 brain were thus one of the hardest spiritual trials he 
 could meet. And they must have been particularly 
 exasperating in his special pursuit, for historical 
 research is hunting the needle in a haystack. 
 
 But strong as was his love of study, the social 
 tendencies, too, had their way. He was never a 
 recluse in spirit, but derived the most beneficial 
 stimulus from society, being specially sensitive to the 
 charms of women. It was no light matter for this 
 virile man, this social being, this hater of asceticism, 
 to be so often restricted to the privations of a monastic 
 rule. 
 
 Those of us who knew him only in the latter part 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 307 
 
 of his life, when he had been reduced to habits of 
 quietude, find it difficult to realize the fall force of 
 his ardor. The quiet, reserved manner, the firm 
 stand on common sense, the conservative prudence in 
 all things, the serene self-command in daily life might 
 well deceive even a close observer. His repression 
 of native impetuosity was the more remarkable since 
 this trait was reinforced by great nervous irritability, 
 and this again increased by continued insomnia. 
 After ill health had denied him freedom in exercise, 
 his excess of vital force could find vent only in out 
 bursts of strong language. Mr. Frothingham said of 
 him: 
 
 " Again and again he had to restrain the impulse to 
 say vehement things, or to do violent deeds without the 
 least provocation, but he maintained so absolutely his 
 moral self-control that none but the closest observer would 
 notice any deviation from the most perfect calm and 
 serenity. " 
 
 Nervousness was never allowed to pass into external 
 agitation, or the irritability seen in so many high- 
 strung and able men. Parkman spared himself and 
 others such waste of vitality and of peace. Fortitude 
 guided by common sense certainly proved his salva 
 tion, in enabling him to plan his labors, husband his 
 forces, regulate his habits of living, and make possi 
 ble the execution of his work. Few men have been 
 so severely tested and have shown these virtues raised 
 to so high a power. His fortitude seems to have been 
 
308 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 equal to any emergency. Perhaps it received early 
 stimulus from the many examples of endurance he 
 met in the study of his historical personages, the 
 Indian singing his death-song throughout mortal 
 tortures, the missionary meeting martyrdom with 
 enthusiasm, the endurance of the heroic Jogues, La 
 Salle, and many others. 
 
 Parkman s philosophy of life should be included in 
 this account of his basic qualities and their relation to 
 his experience. The average man can live from 
 day to day, blindly obedient to his instincts or am 
 bitions, long before he sees his ideal and grasps it. 
 He is the common sailor, feeling no responsibility be 
 yond the hour of his watch. But a man of Park 
 man s self-commanding nature must have a port of 
 destination and a compass for directing his course. 
 Referring to his labors as related to his health, he 
 said: "Under the most favorable conditions, it was 
 a slow and doubtful navigation, beset with reefs 
 and breakers, demanding a constant lookout and a 
 constant throwing of the lead." These words are 
 more or less applicable to the dangers he was likely 
 to meet in his mental and moral growth. What could 
 a man do, destined to such a voyage under such 
 clouds and storms, without a beckoning ideal above 
 the mists! 
 
 And what was Parkman s philosophy of life ? We 
 ask the question with eagerness, but we cannot 
 hope to get complete satisfaction in the matter. His 
 habitual reserve kept him from talking on a subject 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 309 
 
 so intimate; and the only written statement of his 
 philosophy is this passage from his diary of 1846, 
 written at St. Louis, just before starting on the 
 Oregon Trail journey. " The true philosophy of life 
 is to seize with a ready and strong hand all the 
 good in it, and to bear its inevitable evils as calmly 
 and carelessly as may be." This creed, in its general 
 lightness of tone, is not quite in accord with his life 
 and character taken as a whole ; but it was probably 
 true to his hopes and aims in the full vigor and 
 freedom of youth. We cannot help observing, how 
 ever, that it points somewhat away from his self- 
 sacrificing devotion to duty, and sounds a false note 
 in regard to his earnestness. He took life too 
 seriously, albeit calmly, to allow of any carelessness, 
 even at that age. Yet the profession is interesting 
 as furnishing us with his moral starting-point in 
 youth. 
 
 The whole aspect of life changed a few years later, 
 when disease had fastened upon him, bringing so 
 much pain and such discouraging obstacles to the 
 attainment of his ambition. But there is no evidence 
 that he added anything to his earliest creed except 
 ing a greater emphasis of endurance. He sat down 
 in his study to his trials and labors with a clenched 
 fist and a set jaw, and took as his motto " Grin and 
 bear it." This motto expressed fully the grimness of 
 his experience and the resistant force of his manhood. 
 Thenceforth it remained his essential philosophy of 
 life, though in later years it was refined by the devel- 
 
310 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 opment of a gentler spirit. The next glimpse we 
 have of his inward feelings was given me by a friend 
 who remembered a conversation with him on ship 
 board while crossing the Atlantic in 1858. Parkman 
 then expressed a perfect conviction that happiness is 
 not to be expected in this world. Nothing Avas said 
 of the hereafter. The last evidence of his philo 
 sophic standpoint is furnished by a remark made only 
 a year or two before his death. Reading the Thoughts 
 of M. Aurelius Antoninus, he said: "That s about 
 as good a philosophy of life as you can get." This 
 passing remark was taken as an unusual confidence 
 by the daughter to whom he spoke, and from him 
 it indeed meant volumes. Mr. Frothingham said: 
 " The Stoics never had a nobler disciple than Francis 
 Parkman." This is very true in many ways, yet not 
 in all. Parkman must have had little interest in the 
 theories and abstractions on which the Stoics estab 
 lished their physical, theological, and ethical princi 
 ples, though he found himself at home in the solid 
 elements of their purely practical morality. He was 
 closest to them in his love of their four cardinal vir 
 tues, " wisdom, or the knowledge of good and evil ; 
 justice, or the giving to every man his due; forti 
 tude, or the enduring of labor and pain ; and temper 
 ance, which is moderation in all things." He eagerly 
 accepted their large conception that the end of man 
 is to live in conformity with nature, but was utterly 
 opposed to some of their chief aims. Just because 
 he agreed that we should conform to nature, he prob- 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 311 
 
 ably denied that we should be indifferent to pleasure 
 and pain, and despised any man for being or trying to 
 be devoid of passion. To him feeling was the central 
 force in character. Instead, then, of accepting the 
 passive theory that all things in life are governed by 
 unavoidable necessity, he believed in free will and 
 the power of men to shape events. By all his chief- 
 est virtues he was more Spartan than Stoic. 
 
 Parkman apparently derived little or no support 
 from religion in his struggle for self-mastery. None 
 of his writings contain any expression of religious 
 aspirations or reflections ; he was a stranger to relig 
 ious emotion, so far as we can judge; and he never 
 ceased to be more or less in antagonism towards the 
 clergy in general, towards all theological organiza 
 tions, towards the spiritual elements of life and char 
 acter, even taken independently of any religious 
 method of culture. Mr. Frothingham says : 
 
 " Parkman belonged rather to the ethical than to the 
 spiritual order of men, those who are so admirably 
 described by Eev. James Martineau in his discourse on 
 the Christian Doctrine of Merit. Till somebody has 
 a conscience, nobody can feel a law. Accordingly, we 
 everywhere meet with a higher order of men, who not 
 only comprehend the wishes, but respect the rights of 
 others; who are ruled, not by expectation without, but 
 by the sense of obligation within; who do, not the agree 
 able, but the just; and even amid the storm of public 
 rage, can stand fast with rooted foot and airy brow, like 
 the granite mountain in the sea. Noble, however, as 
 
312 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 this foundation of uprightness always is, there may arise 
 from it a self-estimate too proud and firm. If the stern 
 consciousness of personal worth have no kindling of 
 diviner aspiration, it will give the lofty sense of personal 
 merit that makes the stoic and misses the saint. We do 
 nothing well till we know our worth ; nothing best till 
 we forget it. 7 ; 
 
 Parkman was more a man of action and observa 
 tion than of worship, at any shrine whatsoever, 
 whether that of nature, art, humanity, or religion. 
 He would thus naturally remain on the outskirts, 
 mostly a spectator of religious movements. And yet 
 there was a religious side to his nature. It may 
 be said that he moved on with his times in reli 
 gious opinions. He was one of many distinguished 
 New Englanders, descendants of clergymen, who in 
 their personal development went through the same 
 religious evolution that has been seen in society. 
 Parkman began with the early Unitarian opinions 
 found in Channing; then he embraced the more 
 natural and manly religion of Parker ; and he ended 
 in the agnosticism that makes it impossible to sub 
 scribe to any definite statement regarding the Un 
 known. His attitude is shown by this bit of intimate 
 conversation with his sister Eliza. One day when 
 they were rowing on Jamaica Pond she said: "If I 
 should be asked about your religious beliefs, it seems 
 to me I might say that you are a reverent Agnostic." 
 "Yes, that s about it." 
 
 He gave a fuller statement in the following letter, 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 313 
 
 written in September, 1887, on the reception of a 
 book entitled " The Safe Side " : 
 
 " The opinion that Christ was not a person of super 
 human origin has been embraced of late years by many 
 thoughtful men and has been discussed in many places, 
 sometimes by writers with knowledge and reflection, and 
 sometimes by those indifferently provided with either. 
 It seems to me that the world has outgrown the dogmatic 
 part of Christianity which has certainly been the source 
 of misery enough in the past especially the doctrine 
 of exclusive salvation which is the main source of 
 persecution. 
 
 "But when one compares Christianity on its ethical 
 side with all other religious systems, with the partial 
 exception of Buddhism, one cannot but feel that whether 
 we believe in its supernatural origin or not, it is to be 
 accepted with a reverent gratitude as a vast boon to 
 mankind. 7 
 
 It is evident that his interest in religion was limited 
 chiefly to its ethics. He very rarely refers to religion 
 in his books, even in the history of Canada, which 
 turns so largely on this element. We find no more 
 than a bare reference to it now and then, as " the 
 great principles of Christian truth," 1 or "that prin 
 ciple of self-abnegation which is the life of true reli 
 gion, and which is vital, no less, to the highest forms 
 of heroism." 2 Here we catch the personal note, the 
 reflection of his ideal and his experience. 
 
 Despite his agnosticism, however, and although 
 
 1 The Jesuits, p. 146. 
 
314 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 there is no writing to support the opinion, I think he 
 believed in the government of the universe by a power 
 that directs life continually to better ends. He said 
 in a letter, "My faith, such as it is, is strong and 
 earnest;" 1 and he is reported as believing that the 
 possibilities of a future life were a sufficient motive 
 for striving to develop the best possible character. 
 
 It may be interesting now to glance at his philoso 
 phy from the opposite standpoint, and see it crystal 
 lized in practical virtues. In the following passage, 
 summing up the qualities of his ideal hero, Vassall 
 Morton, 2 he also presents to any one who knew 
 Parkman an autobiographic sketch of the most im 
 pressive and touching veracity. 
 
 " Manhood, the proudest of all possessions to a man, is 
 that unflinching quality, which, strong in generous 
 thought and high purpose, bears onward towards its 
 goal, knowing no fear but the fear of God; wise, pru 
 dent, calm, yet daring and hoping all things ; not dis 
 mayed by reverses, nor elated by success, never bending 
 nor receding; wearying out ill fortune by undespairing 
 constancy; unconquered by pain or sorrow, or deferred 
 hope; fiery in attack, steadfast in resistance, unshaken 
 in the front of death; and when courage is vain, and 
 hope seems folly, when crushing calamity presses it to 
 the earth, and the exhausted body will no longer obey 
 the still undaunted mind, then putting forth its hardest, 
 saddest heroism, the unlaurelled heroism of endurance, 
 patiently biding its time." 
 
 i To Abb6 Casgrain, Feb. 13, 1868. 2 P. 362. 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 315 
 
 To the student of his life the most interesting 
 writing left by the historian is a fragment of an 
 autobiographic letter written in 1868 to his friend 
 the late Dr. George E. Ellis. Parkman was going 
 abroad for medical advice and historical research. 
 His health was such that he feared he might not be 
 spared to complete his series of works. He then 
 wrote this paper, sealed it up, and inscribed it " Not 
 to be used during my life." The following note 
 inclosed with it explains some of the motives from 
 which the paper sprang: 
 
 50 CHESTNUT ST., 28 Nov. 1868. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Running my eye over this paper, 
 I am more than ever struck with its egoism, which makes 
 it totally unfit for any eye but that of one in close per 
 sonal relations with me. 
 
 It resulted from a desire natural, perhaps, but which 
 may just as well be suppressed to make known the 
 extreme difficulties which have reduced to very small 
 proportions what might otherwise have been a good meas 
 ure of achievement. Having once begun it, I went on 
 with it, though convinced that it was wholly unsuited to 
 see the light. 
 
 Physiologically considered, the case is rather curious. 
 My plan of life from the first was such as would have 
 secured great bodily vigor in nineteen cases out of 
 twenty, and was only defeated in its aim by an inborn 
 irritability of constitution which required gentler treat 
 ment than I gave it. If I had my life to live over again, 
 I would follow exactly the same course again, only with 
 less vehemence. Very cordially, 
 
 F. PARKMAN. 
 
316 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAH 
 
 The autobiographical fragment is considered by 
 some of his friends to be a regrettable production. 
 They think it gives an impression of morbidness 
 quite foreign to the writer s nature and presence; 
 and they regret the publication of such intimate de 
 tails of his physical and mental condition. The 
 paper reflects the self-consciousness and introspection 
 common to New Englanders. Both Puritan repres 
 sion and Southern impulse contended for the control 
 of this man s pen. But the morbidness comes from 
 the facts related and the inevitable apprehensions of 
 the hour, rather than from any morbidness of temper 
 ament. As for the personal details, they were much 
 better explained by his own hand than by any other ; 
 besides, they were quite indispensable to one of his 
 aims in writing the paper, namely, to make known 
 the gravity of the difficulties that had so retarded 
 the progress of his work, and that might prevent its 
 completion. For it may be noted that he had abstained 
 from making any appeal to the sympathy of the 
 public, to its lenience in judging his work, on the 
 score of his infirmities ; these are barely hinted at in 
 a preface or two, as an explanation of the delays in 
 publishing the successive volumes of his series. The 
 paper is largely a pathological document that he be 
 lieved might be of use in the future. We must 
 admit, however, that it seems somewhat out of keep 
 ing with his general reserve, and his strong distaste 
 for any approach to the egotistic. And there is to be 
 noted the additional fact that he wrote a second paper 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 317 
 
 in 1886 of the same character; this one he wished 
 to be given, after his death, to the Massachusetts 
 Historical Society. With his remarkable memory it 
 is hardly possible that he could have forgotten the 
 existence of the first one. Perhaps he regarded its 
 preservation in any private hands as less certain than 
 in the archives of this Society. These papers seem to 
 me to have had still another source in a motive very 
 natural to a man of his pride and integrity. He de 
 sired, in case of not being spared to finish his task, to 
 make sure of his clearance from the slightest suspi 
 cion of having done less than his utmost. At all 
 events, we may be thankful for so full a note of 
 his personality and inner experiences. Still another 
 word may preface it. His most insidious enemy was 
 brain trouble. His physician in Paris, the most 
 noted specialist of his day, had said that he might 
 go insane, and that his cure was extremely doubt 
 ful. The wisdom of making known this diagnosis 
 to the patient has been questioned ; but it was per 
 haps the only course, in view of the precautions that 
 had to be an important element of his daily life. 
 In his autobiography he speaks of these medical 
 opinions and his danger in the jocose way frequent 
 with him in mentioning even his worst condition. 
 But the matter inevitably weighed at times upon his 
 mind. He occasionally expressed wonder at not 
 going insane with so much nervous exhaustion from 
 insomnia; and he asked one or two intimate literary 
 friends to watch for signs of mental disorder in his 
 
318 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 writings. His French physicians were all the more 
 justified in their apprehensions by their ignorance of 
 the New England character. They could not con 
 ceive of a man with a will and a power of self-control 
 equal to any trial, however severe or protracted. 
 
 Although we have made several extracts from this 
 production, its importance justifies us in presenting 
 it now entire. When the package of posthumous 
 manuscript was opened, it lacked the first seven 
 pages, which for some reason Parkman had decided 
 to reserve. The story begins abruptly thus: 
 
 " Allusion was made at the outset to obstacles which 
 have checked the progress of the work, if the name of 
 obstacles can be applied to obstructions at times impass 
 able and of such a nature that even to contend against 
 them would have been little else than an act of self- 
 destruction. The case in question is certainly an excep 
 tional one; but as it has analogies with various other 
 cases, not rare under the stimulus of our social and 
 material influences, a knowledge of it may prove of use. 
 For this as for otber reasons, the writer judges it expedi 
 ent to state it in full, though in doing so much personal 
 detail must needs be involved. 
 
 " His childhood was neither healthful nor buoyant. 
 His boyhood though for a time active, was not robust, 
 and at the age of eleven or twelve he conceived a 
 vehement liking for pursuits, a devotion to which at 
 that time of life far oftener indicates a bodily defect 
 than a mental superiority. Chemical experiment was 
 his favorite hobby, and he pursued it with a tenacious 
 eagerness which, well guided, would have led to some 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 319 
 
 acquaintance with the rudiments of the science, but 
 which in fact served little other purpose than injuring 
 him by confinement, poisoning him with noxious gases, 
 and occasionally scorching him with some ill-starred 
 explosion. 1 
 
 " The age of fifteen or sixteen produced a revolution. 
 At that momentous period of life retorts and crucibles 
 were forever discarded, and an activity somewhat exces 
 sive took the place of voluntary confinement. A new 
 passion seized him, which, but half gratified, still holds 
 its force. He became enamoured of the woods, a fancy 
 which soon gained full control over the course of literary 
 pursuits to which he was also addicted. After the usual 
 boyish phases of ambitious self-ignorance, he resolved 
 to confine his homage to the Muse of History, as being 
 less apt than her wayward sisters to requite his devotion 
 with a mortifying rebuff. At the age of eighteen the 
 plan which he is still attempting to execute was, in its 
 most essential features, formed. His idea was clear 
 before him, yet attended with unpleasant doubts as to 
 his ability to realize it to his own satisfaction. To solve 
 
 1 In the second paper he gave some additional facts in regard to 
 his childhood. He there writes : " At eight years I was sent to a 
 farm belonging to my maternal grandfather, on the outskirts of 
 the extensive tract of wild and rough woodland now called Middle 
 sex Pells. I walked twice a day to a school of high but undeserved 
 reputation, about a mile distant, in the town of Medford. Here I 
 learned very little, and spent the intervals of schooling more pro 
 fitably in collecting eggs, insects, and reptiles, trapping squirrels 
 and woodchucks, and making persistent though rarely fortunate 
 attempts to kill birds with arrows. After four years of this rus 
 tication I was brought back to Boston, when I was unhappily 
 seized with a mania for experiments in chemistry, involving a 
 lonely, confined, unwholesome sort of life, baneful to body and 
 mind." 
 
320 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 these doubts lie entered upon a training tolerably well 
 fitted to serve his purpose, slighted all college studies 
 which could not promote it, and pursued with avidity 
 such as had a bearing upon it, however indirect. 1 
 
 " The task, as he then reckoned, would require about 
 twenty years. The time allowed was ample ; but here he 
 fell into a fatal error, entering on this long pilgrimage 
 with all the vehemence of one starting on a mile heat. 
 His reliance, however, was less on books than on such 
 personal experience as should in some sense identify him 
 with his theme. His natural inclinations urged him in 
 the same direction, for his thoughts were always in the 
 forests, whose features, not unmixed with softer images, 
 possessed his waking and sleeping dreams, filling him 
 with vague cravings impossible to satisfy. As fond of 
 hardships as he was vain of enduring them, cherishing a 
 sovereign scorn for every physical weakness or defect, 
 deceived, moreover, by a rapid development of frame and 
 sinews, which flattered him with the belief that discipline 
 sufficiently unsparing would harden him into an athlete, 
 he slighted the precautions of a more reasonable wood 
 craft, tired old foresters with long marches, stopped 
 neither for heat nor rain, and slept on the earth without 
 
 1 In the second paper he said : " Before the end of the sopho 
 more year my various schemes had crystallized into a plan of 
 writing a story of what was then known as the Old French War, 
 that is, the war that ended in the conquest of Canada, for here, 
 as it seemed to me, the forest drama was more stirring and the 
 forest stage more thronged with appropriate actors than in any 
 other passage of our history. It was not till some years later that 
 I enlarged the plan to include the whole course of the American 
 conflict between France and England, or, in other words, the 
 history of the American forest; for this was the light in which 
 I regarded it. My theme fascinated me, and I was haunted with 
 wilderness images day and night." 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 321 
 
 a blanket. 1 Another cause added not a little to the 
 growing evil. It was impossible that conditions of the 
 nervous system abnormal as his had been from infancy, 
 should be without their effects on the mind, and some 
 of these were of a nature highly to exasperate him. Un 
 conscious of their character and origin, and ignorant 
 that with time and confirmed health they would have 
 disappeared, he had no other thought than that of crush 
 ing them by force, and accordingly applied himself to 
 the work. Hence resulted a state of mental tension, 
 habitual for several years, and abundantly mischievous 
 in its effects. With a mind overstrained and a body 
 overtasked, he was burning his caudle at both ends. 
 
 "But if a systematic and steady course of physical 
 activity can show no better result, have not the advan 
 tages of such a course been overrated? In behalf of man 
 hood and common sense, he would protest against such a 
 conclusion; and if any pale student, glued to his desk 
 here, seek an apology for a way of life whose natural fruit 
 is that pallid and emasculate scholarship of which New 
 England has had too many examples, it will be far better 
 that this sketch had not been written. For the student 
 
 1 Referring to this period, he wrote in his second letter to Mr. 
 Brimmer : " I spent all my summer vacation in the woods or in 
 Canada, at the same time reading such books as I thought suited, 
 in a general way, to help me towards my object. I pursued these 
 lucubrations with a pernicious intensity, keeping my plans and 
 purposes to myself while passing among my companions as an 
 outspoken fellow." And of a little later period, when in the Law 
 School, he writes : " Here, while following the prescribed courses 
 at a quiet pace, I entered in earnest on two other courses, one of 
 general history, the other of Indian history and ethnology, and at 
 the same time studied diligently the models of English style, which 
 various pursuits were far from excluding the pleasures of society." 
 
 21 
 
322 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAIST 
 
 there is, in its season, no better place than the saddle, 
 and no better companion than the rifle or the oar. A 
 highly irritable organism spurred the writer to excess in a 
 course which, with one of different temperament, would 
 have produced a free and hardy development of such 
 faculties and forces as he possessed. Nor, even in the case 
 in question, was the evil unmixed, since from the same 
 source whence it issued came also the habit of mind and 
 muscular vigor which saved him from a ruin absolute and 
 irremediable. 
 
 "In his own behalf, he is tempted to add to this digres 
 sion another. Though the seat of derangement may be 
 the nervous system, it does not of necessity follow that the 
 subject is that which, in the common sense of the word, is 
 called nervous. 7 The writer was now and then felici 
 tated on having no nerves by those who thought them 
 selves maltreated by that mysterious portion of human 
 organism. 
 
 "This subterranean character of the mischief, early 
 declaring itself at the surface, doubtless increased its 
 intensity, while it saved it from being a nuisance to those 
 around. 
 
 "Of the time when, leaving college, he entered nominally 
 on the study of law, though in fact with the determina 
 tion that neither this nor any other pursuit should stand 
 in the path of his projects, his recollection is of mingled 
 pain and pleasure. His faculties were stimulated to their 
 best efficiency. Never, before or since, has he known so 
 great a facility of acquisition and comprehension. Soon, 
 however, he became conscious that the impelling force was 
 growing beyond his control. Labor became a passion, 
 and rest intolerable, yet with a keen appetite for social 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 323 
 
 enjoyment, in which he found not only a pleasure, but in 
 some sense a repose. The stimulus rapidly increased. 
 Despite of judgment and of will, his mind turned con 
 stantly towards remote objects of pursuit, and strained 
 vehemently to attain them. The condition was that of a 
 rider whose horse runs headlong, the bit between his teeth, 
 or of a locomotive, built of indifferent material, under a 
 head of steam too great for its strength, hissing at a score 
 of crevices, yet rushing on with accelerating speed to the 
 inevitable smash. 
 
 " A specific sign of the mischief soon appeared in a weak 
 ness of sight, increasing with an ominous rapidity. 
 Doubtless to study with the eyes of another is practicable, 
 yet the expedient is not an eligible one, and the writer 
 bethought him of an alternative. It was essential to his 
 plans to give an inside view of Indian life. This then was 
 the time at once to accomplish the object and rest his fail 
 ing vision. Accordingly he went to the Rocky Mountains, 
 but he had reckoned without his host. A complication of 
 severe disorders here seized him, and at one time narrowly 
 missed bringing both him and his schemes to an abrupt 
 termination, but, yielding to a system of starvation, at 
 length assumed an intermittent and much less threatening 
 form. A concurrence of circumstances left him but one 
 means of accomplishing his purpose. This was to follow 
 a large band of Ogillallah Indians, known to have crossed 
 the Black Hill range a short time before. Reeling in the 
 saddle with weakness and pain, he set forth, attended by 
 a Canadian hunter. With much difficulty the trail was 
 found, the Black Hills crossed, the reluctance of his fol 
 lower overcome, and the Indians discovered on the fifth 
 day encamped near the Medicine Bow range of the Rocky 
 
324 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Mountains. On a journey of a hundred miles, over a 
 country in parts of the roughest, he had gained rather 
 than lost strength, while his horse was knocked up and his 
 companion disconsolate with a painful cough. Joining the 
 Indians, he followed their wanderings for several weeks. 
 To have worn the airs of an invalid would certainly have 
 been an indiscretion, since in that case a horse, a rifle, a 
 pair of pistols, and a red shirt might have offered tempta 
 tions too strong for aboriginal virtue. Yet to hunt 
 buffalo on horseback, over a broken country, when, with 
 out the tonic of the chase, he could scarcely sit upright in 
 the saddle, was not strictly necessary for maintaining the 
 requisite prestige. The sport, however, was good, and the 
 faith undoubting that, to tame the devil, it is best to take 
 him by the horns. 
 
 " As to the advantages of this method of dealing with 
 that subtle personage, some question may have arisen in 
 his mind, when, returning after a few months to the set 
 tlements, he found himself in a condition but ill adapted 
 to support his theory. To the maladies of the prairie 
 succeeded a suite of exhausting disorders, so reducing him 
 that circulation at the extremities ceased, the light of the 
 sun became insupportable, and a wild whirl possessed his 
 brain, joined to a universal turmoil of the nervous system 
 which put his philosophy to the sharpest test it had 
 hitherto known. All collapsed, in short, but the tena 
 cious strength of muscles hardened by long activity. 
 This condition was progressive, and did not reach its 
 height or, to speak more fitly, its depth until some 
 eighteen months after his return. The prospect before 
 him was by no means attractive, contrasting somewhat 
 pointedly with his boyish fancy of a life of action and a 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 325 
 
 death in battle. Indeed, the change from intense activity 
 to flat stagnation, attended with an utter demolition of 
 air-castles, may claim a place, not of the meanest, in that 
 legion of mental tortures which make the torments of the 
 Inferno seem endurable. The desire was intense to return 
 to the prairie and try a hair of the dog that bit him j but 
 this kill-or-cure expedient was debarred by the certainty 
 that a few days exposure to the open sunlight would 
 have destroyed his sight. 
 
 " In the spring of 1848, the condition indicated being 
 then at its worst, the writer resolved to attempt the com 
 position of the History of the Conspiracy of Pontiac, 
 of which the material had been for some time collected and 
 the ground prepared. The difficulty was so near to the 
 impossible that the line of distinction often disappeared, 
 while medical prescience condemned the plan as a short 
 road to dire calamities. His motive, however, was in 
 part a sanitary one, growing out of a conviction that 
 nothing could be more deadly to his bodily and mental 
 health than the entire absence of a purpose and an object. 
 The difficulties were threefold: an extreme weakness of 
 sight, disabling him even from writing his name except 
 with eyes closed: a condition of the brain prohibiting 
 fixed attention except at occasional and brief intervals; 
 and an exhaustion and total derangement of the ner 
 vous system, producing of necessity a mood of mind 
 most unfavorable to effort. To be made with impu 
 nity, the attempt must be made with the most watchful 
 caution. 
 
 " He caused a wooden frame to be constructed of the 
 size and shape of a sheet of letter paper. Stout wires 
 were fixed horizontally across it, half an inch apart, and 
 
326 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 a movable back of thick pasteboard fitted behind them. 
 The paper for writing was placed between the pasteboard 
 and the wires, guided by which, and using a black lead 
 crayon, he could write not illegibly with closed eyes. 
 He was at the time absent from home, on Staten Island, 
 where, and in the neighboring citj- of New York, he 
 had friends who willingly offered their aid. It is need 
 less to say to which half of humanity nearly all these 
 kind assistants belonged. He chose for a beginning that 
 part of the work which offered fewest difficulties and with 
 the subject of which he was most familiar, namely the 
 Siege of Detroit. The books and documents, already 
 partially arranged, were procured from Boston, and read 
 to him at such times as he could listen to them, the 
 length of each reading never, without injury, much ex 
 ceeding half an hour, and periods of several days fre 
 quently occurring during which he could not listen at 
 all. Notes were made by him with closed eyes, and 
 afterwards deciphered and read to him till he had 
 mastered them. For the first half year, the rate of 
 composition averaged about six lines a day. The por 
 tion of the book thus composed was afterwards partially 
 rewritten. 
 
 "His health improved under the process, and the re 
 mainder of the volume in other words, nearly the 
 whole of it was composed in Boston, while pacing in 
 the twilight of a large garret, the only exercise which 
 the sensitive condition of his sight permitted him in an 
 unclouded day while the sun was above the horizon. It 
 was afterwards written down from dictation by relatives 
 under the same roof, to whom he was also indebted for 
 the preparatory readings. His progress was much less 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 327 
 
 tedious than at the outset, and the history was complete 
 in about two years and a half. 
 
 "He then entered upon the subject of France in the 
 New World, a work, or series of works, involving 
 minute and extended investigation. The difficulties 
 which met him at the outset were incalculable. Wholly 
 unable to use his eyes, he had before him the task, irk 
 some at best where there is no natural inclination for 
 it, of tracing out, collecting, indexing, arranging, and 
 digesting a great mass of incongruous material scattered 
 on both sides of the Atlantic. Those pursuing historical 
 studies under the disadvantages of impaired sight have 
 not hitherto attempted in person this kind of work dur 
 ing the period of their disability, but have deputed it 
 to skilled and trusty assistants, a most wise course in 
 cases where it is practicable. The writer, however, partly 
 from the nature of his subject and his plan, though in 
 special instances receiving very valuable aid, was forced 
 in the main to rely on his own research. The language 
 was chiefly French, and the reader was a girl from the 
 public schools, ignorant of any tongue but her own. The 
 effect, though highly amusing to bystanders, was far 
 from being so to the person endeavoring to follow the 
 meaning of this singular jargon. Catalogues, indexes, 
 tables of contents in abundance were, however, read, 
 and correspondence opened with those who could lend 
 aid or information. Good progress had been made in 
 the preliminary surveys, and many books examined and 
 digested on a systematic plan for future reference, when 
 a disaster befell the writer which set his calculations at 
 naught. 
 
 " This was an effusion of water on the left knee, in the 
 
A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAIST 
 
 autumn of 1851. A partial recovery was followed by a 
 relapse, involving a close confinement of two years and 
 a weakened and sensitive condition of the joint from 
 which it has never recovered. The effects of the confine 
 ment were as curious as unenviable. All the irritability 
 of the system centred in the head. The most definite 
 of the effects produced was one closely resembling the 
 tension of an iron band, secured round the head and con 
 tracting with an extreme force, with the attempt to con 
 centrate the thoughts, listen to reading, or at times to 
 engage in conversation. This was, however, endurable 
 in comparison with other forms of attack which cannot 
 be intelligibly described from the want of analogous 
 sensations by which to convey the requisite impressions. 
 The brain was stimulated to a restless activity, impelling 
 through it a headlong current of thought which, however, 
 must be arrested and the irritated organ held in quies 
 cence on a penalty to avert which no degree of exertion 
 was too costly. The whirl, the confusion, and strange 
 undefined torture attending this condition are only to be 
 conceived by one who has felt them. Possibly they may 
 have analogies in the savage punishment once in use 
 in some of our prisons, where drops of water were made 
 to fall from a height on the shaved head of the offender, 
 soon producing an effect which brought to reason the 
 most contumacious. Sleep, of course, was banished dur 
 ing the periods of attack, and in its place was demanded, 
 for the exclusion of thought, an effort more severe than 
 the writer has ever put forth in any other cause. In a 
 few hours, however, a condition of exhaustion would 
 ensue; and, both patient and disease being spent, tho 
 latter fell into a dull lethargic stage far more support 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 329 
 
 able. Excitement or alarm would probably have proved 
 wholly ruinous. 
 
 " These were the extreme conditions of the disorder 
 which has reached two crises, one at the end of 1853, 
 the other in 1858. In the latter case it was about four 
 years before the power of mental application was in the 
 smallest degree restored, nor, since the first year of the 
 confinement has there been any waking hour when he has 
 not been in some degree conscious of the presence of the 
 malady. Influences tending to depress the mind have at 
 all times proved far less injurious than those tending to 
 excite, or even pleasurably exhilarate, and a lively con 
 versation has often been a cause of serious mischief. A 
 cautious vigilance has been necessary from the first, and 
 this cerebral devil has perhaps had his uses as a teacher 
 of philosophy. 
 
 " Meanwhile the Faculty of Medicine were not idle, dis 
 play ing that exuberance of resource for which that remark 
 able profession is justly famed. The wisest, indeed, did 
 nothing, commending his patient to time and faith ; but 
 the activity of his brethren made full amends for this 
 masterly inaction. One was for tonics, another for a diet 
 of milk, one counselled galvanism, another hydropathy ; 
 one scarred him behind the neck with nitric acid, another 
 drew red-hot irons along his spine with a view of enliven 
 ing that organ. Opinion was divergent as practice. One 
 assured him of recovery in six years; another thought 
 that he would never recover. Another, with grave cir 
 cumlocution, lest the patient should take fright, informed 
 him that he was the victim of an organic disease of the 
 brain, which must needs despatch him to another world 
 within a twelvemonth; and he stood amazed a?t the smile 
 
330 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAST 
 
 of an auditor who neither cared for the announcement nor 
 believed it. Another, an eminent physiologist of Paris, 
 after an acquaintance of three months, one day told him 
 that, from the nature of the disorder, he had at first sup 
 posed that it must in accordance with precedent be at 
 tended with insanity, and had ever since been studying 
 him to discover under what form the supposed aberration 
 declared itself, adding, with a somewhat humorous look, 
 that his researches had not been rewarded with the small 
 est success. 
 
 " In the severer periods of the disorder, books were dis 
 carded for horticulture, which benign pursuit has proved 
 most salutary in its influences. One year, four years, 
 and numerous short intervals, lasting from a day to a 
 month, represent these literary interruptions since the 
 work in hand was begun. Under the most favorable con 
 ditions, it was a slow and doubtful navigation, beset with 
 reefs and breakers, demanding a constant look-out and a 
 constant throwing of the lead. Of late years, however, 
 the condition of the sight has so far improved as to per 
 mit reading, not exceeding, on the average, five minutes 
 at one time. This modicum of power, though apparently 
 trifling, proved of the greatest service, since, by a cau 
 tious management, its application may be extended. By 
 reading for one minute, and then resting for an equal 
 time, this alternate process may generally be continued 
 for about half an hour. Then, after a sufficient interval, 
 it may be repeated, often three or four times in the course 
 of the day. By this means nearly the whole of the vol 
 ume now offered has been composed. When the con 
 ditions were such as to render systematic application 
 possible, a reader has been employed, usually a pupil of 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 331 
 
 the public schools. On one occasion, however, the ser 
 vices of a young man, highly intelligent, and an excellent 
 linguist, were obtained for a short time. With such as 
 sistance every difficulty vanished, but it could not long 
 be continued. 
 
 "At present the work, or rather the series of separate 
 works, stands as follows : Most of the material is collected 
 or within reach. Another volume, on the Jesuits in North 
 America, is one-third written. Another, on the French 
 Explorers of the Great West, is half written ; while a 
 third, devoted to the checkered career of Louis de Buade, 
 Comte de Frontenac, is partially arranged for composition. 
 Each work is designed to be a unit in itself, independently 
 of the rest ; but the whole, taken as a series, will form a 
 connected history of France in the New World. 1 
 
 "How far, by a process combining the slowness of the 
 tortoise with the uncertainty of the hare, an undertaking 
 of close and extended research can be advanced, is a ques 
 tion to solve which there is no aid from precedent, since 
 it does not appear that an attempt under similar circum 
 stances has hitherto been made. The writer looks, how 
 ever, for a fair degree of success. 2 
 
 1 In the second letter he said : While engaged on these books, 
 I made many journeys in the United States and Canada in search of 
 material, and went four times to Europe with a similar object. The 
 task of exploring archives and collecting documents, to me repul 
 sive at the best, was under the circumstances difficult, and would 
 have been impossible but for the aid of competent assistants work 
 ing under my direction." 
 
 2 In writing his second letter he said : " Taking the last forty 
 years as a whole, the capacity of literary work, which during that 
 time has fallen to my share has, I am confident, been considerably 
 less than a fourth part of what it would have been under normal 
 conditions." 
 
332 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 " Irksome as may be the requirements of conditions so 
 anomalous, they are far less oppressive than the necessity 
 they involve of being busied with the past when the pres 
 ent has claims so urgent, and holding the pen with a hand 
 that should have grasped the sword." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PARKMAN S spiritual growth is naturally the most 
 interesting element of his biography, but it is also 
 the most obscure. In attempting to follow it we 
 can see some of his dangers, arising from the defects 
 of his qualities and the demands of his labor and 
 experience; but we cannot so easily follow the 
 aspirations of his reserved nature, or the efforts and 
 influences by which he brought his character to its 
 mellow maturity. 
 
 His promontory of a chin and his expression of 
 firmness might well cause some apprehensions as to 
 spiritual qualities. He appears to have recognized a 
 danger in his own strength and firmness, as tending 
 to a certain degree of hardness. It is easy to believe 
 that this masterful spirit in early and middle life was 
 not free from egotism, a defect which met with 
 little, if any, opposition from the devoted women 
 about him. For his very egotism was always consid 
 erate, and, in spite of invalidism, free from the pursuit 
 of personal comforts; singularly enough, it was a 
 means of attaining the aims of the self-sacrificing 
 scholar. 
 
 One of the strongest opponents of his growth was 
 an innate conservatism. In many ways, despite his 
 
334 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAff 
 
 volcanic warmth and energy, he was unchangeable as 
 the hills. Independence and reserve often joined 
 hands in him, He said of Montcalm : " A courage so 
 nobly sustained lifts him above pity; " and he himself 
 asked no pity. His engagement and marriage sur 
 prised many of his friends as an admission of sen 
 timent as a rival to ambition. He never gave himself 
 out, intimately, to any one, though receiving confi 
 dences with genuine interest. Thus human sympathy 
 does not seem, at a casual glance, to have been an 
 important source of his spiritual riches. A charac 
 teristic incident may be given as an evidence of his 
 extreme reserve in regard to private matters. When 
 he and his devoted sister Eliza discussed the dedica 
 tion of one of his volumes to her, they both concluded 
 that they did not wish to make such a revelation of 
 their affection to the public. As far as we can judge, 
 his worth and charm attracted more affection than he 
 expressed in return, so self-sustaining a nature 
 could not feel the dependent kind of affection. He 
 never regarded death or any other event as a dispen 
 sation of Providence, or attached to it any degree of 
 mysticism or fatality. When his son died, and some 
 one said: "He was too good to live," Parkman cor 
 rected at once any such misinterpretation of life, by 
 saying that such an idea is true of no one ; that the 
 world needs the best, and the best can always find a 
 place in it. Again, at the death of his wife when a 
 sympathetic friend assumed that life had no longer 
 any interest for him, he promptly dispelled any such 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 335 
 
 gloomy conception. His patience never included 
 either personal discouragement, fretful rebellion, or 
 passive surrender to the guidance of supernatural 
 powers. He said: "A man must feel that he holds 
 his fate in his own hands." And since we have to 
 take men and things as they are, it would be difficult 
 to find a philosophy better fitted to the man, or a man 
 better fitted to his experience. He often had to face 
 prospects that would have daunted many a man of 
 less firmness and more sentiment. In 1859, for ex 
 ample, he was in one of the " dismallest dens on earth." 
 The previous autumn he had gone to Paris for relief 
 to his spirits after the death of his wife, and for med 
 ical help against his maladies, which were then very 
 threatening. He returned in no better health, to 
 what would have been a cheerless hearth but for the 
 devotion of his mother and sisters. The bright 
 visions, the adventures, the sunshine and freedom 
 that had appeared inseparable from the energetic 
 youth, were now replaced by very different elements 
 of life. Shut up in his darkened study, threatened 
 with total blindness, he led at this time a life of 
 monastic solitude ; in place of enjoying buoyant activ 
 ity he sat down to the endurance of pain ; his ambition 
 was met either by absolute inability to work, or by 
 exasperating interruptions and petty achievements; 
 worst of all, he was in danger of insanity. The 
 enemy lay ambushed in the darkest possibilities ; and 
 how pitilessly must these have pressed upon him in 
 the weakest moments ! Yet undoubtedly he stated his 
 
336 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 own philosophy in giving Vassall Morton s: "Blows 
 are good for most men, and suffering, to the farthest 
 limit of their endurance what they most need. " * True, 
 there were times when his " faith was wrenched to its 
 uttermost roots. He thought the world was given 
 over to the devil." 2 
 
 All this is too much to contemplate ; but it was not 
 too much for Parkman to endure. There is little won 
 der that he set down his feeling in the following de 
 scription of the rock off Schooner Head, Mount Desert, 
 when on a visit to his classmate, Mr. George S. Hale, 
 in 1871: "Under a leaden sky the island rocks rest 
 sombre and cold upon the leaden water, as strong men, 
 under the clouds of a dreary destiny, bide their hour 
 in still and stern endurance." The inherent nobility 
 of his nature, however, and his ideals, were too lofty 
 to allow such a spirit permanent control of his life. In 
 "Vassall Morton," he made Edith say of the hero: 3 
 
 "It was a bitter schooling, a long siege, and a dreary 
 one; but you have triumphed, and you wear its trophy, 
 the heroic calm, the mind tranquil with consciousness of 
 power. You have wrung a proud tribute out of sorrow; 
 but has it yielded you all its treasure? Could you but 
 have learned that gentler, deeper, higher philosophy 
 which builds for itself a temple out of ruin, and makes 
 weakness invincible with binding its tendrils to the 
 rock." 
 
 Yet, with his New England conscience and training, 
 he may have overestimated his defects, and charged 
 a tendency with being an actual condition. 
 
 i P. 405. 2 P. 414. s P. 383. 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 337 
 
 & 
 The details of Parkman s home life were known to 
 
 me during only his last years, but for the sake of com 
 pleteness I must give what I can of the preceding 
 epochs in their bearing on his spiritual growth. His 
 married life of eight years, though marked by many 
 severe trials, was happy with mutual affection and de 
 votion. Mrs. Parkman was a woman of excellent under 
 standing, a cheerful disposition, more practical than 
 intellectual, bright in conversation, with a sense of 
 humor to match his own, and a large fund of affec 
 tion. The twelve years after her death were the most 
 trying period of Parkman s life. It was then that he 
 suffered most from pain and anxiety, from his exag 
 gerated reserve, and from the effects of self-centred 
 efforts to drive on his work. As his need of quiet 
 kept him generally in his study, his isolation was due 
 chiefly to nervous and physical conditions. His 
 domestic relations were never marked by any cold 
 ness or constraint; on the contrary, he was always 
 cordial, kindly, and considerate. But some of their 
 friends, who considered the inner life, felt that 
 although he lived happily with his family he was not 
 of them in the most intimate sense ; and that for a 
 time he did not appreciate fully and responsively their 
 sympathy and devotion. 
 
 His mother died in 1871 ; Parkman wrote of 
 the event in these terms : " Last week my mother s 
 long and painful illness was calmly and peacefully 
 ended, and a life of rare affection, disinterestedness, 
 and self-devotion came to its close on earth." When 
 
 22 
 
338 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 on the death of their mother his sister Eliza was able 
 to devote herself thenceforth wholly to him, her inti- 
 *mate friends were concerned for her happiness because 
 of his absorption in his work. 
 
 A word may be said here about his relations to his 
 women friends. There are few, if any, literary men 
 who were so dependent on women, or who received 
 so much affectionate service at their hands. Only 
 Wordsworth approached him in this respect. With 
 all his self-sustaining power, Parkman was very sen 
 sitive to their influence. It could hardly be other 
 wise with a man possessing so much imagination, 
 sensibility, and virility. Although he cherished his 
 men friends and talked with them freely on some 
 topics, he never could give himself to any of them 
 so well as he could to a congenial woman. He made 
 Vassall Morton say of himself (p. 358): "Find me a 
 woman of sense, with a brain to discern, a heart to 
 feel, passion to feel vehemently, and principles to feel 
 rightly, and I will show her my mind; or, if not, I 
 will show it to no one." 
 
 Besides these qualities he desired a woman to be 
 strong and healthy, bright in conversation, and full 
 of feminine and maternal instincts. He did not 
 care for intellectual tendencies ; he even detested the 
 complexities of the "cultured and refined" type. 
 What he desired of women was not inspiration in 
 regard to serious interests, but recreation and amuse 
 ment. His keenest social pleasures came from his 
 friendships with women ; and one of his hardest trials 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 339 
 
 was the limitation of such intercourse by reason of 
 his maladies. He in turn attracted women by many 
 qualities, his gallant and chivalrous temper, his 
 frankness and love of fun, and his loyalty. As a 
 friend he listened with sympathy and quick percep 
 tions, ever exercising a steadying influence by his 
 wise and practical counsel. One of the marked feat 
 ures of his later life was its richness in the affec 
 tionate friendship of fine women. He reaped this 
 reward in some cases even from strangers who knew 
 him only through his histories. 
 
 Parkman was remarkably fortunate in the assistance 
 of the women in his own domestic circle. His life 
 was by no means wholly in shadow, for during the 
 fifty years of his work he was never without all the 
 help that affection could give. Some one of the 
 family circle was always at hand to read or write for 
 him, and he was relieved to a remarkable degree from 
 ordinary family cares. Those who thus helped him 
 needed and possessed exceptional tact, intelligence, 
 and devotion to meet the circumstances. For his 
 needs were so imperative and his condition was so 
 fluctuating that only members of his household, close 
 at hand and close at heart, could give him the neces 
 sary help. And while he inspired an affection that 
 made such devotion no sacrifice, he was ever gener 
 ous in acknowledging his indebtedness to them. The 
 helpful friendship that Miss Parkman bestowed on 
 her brother is not often to be matched in literary his 
 tory ; and his success was due in a large measure to 
 
340 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 her services and sympathy. At the time of their 
 junction in domestic life, her friends felt that she 
 was somewhat alone in her patient devotion. But in 
 spite of some elements of his puritan nature, they 
 were closely united by many traits of character, - 
 by their conservative opinions, common literary in 
 terests, and a love of simplicity, decorum, and cheer 
 fulness; as the years passed, Parkman s growth in 
 sympathy brought them nearer to each other; and 
 finally their happiness together was a joint reward 
 for two lives of exceptional experiences. 
 
 His brother Eliot, during his infrequent sojourns 
 at home, made the domestic atmosphere sunny with 
 abundant humor and vivacity. In a letter, Jan. 11, 
 1872, Parkman thus refers to his life and character: 
 
 " A telegram from Commodore Stembel, U. S. N., says 
 that my only brother, a lieutenant in the navy, had died 
 suddenly at San Francisco from the effects of a fall. His 
 body arrived last evening. After passing a thousand 
 risks in travel and in war, he died at last by what seemed 
 a trivial accident, but which involved the rupture of an 
 internal artery. He was of a most affectionate and gen 
 erous nature, and the strongest family attachments. " 
 
 Parkman was a little above medium height, of an 
 erect, well-built frame, with square shoulders and 
 good muscular development, but spare and sinewy in 
 habit. Only in his last year or two did he allow 
 himself to grow stout, following his physician s rec 
 ommendation in the hope of thus becoming less ner- 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 341 
 
 vous and sleepless. On horseback, especially, he was 
 a dashing and martial figure. He had dark hair, and 
 a wholesome color quite foreign to the traditional 
 pallor of the student. His head and features were 
 somewhat angular, with a chin of most exceptional 
 prominence and strength. His gray, penetrating 
 eyes were, in youth, of good size, but in later years 
 they seemed smaller because of chronic inflammation 
 of the lids. He had firm, good-sized hands with 
 square finger-tips. His thin face, always smooth- 
 shaven, generally wore a grave, thoughtful expression, 
 but frank and friendly: strength and alertness com 
 bined with kindliness to give it distinction. His 
 mouth, though expressive chiefly of inflexible firm 
 ness, was very mobile. His smile was often re 
 marked for its expressiveness ; it reminded me always 
 of these traits of Morton : " the heroic calm, the mind 
 tranquil with consciousness of power." 1 Parkman s 
 smile expressed a full consciousness of his strength 
 and victory in life; and it often had a very clear 
 address to you by the penetrating look he sent for 
 a moment into your eyes. Or, at other times, it 
 showed an instant of absence a turn through far 
 realms of thought; it captured your fancy with a 
 vision of genial companionship on some unknown 
 quest. His laughter was hardly audible, though it 
 was hearty ; showing itself chiefly by shaking sides 
 and subdued or repressed sounds. His speaking 
 voice was low and his pronunciation clear, 
 i P. 38a 
 
342 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 His appearance was full of distinction ; but it shone 
 through a very quiet, unobtrusive manner. There 
 was in him much of the colonial gentleman, but 
 softened and unbent. Eccentricity he hated, and he 
 enjoyed the conventional proprieties of society in his 
 native city. Though not fastidious, he was always 
 neatly dressed, in good London-made clothes, which 
 he wore out thoroughly. In coming to greet you he 
 advanced with an erect bearing and quick, firm step, 
 took your hand firmly and gave it a good but not 
 demonstrative shake ; meanwhile looking you in the 
 eye for a moment with a penetrating, frank, and cor 
 dial expression. Even when he came on his crutches 
 he brought a manly, cheering presence. There was 
 absolutely nothing of the morbid invalid about him; 
 nor any hint of the assumptions of learning and fame. 
 In full maturity his modesty, simplicity, frankness, 
 gentleness, and patience were given an additional 
 charm by the sympathy with which he met his friends. 
 His modesty was not the modesty of na ivete or 
 humility. On the contrary, he was always, in a quiet 
 way, a masterful rather than a humble spirit. He 
 held his virtues by a firmer grasp than unconscious 
 possession. With an unusual knowledge of himself, 
 he placed the highest value on his qualities as means 
 for achievement and the growth of character. 
 
 Parkman s homes were perfectly suited to his tastes 
 and needs. In winter he preferred to live in Boston, 
 with his sister, at 50 Chestnut Street; in spite of 
 his love of nature, he never passed a winter in the 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 343 
 
 country. This street, in the centre of Boston and 
 very near the Common, is yet a quiet, secluded quar 
 ter, attractive with trees and old-fashioned houses. 
 The Parkman home is a twilight house of subdued 
 colors, simply furnished with heirlooms, and full of 
 the peace and comfort derived from good housekeep 
 ing and a quiet spirit. During the last years of his 
 life, when his lameness was very troublesome, he 
 mounted to his study on the third floor by an elevator 
 which he could operate by the power of his own arms. 
 The room had a subdued light from two windows 
 facing the north. An open stove with a soft-coal fire 
 cast a glow into the shadows ; two of the walls were 
 covered with bookshelves, the others with engraved 
 portraits of historic persons. On the mantel stood 
 some of Barye s statuettes of animals, and on the wall 
 were a few Indian relics he had brought from the 
 Oregon Trail. The simplicity of his tastes and the 
 practicality of his mind were shown in this study: it 
 was simply a writer s workshop, without any luxu 
 rious or ornamental appointment. He did not approve 
 of large collections of books in private houses, because 
 of the trouble they give, and because such sources of 
 information should be accessible to students, in public 
 libraries. His collection consisted of about twenty- 
 five hundred volumes, which he bequeathed to Har 
 vard College ; some of these were inherited from his 
 father. The chief feature of his library was his col 
 lection of manuscripts, which far outweighed in value 
 all the other works. Next in importance was a col- 
 
344 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 lection of eighty-nine maps, and about fifteen hundred 
 works relating chiefly to his historic labors. All these 
 are now kept together in Harvard College library as 
 the "Parkman Collection." There are almost no 
 notes on the margins ; in a very few books he made 
 now and then a mark or sign that was a sufficient aid 
 to his exceptional memory. His contempt for 
 "pallid and emasculate scholarship" is the key to his 
 feeling for books and bookworms. A man of nature 
 and of life rather than a man of books, he had no 
 interest in fine bindings, costly editions, or rare 
 works aside from their contents. 
 
 We have seen that during his early and middle life 
 he met his trials with "stern and silent endurance." 
 From the earliest of his married life onward till near 
 the close, the condition of his brain seemed to make it 
 necessary for him to be silent and alone most of the 
 time. But as years rolled on, the improvement in his 
 health, the easier progress of his labor, and the devel 
 opment of his sympathy enabled him at last to meet 
 life with happier moods and habits. Fortunately he 
 was not a man of moods, but one who had in him a 
 wellspring of cheerfulness that rarely ceased to flow. 
 This virtue had exceptional value in his case, because 
 of his inherited affection of the brain; and he was 
 fortunate in early coming to the belief that insanity 
 often begins in moods and mental conditions that at 
 the beginning can be avoided. 
 
 Parkman nourished his cheerfulness in the most 
 practical way. His native energy here served him 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 345 
 
 efficiently, aiding him in bringing forward a keen 
 sense of humor which one would hardly expect in 
 looking at his grave, strong face. He and his chief 
 ally, his sister, thus armed themselves with rays of 
 sunshine. The problem they had to meet was to 
 relieve his brain by some lightsome activity, avoiding 
 both serious topics of conversation and gloomy 
 silence. In such efforts he acquired the happy 
 faculty of making much of little things, and casting 
 into the commonplace events and talks of the day a 
 pervading spirit of jocoseness which at last became 
 more or less habitual in the domestic circle. His 
 sense of humor had its freest play in simple, objec 
 tive, childlike things ; it rarely reached the fine point 
 of wit, or entered into the delicate play of psycho 
 logic elements. For example, he was presented by 
 one of his granddaughters, on Christmas, with a 
 badge in the form of a cat, cut out of a piece of 
 yellow flannel. For many years when he visited the 
 family he invariably produced this cat with certain 
 miaulings, and stories of her wanderings during the 
 preceding year. He had also, for similar amuse 
 ment, an Uncle John Frog and a turtle. He liked 
 to hear his brother-in-law, Rev. Dr. Cordner, an 
 Irish gentleman, read Irish ballads; and when his 
 nieces entered the room he often thrummed Rory 
 O More as a silent greeting and banter. 
 
 As still further aid he called into service two facul 
 ties that were already highly developed by his literary- 
 labors imagination, and skill in narration. One of 
 
346 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the chief elements of his domestic intercourse came 
 to be humorous romancing. At breakfast, after 
 replying briefly to inquiries as to his health, he would 
 begin a tale and carry it on throughout the meal, and 
 even continue it from day to day. He whiled away 
 the time in the same way when driving about the 
 country. The chief characteristic of these stories 
 was a jocose exaggeration. Any subject would 
 serve ; now he would reconstruct a character of some 
 novel ; or would take a name on a sign as the starting 
 point, and carry the imaginary owner through various 
 experiences more or less impossible. He married off 
 his daughters to persons they detested, and then 
 teased them with making such unwise selections. 
 Frequently he chose subjects more or less theologi 
 cal : he invented a minister in Florida who was so ill 
 supported by his congregation that he had to eat 
 crocodile eggs, which turned him into an amphibi 
 ous divine; and a Miss Simpkins, who conducted 
 a Sunday School for young demons; as her pupils 
 were rather restless, she passed their tails through 
 holes in the bench, and tied knots underneath. Or 
 he would now and then take up one of the Prophets, 
 and give him a character and history hardly in accord 
 with Biblical traditions. Another string to his bow 
 was humorous verse. During sleepless hours he often 
 composed parodies; one was on the "Psalm of Life " 
 cats being the heroes. At breakfast he would 
 often make additions to these compositions, and thus 
 enrich and expand a topic to its utmost. Another 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 347 
 
 frequent amusement was the recitation of poetry ; he 
 often gave extracts from "Bombastes Furioso" or 
 Byron s "Vision of Judgment." "The Baby s De 
 but," from Horace Smith s "Rejected Addresses," 
 was a favorite with him, because it parodied Words 
 worth, whom he disliked as poet and man. His 
 memory was stored with an inexhaustible supply of 
 this whimsical kind of wit; but when insomnia made 
 him too ill for it, he would play with the cat or 
 the children and keep silent. In many instances 
 these diversions were simply a mask for hiding his 
 sufferings. 
 
 Naturally he got all that he could from books. 
 Mr. Frothingham gives the following account of his 
 reading : 
 
 "In his earty life he read a great deal of the best Eng 
 lish prose and verse; I recollect years ago, it must have 
 been when he was in college, at his father s house on 
 Bowdoin Square, a question arose in regard to Dr. John 
 son, and Francis expressed an idea of the Doctor s char 
 acter which showed him to be familiar with his writings. 
 This love of the best English literature he kept alive 
 through college and all his life. He had a great enthusi 
 asm as a youth for Milton ; Shakespere he always had 
 by him. In mottoes prefixed to his Vassall Morton, 
 I find the names of thirty poets. It would not be safe, 
 of course, to presume that he had read all these, but it 
 is safe to say that Shakespere, Pope, Scott, Byron, the 
 Percy Reliques, 7 Sir David Lindsay, Campbell, Moliere, 
 were familiar to him. His taste was for heroic and not 
 for sentimental writing. I should say that he might 
 
348 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 prefer the book of Proverbs ? to the book of Psalms ; 
 the Gospel of Matthew to the Gospel of John; Scott to 
 Shelley; for he had no relish for metaphysics or abstrac 
 tions of any kind, scientific or other. His dislike of 
 everything morbid melancholy, misanthropy, depres 
 sion amounted to abhorrence, and if he could not be 
 cheerful he went away if he was able; and if not, he 
 held his tongue or turned to merry thoughts." 
 
 This account is true as far as it goes ; but it does 
 not go beyond his early manhood. He had taste and 
 capacity for a varied culture within certain lines; 
 but during all the latter half of his life it was neces 
 sary for him to avoid serious topics and to seek in 
 reading chiefly amusement. He listened with most 
 pleasure to those works of fiction that are objective 
 in content and treatment, and full of stirring inci 
 dents. Jane Austen, Stevenson, Haggard, Dumas, 
 were among his favorites, and he enjoyed every repe 
 tition of "Pickwick" as if it had been new to him. 
 The " Nation " was read to him every week, also any 
 article of unusual interest in the periodicals. He 
 would tolerate nothing dreamy, sentimental, untruth 
 ful, metaphysical, or philanthropic. He disliked 
 Victor Hugo for exaggeration, as, for example, in 
 making the dwarf on the tower of Notre Dame per 
 form the impossible feat of casting off the ladder 
 after it had been loaded with the assaulting party. 
 He also put Longfellow aside for romancing so much 
 in "Evangeline." And although enjoying Du Mau- 
 rier s "Peter Ibbetson" up to the mystical part, he 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 349 
 
 refused to hear the rest of the book. Of Lowell 
 he wrote : " I am glad you like The Cathedral. 
 Lowell is equally estimable as a man and as a poet." 1 
 His growth was helped again by his labors. He 
 came to see that success could not be won by taking 
 the devil by the horns; that, on the contrary, he 
 must cultivate patience and sweetness as remedies for 
 irritation and nervous excitement. His theme, deal 
 ing as it did with character in detail, kept him alive 
 to his own course of development. Ideality was 
 stimulated in him by a disinterested pursuit of schol 
 arship. In following his literary path he was thus led 
 to drop some of his native hindrances, and mount to 
 regions of more light. Again, his life-long study of 
 men and women inevitably brought him more and 
 more in contact with spiritual elements of character 
 and developed his sympathy. An evidence of this 
 was the fact that he expressed in playful ways more 
 affection for his grandchildren than he had shown 
 towards his own children. He was fond of boys ; he 
 liked to chaff them for the sake of getting glimpses 
 of their nature. He often saw at a glance the effec 
 tive forces in a child s personality, and narrated or 
 even imitated its conduct as evidence. His interest 
 in little folks was pleasantly shown at the gathering 
 of his children and grandchildren at Christmas, when 
 he watched from his chair, with lively interest, the 
 changing groups about the tree, and often opened a 
 vein of character by some question or bit of bantering. 
 
 1 To Dr. George Stewart, Feb. 21, 1870. 
 
350 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 A more usual and characteristic scene might be 
 enjoyed by any friend who should have called of an 
 evening at the old house in Chestnut Street. The 
 soft colors of the sitting-room were still further sub 
 dued by a mild light and a low shade covering the 
 lamp. While the ladies were by the table sewing 
 or reading, Parkman sat at a distance from the light, 
 at the side of the fireplace, in a chair that was erect 
 and firm in form and substance. In the shadows of 
 his corner he was hardly visible. He often rested his 
 elbows on the chair-arms, and meditatively adjusted 
 the finger nails of one hand to those of the other, from 
 time to time separating his hands to see if he could 
 bring them together accurately again with a sharp 
 little blow. Meanwhile the reading or talking of the 
 others went on. He occasionally looked up at a 
 speaker with a direct and decided way to ask a 
 question or pass a remark ; but generally he saved his 
 eyes by keeping them lowered on his finger-tips or on 
 the floor. Though he was never a dreamer, absent 
 ing himself in mind from his companions, he often 
 passed the evening without joining much in the con 
 versation. At other times he would be full of quiet 
 talk. 
 
 His summer home was on the southwestern shore 
 of Jamaica Pond, a small body of water now incor 
 porated in the parks of Boston. The pond is pleas 
 antly surrounded by the groves and grounds of 
 suburban residences. His choice of this location 
 proved to be a very happy one, in giving not only a 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 351 
 
 beautiful site near the city, but especially in affording 
 him facilities for rowing the only exercise he could 
 take in periods of lameness in the knee. The grounds 
 sloped gently down to the water, and were very in 
 viting with the shade of many fine trees and the pro 
 ductions of his skill in horticulture. The house was 
 an unpretending wooden structure, furnished simply 
 and comfortably, and kept open to the air and sun 
 light. Social and domestic life in this place was not 
 different from that of the winter home ; but Parkman 
 had here one more means of keeping up cheerfulness : 
 the daily row of one hour, which he never omitted 
 or shortened. Such frequent turns on a lake only a 
 quarter of a mile across would have become insuffer 
 ably tedious without some means of mental entertain 
 ment. He therefore enlarged the Pond, by the use 
 of far-off names such as the Cape of Good Hope and 
 Bering s Sea; peopling each region with the lions 
 or the whales appropriate to the surroundings. He 
 kept in its depths a terrible ichthyosaurus and a 
 fearful sea-serpent. To the very cats along the 
 shore seen or unseen he gave names, characters, 
 and the most astonishing experiences. The f amity 
 of muskrats on the bit of an island were visited daily 
 to watch their building and domestic doings. One 
 day he found that a muskrat had brought a leaf of 
 grass and put it on top of a rock sticking above the 
 water, whereupon he named the rock "the shrine." 
 When his sister was with him he would let the boat 
 stop beside it for a minute or two, then ask, with a 
 
352 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 reverential and serious air, " Are you ready to leave ? " 
 and move off in silence. 
 
 In these later years he spent a part of each summer 
 with his son-in-law and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Coolidge, in the Wentworth Mansion, near Ports 
 mouth, New Hampshire. The old farm is approached 
 by a lane winding through pine woods; the stone 
 walls are half hidden by cedars, barberries, and 
 vines ; and the outcropping ledges of rock are touched 
 off with juniper and flaming sumac. You come out 
 of the woods at last into a field on the end of a point 
 in the bay, and look off over the channels winding 
 among islands, points, and marshes. On the left in 
 the distance may be seen the spires and masts of 
 Portsmouth, and in front a piece of the ocean with 
 the Isles of Shoals ; you hear the surf and the tolling 
 of the bell-buoy on the harbor bar. Passing a few 
 old apple-trees remaining as memorials of old-time 
 cheer, you come face to face with the Mansion. It 
 is a rambling farmhouse of many angles and gables, 
 quaint little rooms, mysterious nooks and queer pas 
 sages, and one large room where the governor s 
 council used to meet. The unkempt naturalness of 
 the grounds and shore, the colonial plainness of the 
 house within, the spirit of simplicity that pervades 
 it all, and the historic associations, made it a pleasant 
 and appropriate place for Parkman s summer days at 
 the close of his life. 1 
 
 1 He described the region in chapter xviii. of the second volume 
 of A Half Century. Mr. Barrett Wendell also gives an attractive 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 353 
 
 His strong social instincts were another important 
 help in his growth. It is well to emphasize this side 
 of his character in order to balance the effect of the 
 sterner elements in his personality. He lacked the 
 overflowing geniality and magnetism needed to set 
 the social currents flowing in a large company or 
 club, as well as the special talents required in a 
 successful diner-out. In meeting strangers at a 
 dinner he would at first keep silent, while taking the 
 gauge of those present ; and he seldom led in conver 
 sation unless drawn out. Notwithstanding this, he 
 was essentially a man of society, liking both the free 
 dom of intimate friendship and the decorum of cere 
 monious intercourse. Also, having seen much of the 
 world, he was at ease with all sorts of men and in all 
 social doings. People felt him to be a "good fellow." 
 The larger demands made on his social abilities by 
 the presidency of the St. Botolph Club were beneficial 
 to him ; in his reserved way he was approachable to 
 everybody. He had an especial fondness for the 
 Saturday Club, where he met a few intimate friends 
 in the freest and most informal intercourse. He 
 was a member also of the Union Club. He often 
 made a painful effort to attend the meetings of these 
 clubs, and sometimes went when unable to climb 
 the stairs just to greet his friends in the hall. On 
 his drives about the country he would frequently call 
 
 glimpse of Wentworth Mansion and of Mr. Parkman in his paper 
 Francis Parkman, in the Proceedings of the American Academy of 
 Arts and Sciences, vol. xxix. 
 
 23 
 
354 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 on his friends, even if unable to leave his carriage, 
 and enjoy a few minutes of their presence at the 
 door. The range of Parkman s topics of conversa 
 tion was rather limited, considering his intellectual 
 abilities and his fame. His talk was almost always 
 objective; his greatest pleasure seemed to be the 
 recounting the experiences of his youth. With an 
 excellent memory he recalled these scenes in detail ; 
 and often embellished them with imaginary incidents, 
 rehearsing them with all the vividness of recent 
 events. He also talked frequently of nature, telling 
 anecdotes of cats and other animals. More rarely he 
 condemned in his conclusive manner the political 
 and socialistic tendencies of his times, irritating 
 topics which he generally avoided. Now and then 
 he enjoyed shocking a prig, or taking down the 
 dignity of self-assured superiority. He used to tell 
 of a visit he made to a court-room, where one of his 
 friends sat on the bench, arrayed in his robes and 
 stiffened with official grandeur. Parkman winked at 
 him on entering, and enjoyed immensely the pompous 
 immobility of his old friend in failing to respond. 
 He knew and remembered everything which affected 
 or interested those with whom he was intimate; 
 knew their children and grandchildren by name 
 and by character, and never forgot to inquire after 
 them. 
 
 Parkman was more cheerful than humorous, and 
 more humorous than witty. Possessing a quick per 
 ception of humor, he was yet not a father of epigrams 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 355 
 
 and witticisms, nor even a stepfather who gathers in 
 the facetious offspring of other minds. He left us no 
 anecdotes ; he was not a story-teller. Though often 
 narrating significant incidents that happened to him 
 self or others, he would do this for the sake of some 
 idea brought up by the conversation never for the 
 sake of causing laughter. Mr. Barrett Wendell gives 
 this truthful impression of his conversation : 
 
 " The normal impersonality, the animated objectivity 
 of his talk, the frank, idiomatic raciness of his phrase, 
 the wholesomeness of his nature, made you forget that he 
 had ever written anything. You thought of him, by and 
 by, just as a remarkably friendly human being. You 
 forgot even that he was not exactly of an age with you. 
 Like his own literary style, which kept pace so sensitively 
 with the best literary feeling of his day, the man himself 
 was steadily contemporary." 
 
 The spirit and effect of Parkman s conversations 
 were like those of his writings, though more fiery 
 and intense. As he grew older he lost something of 
 his early reserve, and became, at least with intimates, 
 more interesting. In talk he never philosophized, 
 never moralized, never posed as virtuous; all the 
 same, he produced an elevating effect on those who 
 heard him. Professor Fiske says: "What most im 
 pressed one in talking with him was the combination 
 of power and alertness with extreme gentleness." 1 
 
 Parkman s friendship brings up the necessity of 
 defining two important terms frequently used in this 
 
 1 Introductory Essay, Ixxvii. 
 
356 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 portrait spirituality and sympathy. As we have 
 said, he showed little interest in religious, philan 
 thropic, affectional, and sesthetic matters. These 
 limitations marked his lack of spirituality ; yet he was 
 free from materialism. In considering his sympathies 
 we must distinguish between Parkman as a citizen 
 and Parkman as a friend. His sympathy had its nar 
 rowest range in citizenship, and its greatest force and 
 freedom in friendship. Yet, speaking broadly of his 
 character, he was kind-hearted rather than tender 
 hearted. The Puritan generally held him in reserve 
 not only as to expression, but also as to feeling in 
 matters relating to the inner life. A few exceptional 
 incidents, however, that involved his deepest affec 
 tions, revealed a tenderness that struggled almost in 
 vain for expression. Parkman s friendship was most 
 helpful and satisfying. Its distinguishing qualities 
 were persistence and sincerity. Conservatism here 
 served a good purpose, keeping him to the last, in 
 aims, qualities, and opinions, what he was in youth, 
 and thus saving his friendships from variations due to 
 growth on at least one side. He kept all the friends 
 of his youth, and made few intimates outside of this 
 circle. 
 
 Sentiment never broke through his reserve, or 
 troubled his wisdom, or cast a doubtful light over 
 his expressions. His quick understanding, sincerity 
 of interest, soundness of judgment, steadfastness, 
 and the winning qualities of his nature all gave a 
 most assuring sense of value and reliability in his 
 
SPIRITUAL GROWTH 357 
 
 friendship. He was always ready to help a friend to 
 a position, provided the applicant seemed fitted for the 
 post; otherwise, he would not only refuse such aid, 
 but oppose the appointment. Absence never made 
 any break in his feeling; he took up an acquaint 
 ance again just where it had been left off. When 
 too ill for social intercourse, the mere silent presence 
 of a friend gave him pleasure. He had a comforting 
 charity for those who were unsuccessful, and for all 
 weaknesses of humanity, outside of unmanliness and 
 meanness. It was not his habit to discuss or criticise 
 his friends, unless their characters were especially 
 under consideration; at such a time he would state 
 frankly his opinions. The needy and suffering, young 
 writers wanting counsel or materials from his ample 
 stores, all found him patient and generous. 
 
 In looking back over his life one is struck with his 
 prodigious strength of character. He was ready to 
 face the universe if nature would play him fair. 
 She had played him foul, yet she could not prevent 
 his victory. In his patient fortitude under suffering, 
 in his persistent industry despite the greatest obsta 
 cles, and in his fidelity to his ideals, Parkman was 
 certainly one of the most heroic figures in the history 
 of letters. 
 
APPENDIX A 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF FRANCIS PARKMAN S 
 WRITINGS 
 
 HISTORICAL WORKS 
 1851. The Conspiracy of Pontiac. 2 vols. 
 
 FRANCE AND ENGLAND IN NORTH AMERICA 
 
 1865. Part I. The Pioneers of France in the New 
 
 World. 1 vol. 
 
 1867. Part II. The Jesuits in North America. 1 vol. 
 
 1869. Part III. La Salle and the Discovery of the 
 Great West. 1 vol. 
 
 1874. Part IV. The Old Regime. 1 vol. 
 
 1877. Part V. Count Frontenac and New France un 
 der Louis XIV. 1 vol. 
 
 1884. Part VII. Montcalm and Wolfe. 2 vols. 
 
 1892. Part VI. A Half-Century of Conflict. 2 vols. 
 
 OTHER BOOKS 
 
 1849. The Oregon Trail (first published in the Knicker 
 bocker Magazine in 1847). 1 vol. 
 1856. Vassall Morton, a Novel. 1 vol. 
 
 1866. The Book of Roses. 1 vol. 
 
 He also wrote the Preface, and a translation of a Sketch 
 of General Bouquet, which were prefixed to the reprint of 
 
360 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the "Historical Account of Bouquet s Expedition against 
 the Ohio Indians in 1764," published by Robert Carter, 
 Cincinnati, 1868. 
 
 1885. " Historic Handbook of the Northern Tour" 
 being narratives drawn from "Pontiac," 
 " Pioneers," "Jesuits," " Frontenac," and 
 "Montcalm and Wolfe." 
 
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO PERIODICALS 
 Some of which are advance chapters of the histories. 
 
 To the, u Knickerbocker Magazine" (not including "The 
 Oregon Trail "). 
 
 1845, March. "The Ranger s Adventure." By a new 
 
 Contributor. 
 
 1845, April. "The Scalp Hunter." 
 1845, June. "A Fragment of Family History." By 
 
 the author of " The Scalp-Hunter." 
 1845, Aug. "The New Hampshire Ranger." By 
 
 Jonathan Carver, Jr., a poem. 
 1845, Dec. "Satan and Dr. Carver." By Captain 
 
 Jonathan Carver, Jr. 
 
 To the "Christian Examiner" 
 
 1851, May. " Indian Antiquities in North America " (a 
 review of books by E. G. Squier and 
 Lewis Morgan). 
 
 1851, July. "Squier s Serpent Symbol," etc. A short 
 book notice; unsigned. 
 
 1853, January. "French s Historical Collections of 
 Louisiana." (A short book notice.) 
 
APPENDIX A 361 
 
 To the "Atlantic Monthly " l 
 
 VOL. PAGE MONTH YEAR 
 
 *The Fleur-de-Lis at Port 
 
 Koyal 12 30 July 1863 
 
 *The Fleur-de-Lis in Florida 12 225 August 1863 
 
 *The Spaniard and the Her 
 etic 12 537 November 1863 
 
 *The Vengeance of Dominic 
 
 de Gourgues 14 530 November 1864 
 
 Life and Times of Eed 
 
 Jacket (Stone) 19 383 March 1867 
 
 *The Founders of Montreal 19 723 June 1867 
 
 Historical Inquiry concern 
 ing Henry Hudson (J. 
 
 M. Kead, Jr.) 19 764 June 1867 
 
 History of New France 
 
 (Charlevoix & Shea) 20 125 July 1867 
 
 Madame Biedesel s Letters 
 
 and Journals (Stone) 21 127 January 1868 
 Charlevoix s History of 
 
 New France 29 499 April 1872 
 
 *Jesuits Mission of Onou- 
 
 daga in 1654 30 687 December 1872 
 
 *Early Canadian Miracles 
 
 and Martyrs 32 84 July 1873 
 
 *A Great Deed of Arms 32 691 December 1873 
 
 *Sir William Phips s At 
 tack on Quebec 38 719 December 1876 
 
 *Wolfe on the Plains of 
 
 Abraham 54 339 September 1884 
 
 *The Battle of Lake George 54 444 October 1884 
 
 1 The articles marked * were published as advance chapters of 
 his histories. 
 
362 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 VOL. PAGB MONTH YEAR 
 
 The Forests and the Census 55 835 June 1885 
 
 *The Discovery of the Rocky 
 
 Mountains 61 783 June 1888 
 
 (67 314 March 1891 
 
 Capture of Lomsburg by U ? gu 
 
 theN.E.Mihha | 6? ^ ^ lggi 
 
 *Acadia, The Feudal (71 25 January 1893 
 Chiefs of (71 201 February 1893 
 
 To the "North American Review" 
 
 VOL. PASS 
 
 74 147 James Fenimore Cooper. 
 
 101 28 Manners and Customs of Primitive Indian 
 Tribes. 
 
 103 1 Indian Superstitions. 
 
 107 370 Morgan s Bibliotheca Canadensis. 
 
 *118 225 The Ancien Regime in Canada, 1663-1763. 
 
 120 34 The Native Races of the Pacific States. 
 
 120 469 Higginson s History of the United States. 
 
 *125 427 Cavalier de La Salle. 
 
 127 1 The Failure of Universal Suffrage. 
 
 129 303 The Woman Question. 
 
 130 16 The Woman Question Again. 
 
 To "The Critic" 
 1885, October 31. " Revocation of the Edict of Nantes." 
 
 To " Tilton s Journal of Horticulture " 
 1869 to 1871. Several articles referring to horticulture. 
 
 To "The Nation" 
 
 No. 
 
 243 The Tale of the "Ripe Scholar." 
 585 Decouvertes et ^Itablissements des Franqais, etc. 
 (by Pierre Margry). 
 
APPENDIX A 363 
 
 No. 
 
 618 Montcalm et le Canada Frangais. 
 
 652 Une Colonie feodale en Amerique. 
 
 666 Note on Kameau. 
 
 680 Note on Kameau (Chronicle of the St Lawrence). 
 
 683 Mr. Parkman and his Canadian Critics. 
 
 702 Canada under the Administration of Lord Dufferin. 
 
 780 Note on Joliet s map. 
 
 878 The Rose. 
 
 935 A Book about Eoses. 
 
 1085 A French Memoir of Colonial History. 
 
 1143 Note on an Album paleographique. 
 
 1189 The Fall of New France. 
 
 1193 Note on Indian Sketches. 
 
 1237 Une Pelerinage au Pays d fivangdline. 
 
 1347 AppendiculeB Historicae. 
 
 1472 Lake St. Louis. 
 
 To the "Boston Daily Advertiser" 
 
 (This list is incomplete. His articles were generally 
 signed F. P.) 
 
 1861. Wm. H. Eussell and our Duty. 
 
 1862, Jan. 8. Where are our Leaders ? 
 
 1862, Oct. 14. Why our Army is not the Best in the 
 World. 
 
 1862, Oct. 17. Conservatism. 
 
 1863, June. The Weak Side of our Armies. 
 1863, July. Aristocrats and Democrats. 
 
 1863, July. Our Best Class and the National Politics. 
 
 The Nation s Ordeal. 
 1863, July. The Chiefs of the Nation. 
 
 To " Applet on* s Cyclopedia of American Biography " 
 
 1866-67. The articles on Frontenac, La Salle, and 
 Montcalm. 
 
364 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 To "Harper s Monthly" 
 
 1864, November. Exploring the Magalloway. 
 1890, August. A Convent at Koine. 
 
 PAMPHLETS 
 
 1887. Some Reasons against Woman Suffrage. 
 1890. Our Common Schools. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 The " Jesuits" and the " Pioneers" were translated 
 into French and published in 1874 and 1882 by Didier et 
 Cie., Paris. Parkman disapproved of these translations, 
 which were garbled. 
 
 Three of his histories were published in German, viz. : 
 
 "The Pioneers," Auerbach, Stuttgart, 1875. 
 
 "The Old Regime," Auerbach, Stuttgart, 1876. 
 
 "The Jesuits," Abenheim, Berlin, 1878. 
 
 And "The Failure of Universal Suffrage" was issued 
 by Springer in Berlin, 1879. 
 
APPENDIX B 
 
 FKOM "THE KNICKERBOCKER, " AUGUST, 1845 
 
 "THE NEW HAMPSHIRE RANGER 
 
 " IN the Old French War, a body of Rangers were employed on 
 scouting expeditions around Lake George, between the hostile mili 
 tary posts of Ticonderoga and Fort William Henry. Their most 
 celebrated leader, Major Rogers, with a large part of the men, were 
 from New Hampshire. The service they were engaged in was of 
 the most severe and dangerous kind. In parties varying from two 
 or three to a hundred or more, they scoured the woods at all sea 
 sons, to seize stragglers, intercept convoys, and encounter the par 
 ties of Canadians and Indians that the French were constantly 
 sending out to annoy the English ; and whom, unless there was 
 a great disparity of force, the Rangers almost always defeated and 
 beat back to Canada. 
 
 " No ordered rank and measured tramp, 
 
 No restless flash of steel; 
 Nor the long line of dancing plumes, 
 
 And ringing trumpet-peal! 
 The soldiers of the wilderness, 
 
 A rough and hardy band, 
 In woodland garb, with woodland arms, 
 
 We guard this forest land. 
 T is ours to breathe the battle smoke, 
 
 To range the trackless wood, 
 To struggle with the howling storm, 
 
 And swim the flashing flood. 
 Deep in the gloomy forest, 
 
 Unseen by human eye, 
 
366 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 We track the foe, we strike the blow, 
 
 And, nameless all, we die. 
 The scarlet coat, the waving plume 
 
 Good for the triumph day ! 
 The hunter s frock, the cap of fur 
 
 Good for the battle fray ! 
 Gay warrior of England, 
 
 Idling the whole day long, 
 Drink and laugh and gaily dance, 
 
 And shout the camp-fire song. 
 In William Henry s sheltering walls 
 
 Enjoy thy mirth and cheer, 
 We guard the dangerous wilderness 
 
 No danger can come near. 
 Yet do not deem that I complain ; 
 
 Soldier, I would not change, 
 For thy safe and idle slavery, 
 
 My own free forest range. 
 I love the savage war-whoop, 
 
 And the whistling of the ball ; 
 The woods, the rocks, the boiling streams, 
 
 I love them, one and all. 
 And yet their memory is entwined 
 
 With thoughts of sore distress, 
 Of famine, grief, and danger, 
 
 And bitter weariness. 
 For the ranger s gun has echoed 
 
 From a thousand pathless mountains ; 
 And the ranger s blood has stained with red 
 
 A thousand limpid fountains. 
 Some of our band lie wasting 
 
 In the dark noisome dell ; 
 No friendly ear could their death-cries hear, 
 
 None lived their fate to tell. 
 On stern and wild Agiochook 
 
 The whitening bones are spread; 
 The fish of crystal Horicon 
 
 Are feeding on our dead. 
 
APPENDIX B 367 
 
 The ravens of Oswego, 
 
 Slow settling on the plain, 
 Tear vainly at the sinewy limbs, 
 
 And soar away again. 
 Some have died by famine, 
 
 Some by the headlong fall, 
 Some by wave, and some by frost, 
 
 Some by the foeman s ball. 
 Among these wild green mountains, 
 
 And o er this gentle flood, 
 In cold and heat, by day and night, 
 
 Have I in battle stood. 
 The sultry breath of August, 
 
 December s breezes bleak ; 
 The sleet, the snow, the rushing rain, 
 
 Have beat upon my cheek : 
 And Nature, I have gazed on thee 
 
 In thy calmest, sweetest hour; 
 And I have seen thy frowning face 
 
 In all thy wrath and power : 
 Thy gentle smile, thy whispering voice, 
 
 Have ever a charm for me; 
 But I love as well thy lowering brow 
 
 Of angry majesty. 
 I love thee even mid winter s cold, 
 
 When trackless lies the snow, 
 And the boughs of the loaded fir-tree bend 
 
 Into the drifts below : 
 When in the sharp still evening 
 
 The sky is flushed with red, 
 And o er the wide white wilderness 
 
 The crimson glow is shed ; 
 And in the thickest forest 
 
 We heap the snow around, 
 And spread the boughs of evergreen 
 
 Upon the frozen ground. 
 And through the long dull night we hear, 
 
 On that cold couch reclined, 
 
368 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The music of the groaning ice, 
 
 The howling of the wind : 
 While high among the snowy trees 
 
 Swirls up the roaring blaze, 
 And the bright swarm of dancing sparks 
 
 Far in the darkness plays. 
 I lie and watch them wandering, 
 
 And gleaming wide and bright, 
 Like fire-flies by the orchard side, 
 
 On some soft summer night. 
 But how the blasts sweep moaning 
 
 O er the solid lake below, 
 And scatter in the bright moonbeams 
 
 The glistening flakes of snow ! 
 And in the tortured forest 
 
 The pine-trees tough and old 
 Crack sharply with a sudden sound, 
 
 As if rent with the biting cold. 
 Woe to the wretch who wanders lost 
 
 In the drear wood to-night ! 
 Like the sculptor s chiselled marble 
 
 He 11 be ere morning light. 
 
 But the fierce heats of August, 
 
 The pale sun s noontide blaze, 
 When each hot mountain slumbers 
 
 Dim in the sultry haze ! 
 No song of bird, no rustling leaf, 
 
 No stirring of the breeze ; 
 Nought but the drowsy hum of gnats, 
 
 Beneath the withering trees ! 
 With the red sun s glare, the breathless air, 
 
 And the faint and pale-blue sky, 
 With the sleeping flood, and drooping wood, 
 
 The heart sinks languidly. 
 On yonder rich and verdant shore, 
 
 Where the swelling forests spread, 
 Glistening beneath the fiery rays 
 
 On the shrinking foliage shed, 
 
APPENDIX B 369 
 
 I know a cool and limpid spring ; 
 
 Its laughing waters gay 
 Steal rippling through the velvet grass, 
 
 Now murmuring on their way. 
 I could fling down my weary oar, 
 
 And lay me by its side, 
 Bathe my hot brow and swelling veins, 
 
 And watch the waters glide ; 
 The cold and gushing waters, 
 
 The pebbles clear and white, 
 The maples and young linden trees 
 
 That shade them from the light ! 
 
 Would, by that merry sparkling spring, 
 
 Beneath the fresh cool shade, 
 I might sit and hear the sweet low voice 
 
 Of Hampshire s blue-eyed maid 1 
 Mark her heart s soft emotions, 
 
 By many a sigh confest, 
 By the gleaming of her melting eye, 
 
 The swelling of her breast. 
 Then would I loathe the bugle-note, 
 
 And curse the battle-cry, 
 And know no other joy on earth 
 
 Than soft tranquillity. 
 But let the poet muse and moan 
 
 In fancied desperation, 
 The tame voluptuary melt, 
 
 In selfish lamentation : 
 Man was made to toil and fight, 
 
 And not to dream and sigh, 
 And woman fires his failing heart 
 
 To deeds of gallantry. 
 
 Best I love the clear cool morn 
 
 Of the bright October day ; 
 When the mountains glow, and the lake below 
 
 Reflects the colors gay. 
 24 
 
370 A LIFE OP FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 When the fresh woods are ringing 
 
 With the screaming of the jay; 
 Where, through the ruddy maple leaves, 
 
 Pours the sun s crimsoned ray : 
 When the stiffened leaves are rustling, 
 
 And dropping from the trees, 
 And the dark blue water ripples 
 
 In the light morning breeze : 
 And far aloft against the sky 
 
 The mountain summits rear 
 Their black rocks, gay with leafy plumes, 
 
 In the sharp atmosphere. 
 Then, by the island s grassy bank, 
 
 I fling me on the ground, 
 And snuff the breeze, like a deer 
 
 That scents the distant hound. 
 T is then the fire of health and youth 
 
 Burns high in every breast, 
 And the wild zeal to dare and do, 
 
 And scorn of slothful rest. 
 T is then our thoughts are proudest; 
 
 The dearest joy we know, 
 Would be to hear the war-whoop ring, 
 
 To grapple with the foe. 
 The feelings of my earlier youth 
 
 I may recall again, 
 When I was a lonely wanderer 
 
 In the wild land of Spain. 
 And up the rough Sierra 
 
 By the faint moon I rode, 
 And the pale light, so softly bright, 
 
 Rock, gulf, and torrent showed. 
 I looked on her : it seemed to me 
 
 That I low sounds could hear, 
 As if the spirits of the rocks 
 
 Were whispering in my ear. 
 And strange vague thoughts came thronging, 
 
 Thickly and dreamily ; 
 
APPENDIX B 371 
 
 Thoughts of loves and battles 
 
 In ages long gone by. 
 O er rock and stone my steed tramped on; 
 
 Wild chafed the haughty beast ; 
 He champed the bit, he shook the rein, 
 
 And tossed his sable crest. 
 Mine was the youthful recklessness, 
 
 The high presumptuous soul, 
 Soaring elate, defying fate, 
 
 Disdaining self-control. 
 Thus up the steep and rocky path, 
 
 Careering carelessly, 
 Fearing nought and heeding nought, 
 
 Went my brave steed and I. 
 And then a softening memory 
 
 Rose up within my breast, 
 Of that, of all things on the earth, 
 
 I Ve longest loved and best. 
 It was of dear New-England, 
 
 Her mountains and her woods, 
 Her savage rocks, her headlong streams, 
 
 Her pure and gentle floods. 
 And now, from wandering returned, 
 
 I ve trod thy shore again, 
 Land barren of the corn and wine, 
 
 Fruitful of fearless men ! 
 Blooming with bright-eyed laughing girls, 
 
 The lovely flowers that spring 
 Luxuriant from thy rocky soil, 
 
 A matchless offering ! 
 And I have armed me in her cause 
 
 In this her day of woe, 
 Nor vainly fight to shield her right 
 
 Against her hated foe. 
 But how in such a scene as this, 
 
 Can thoughts of slaughter rise ? 
 The rich green hill, the waters still, 
 
 The pure and amber skies: 
 
372 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 When nature s sweet and powerful voice 
 
 Whispers of peace and rest, 
 And to a tranquil tenderness 
 
 Would soothe the unquiet breast. 
 Our toil and woe are well nigh done ; 
 
 Strain, comrades, at the oar ! 
 There lie the walls that shelter us, 
 
 On yonder guarded shore. 
 I see the frowning rampart, 
 
 The rigid palisade, 
 And slowly rolled in swelling fold, 
 
 Old England s flag displayed. 
 Hark to the rolling of the drum, 
 
 And the gay trumpet-note, 
 That, softened on the greedy ear, 
 
 O er the calm waters float ! 
 And see ! and see ! on yonder plain, 
 
 The long and glittering line ; 
 The red coats glow in the evening rays, 
 
 The bristling bayonets shine ; 
 How, twixt those shadowy western hills, 
 
 Upon the bright array 
 The sinking sun pours duskily 
 
 His last departing ray ! 
 Where s the cold eye that would not glow, 
 
 At yonder gallant sight ! 
 Where the tame heart that would not beat 
 
 With a high and wild delight 1 
 I love that broad red banner, 
 
 And the stately soldiery 
 That bear it on through blood and smoke, 
 
 Always triumphantly. 
 Brave Briton, I could ever be 
 
 A comrade by thy side 
 Around the merry camp-fire, 
 
 Or in the battle s tide : 
 But I cannot brook thy haughty brow, 
 
 Thy bearing proud and high ; 
 
APPENDIX B 373 
 
 Thou It make a cold and disdainful friend, 
 
 But a gallant enemy ! 
 I have dreamed it, and I know it, 
 
 The day is coming yet, 
 When axe and rifle-butt shall clash 
 
 With British bayonet ! 
 No more through dark and pathless woods 
 
 We 11 hunt the savage foe, 
 Or track the flying Frenchman, 
 
 By his footprints on the snow ; 
 But hand to hand, and steel to steel, 
 
 On the broad open field, 
 We 11 try who blenches in the strife, 
 
 Who shall be last to yield ! 
 And I have dreamed it in my sleep, 
 
 How the bullets stormed like hail, 
 And the red bristling ranks went down 
 
 As wheat bends to the gale ! 
 As I have dreamed it in my sleep, 
 
 That sight mine eyes shall see ; 
 And when that bloody morning comes, 
 
 Right welcome shall it be. 
 
 CAPT. JONATHAN CARVER, JR." 
 CAMBRIDGE, MASS., 
 June 25, 1845. 
 
APPENDIX C 
 
 THEODORE PARKER S CRITICISM OF 
 PONTIAC " 
 
 BOSTON, 22 Dec., 1861. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I have lately read your work on Pon- 
 tiac," etc., with much pleasure. I have gained a good 
 deal of information from the book which relates to a 
 period and place where I had not studied the Indians 
 much. On the whole, it seems to me the book is highly 
 creditable to you to your industry and your good sense. 
 But you will be likely to get mere praise enough, and 
 asked me to speak discriminatingly of the work, so I will 
 write down things which occurred to me in reading the 
 book, and in studying some parts of it. I will speak of 
 the substance, the arrangement and the style; of the 
 timber, the jpZcw, and tine finish of it. 
 
 I. Of the substance, that is the sentiments and ideas. 
 You evidently have a fondness for the Indian not a 
 romantic fondness, but one that has been tempered by 
 sight of the fact. Yet I do not think you do the Indian 
 quite justice; you side rather too strongly with the white 
 man and against the red. I think you bring out the 
 vices of the Indian into more prominence than those of 
 the European which were yet less excusable. The 
 treachery which you censure in the Indian was to him no 
 more a violation of any sentiment or idea that he felt or 
 knew than it was to a Briton to fight with powder and 
 balls. This treachery is not specific of Indians; but 
 
APPENDIX C 375 
 
 generic of all races in a low state of development. It 
 seems to me Pontiac was much more excusable than the 
 Paxton men, the Owens, and the like. It seems to me 
 that the whites are not censured so much as they de 
 serve for their conduct toward the Indians in three 
 particulars : 
 
 1. In the matter of rum, which the Christian brought 
 to the Savage. 
 
 2. In the matter of women whom the Christian took 
 from the Savage as concubines and then deserted when the 
 time came. 
 
 3. In the matter of treachery and cruelty which the 
 whites too often displayed. 
 
 I have thought you were a little unjust to the Quakers. 
 But here I have so little direct and positive knowledge 
 that I hesitate in my judgment. 
 
 One thing is curious in history: the Teutonic Race in 
 all its three great divisions, the Goths, Germans, and 
 Scandinavians is naturally exclusive, and loves to ex 
 terminate the neighboring tribes. On the other side, the 
 Celts and Greco-Italian stock assimilate with other tribes. 
 The history of America shows the same thing in the 
 conduct of the English and the French toward the Indians. 
 It would have enriched your book a little to have called 
 attention to that fact not generally known. It always 
 enriches a special history to drop into it universal laws or 
 any general rules of conduct which distinguish one nation 
 from another. 
 
 The facts of history which you set down seem generally 
 well chosen. The historian cannot tell all. He must 
 choose such as, to him, most clearly set forth the Idea of 
 the nation or man he describes. Bancroft chooses 
 one set of facts, Hildreth another, and how different 
 the New England of Bancroft from Hildreth s New 
 England ! 
 
376 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 So much for the material which is mainly good 
 ber, now a word of the frame and plan. So 
 
 II. Of the distribution of the parts. The title indi 
 cates that the conspiracy of Pontiac is the chief theme. 
 But in the book itself it seems to me this is not exactly 
 so, that other things are not quite enough subordinated to 
 the main theme, so as to give unity to the whole book. 
 The barn is a little too near the house and the shed a little 
 too prominent for the general effect of the house itself. 
 This appears as you look over the table of contents, when 
 Pontiac and his scheme are not the central object about 
 which the rest is grouped. So the book lacks the dramatic 
 unity which is necessary for the artistic treatment of such 
 a subject. Pontiac does not appear so important in the 
 titles of the chapters as the title-page seems to demand. 
 Then the book lacks a sufficient conclusion, and ends 
 abruptly. You do not tell the effect which his death has 
 on Indian affairs. A special history like this requires at 
 the end a general summary with the philosophical reflec 
 tions which have grown out of the historical treatment of 
 the theme. 
 
 It seems to me it would have been better to have 
 divided the matter something after this line : 
 
 Introduction. Containing all the general matter rela 
 tive to the Indians, their origin, geographical distribution, 
 language, arts, agriculture, domestic, political and relig 
 ious institutions. This is now too much scattered about 
 in the book. 
 
 Book I. History of the Indians in the connection with 
 the Europeans up to the time of the general rising. 
 
 Book II. History of Pontiac and his efforts to overcome 
 the Europeans. 
 
 Book III. Result of the movement on the Indian peo 
 ple, and its effect on their subsequent history. Then it 
 seems to me there should have been more and more 
 
APPENDIX C 377 
 
 obvious unity in the book ; now it seems as if tbe materials 
 have been collected without a definite aim, and that the 
 plan was not quite complete until the book was done. So 
 much of the plan said frame. Now a word of the finish. 
 
 III. Of the style of the book. Some passages in it are 
 very well written; in general the style is good, simple, 
 natural, easy. But there is a general lack of severity of 
 style, for which the great Master of Roman history is so 
 remarkable. Some passages remind me of Melville and 
 Headley whom you would not like to be like. There 
 is a lack of what is characteristic. This appears 
 
 1. In the description of places. You do not tell what 
 kind of trees, etc., there were, only trees leaving us to 
 guess whether they were pines or palms, bushes or tall 
 trees. 
 
 2. In the description of persons, the book lacks por 
 traits. Wolfe is well done, so is Montcalm (the account of 
 Braddock is well done). But the picture of Pontiac is not 
 adequate to his important place in the history. It strikes 
 me that Johnson is not very well done. Some passages 
 are left too imperfect. It seems as if you got vexed with 
 the thing and struck out a little recklessly, to hit or miss 
 as it might happen. The style of the book often indicates 
 haste as do almost all American books like every 
 thing else we do. 
 
 There, sir, is not there a list of faults for you? Yes, more 
 than all your critics in the reviews, I suppose, have 
 found with you. But if I did not expect you and think 
 you capable of better things than you have done yet, I 
 should not go to the trouble of pointing out all these 
 faults. You seem to have chosen literature for your pro 
 fession, and history for your special department thereof, 
 and I do so love to see literary conscientiousness applied 
 to explain the meaning of human history and convey its 
 
378 A LIFE OF FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 lesson to mankind, that I have taken the pains to point 
 out particular things in which your book might have been 
 made better. You have already received so much com 
 mendation that it is not necessary I should go into the 
 pleasanter business of telling you how many things I like 
 in the book. Believe me, 
 
 Truly yours, 
 
 THEO. PARKER. 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN, JR., ESQ. 
 
INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 ADAMS, Eliza, 1. 
 
 Agassiz, 261. 
 
 Agassiz Museum, the, 46. 
 
 Albany, 13, 60. 
 
 Algeciras, 90. 
 
 Allston Street, No. 4 A, 11. 
 
 Alps, the, 67, 68. 
 
 Alton, 13. 
 
 American Academy of Arts and 
 Sciences, the, xii, 41, 353. 
 
 American Antiquarian Society, 
 the, 2, 41. 
 
 American Folk-Lore Society, the, 
 41. 
 
 American School for Classical 
 Studies, the, at Athens, 252. 
 
 Americans, contrasted by Park- 
 man with Englishmen, 86. 
 
 Anantz, 143. 
 
 " Anciens Canadiens," De Gaspers, 
 212. 
 
 Andeer, 68, 100. 
 
 Androscoggin River, the, 13. 
 
 Angier, John, 43. 
 
 Anti-slavery Question, the, 287. 
 
 Antoninus, Marcus Aurelius, 310. 
 
 Apaches, the, 286. 
 
 Appian Way, Cambridge, 12. 
 
 " Appleton s Cyclopedia of Ameri 
 can Biography," 363. 
 
 Arapaho, 286. 
 
 Archaeological Institute of Amer 
 ica, the, 36, 41, 251. 
 
 Archives of the Marine and Colo 
 nies, the, at Paris, 156. 
 
 Arizona, 286. 
 
 " Atlantic Magazine," the, xii, 268, 
 361. 
 
 Athens, 252. 
 
 Austen, Jane, 348. 
 
 Ayers, Mrs., 12. 
 
 " BABY S Debut/ the, 347. 
 
 Bachelder, 20. 
 
 Baiae, 96. 
 
 Baltimore, 17. 
 
 Bancroft, 30, 182, 212, 283, 287. 
 
 Bandelier, 252. 
 
 Bangor, Me., 15. 
 
 Bannestier, 252. 
 
 Barnston, 14. 
 
 Barre, Charlotte, 232. 
 
 Barye, 195, 343. 
 
 Basle, 86. 
 
 Batiscan River, the, xi, 37. 
 
 Beaufort, S. C., 36. 
 
 Beck, Dr., 18. 
 
 Bemis Camp, the, 38. 
 
 Benedictines, the, 149 ; church of, 
 149, 150. 
 
 Bert, Paul, 152. 
 
 Bigelow, Catherine Scollay, mar 
 ries Parkman, 27 ; her children, 
 28; death of, 28, 334; 189; in 
 the home, 337. 
 
 Bigelow, Dr. Jacob, 27. 
 
382 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Bigelow, Mary, 27 ; assumes care 
 and education of Parkman s 
 children, 28. 
 
 Blackhawk, 144. 
 
 Black Hill range, the, 323. 
 
 Blossburg, 16. 
 
 Bologna, 108. 
 
 " Bombastes Furioso," 105, 347. 
 
 " Book of Roses," Parkman s, 32, 
 34. 
 
 Boone, Daniel, 284. 
 
 Boston, England, 2. 
 
 Boston, Mass. l, 2, 5, 11, 15,27, 
 29, 38, 47, 51, 80, 115, 129, 143, 
 172, 319, 326, 343. 
 
 Boston Association, the, 5. 
 
 Boston Athenaeum, the, 34. 
 
 Boston Common, 42, 143, 343. 
 
 " Boston Daily Advertiser," the, 
 257, 274, 279, 282, 288, 363. 
 
 Bostonian Society, the, 41. 
 
 Bourlamaque, letters from Mont- 
 calm to, 158, 178. 
 
 Bourke, Captain, 252. 
 
 Bowdoin Square, No. 5, 11, 347. 
 
 Braddock, 215. 
 
 Brattleboro, Vt., 25. 
 
 Bre boeuf, Jean de, 220. 
 
 Breck, Hannah, 1. 
 
 Brighton, 102. 
 
 Brimmer, Hon. Martin, xii ; Park 
 man s letters to, xiii, 80, 83, 321. 
 
 British Museum, the, 158. 
 
 Brook Farm, 25. 
 
 Brookline, Mass., 27. 
 
 Brooks, Rev. Edward, 2, 6. 
 
 Brooks, Joanna Cotton, 2. 
 
 Brooks, Peter Chardon, 6. 
 
 Brown, Abigail, 2. 
 
 Brown, Rev. John, 2. 
 
 Bruce, Robert, 202. 
 
 Buade, Louis de, see Frontenac, 
 Count. 
 
 Buddhism, 313. 
 
 Buffalo, 16. 
 
 Burke, 74. 
 Burlington, 13. 
 Bussey Institute, the, 32. 
 Byron, 199, 347. 
 
 CABOTVILLE (old name of Chico- 
 pee), 16. 
 
 Cahokia, 70. 
 
 Caldwell, 13. 
 
 California, 283. 
 
 Calton Hill, 69. 
 
 Cambridge, Mass., 80. 
 
 Cambridge, Vt., 14, 143. 
 
 Campbell, 347. 
 
 Canaan, 14. 
 
 Canada, 13; Parkman s trip to, 
 15, 147, 152; the Catholic 
 Church in, 148 ; the monasteries 
 of, 154 ; 172, 187 ; early mission 
 aries of, 208 ; the old regime in, 
 213; 251, 313, 320,321,331. 
 
 Capuchin Convent, the, 112, 149. 
 
 Cara, 97. 
 
 Carlisle, 17. 
 
 Gary, George Blankern, 18,19,22. 
 
 Casgrain, Abbe H. R., xii ; Park 
 man s letters to, xiii, 136, 204, 
 205, 211, 213, 278, 283, 314. 
 
 Castel Termini, 93. 
 
 Catholicism, 207. 
 
 Centre Harbor, 13. 
 
 " Century Magazine," the, xii. 
 
 Chambersburg, 17. 
 
 Chambly, 15. 
 
 Champlain, Lake, 13; Parkman s 
 visit to, 15, 220. 
 
 Champlain, Samuel de, 220. 
 
 Channing, Prof. Edward T., 73. 
 
 Channing, William E., 312. 
 
 Charles II., 202. 
 
 Chatillou, Henry, 35 ; Parkman s 
 estimate of, 115. 
 
 Chaudiere, the, 35. 
 
 Chauncy Hall School, the, 12, 73. 
 
 Chauncy Place, Boston, 72. 
 
 Cheltenham, 158. 
 
INDEX 
 
 383 
 
 Chester Factory, 16. 
 
 Chestnut Street, No. 50, 29, 342, 
 350. 
 
 Cheviot, the, 69. 
 
 Chiavenna, 112. 
 
 " Chicken," the, 105. 
 
 Child, Prof., 79. 
 
 Chit-Chat Club, the, 16. 
 
 " Christian Examiner," the, 28, 
 360. 
 
 Christianity, 313. 
 
 Civil War, the, 268, 281, 287. 
 
 Clarke, 21. 
 
 Class of 1844, 255. 
 
 Cloaca Maxima, the, at Rome, 192. 
 
 Coan, Dr. Titus M., xii. 
 
 Coire, 100. 
 
 Colebrook, 13. 
 
 Colico, ill. 
 
 Coliseum, the, at Rome, 192. 
 
 Colonial Society of Massachusetts, 
 the, Publications of, xii, 6 ; 41. 
 
 Comanches, the, 286. 
 
 Como, Lake, 66, 69. 
 
 Condottiere Colleoni, statue of, 
 139. 
 
 Connecticut Lake, 14. 
 
 Connecticut River, the, 15. 
 
 " Conspiracy of Pontiac," the, 16, 
 24; Parkman begins work on, 
 25, 325 ; completed, 27, 34 ; 123, 
 154, 168, 170, 173; declined by 
 publisher, 188; publication of, 
 189; 201, 211, 237; Parker s 
 criticism of, 374>-378. 
 
 " Convent at Rome," a, xiii. 
 
 Cooke, George Willis, xiii. 
 
 Coolidge, Dr. Algernon, 39. 
 
 Coolidge, J. T., Jr., 39, 352. 
 
 Coolidge, Mrs. J. T., Jr., poem by, 
 210; 352. 
 
 Cooper, James Fenimore, 52, 68, 
 78, 143, 144, 199, 219. 
 
 Cordner, Rev. Dr., 345. 
 
 Corning, 16. 
 
 Cottage Street, Brookline, Park- 
 man s home on, 27. 
 Cotton, Joanna, 2. 
 Cotton, John \ 2, 5. 
 Cotton, John 2 , 2. 
 Cotton, Rowland, 2. 
 Crawford, Ethan, 99. 
 Crawford, Tom, 56. 
 Crawford Notch, 13, 14, 53, 54, 63. 
 " Critic/ the, xii, 362. 
 Cushing, 252. 
 Gushing, Thomas, 72. 
 
 DANA, Charles A., 25. 
 
 Daulac, 219. 
 
 Denison, Rev. John, 2. 
 
 Detroit, 16 ; siege of, 326. 
 
 Devil s Hole, the, 16. 
 
 Diaries, Parkman s, xiii, 52, 53, 
 
 54-70, 85-123, 132, 133, 143, 
 
 148-152, 192-194, 196, 197, 201, 
 
 202, 217, 267, 283,309. 
 Dinwiddie, 183. 
 Divinity Hall, No. 7, 13, 19. 
 Dixville Notch, 13. 
 Dorchester, Mass., 1. 
 Dorchester Avenue, Milton Lower 
 
 Falls, Parkman s home at, 27. 
 Dumas, Alexandre, 348. 
 Du Maurier, 348. 
 " Dumb Boy of Genoa," the, 105. 
 
 EDINBURGH, 69, 202. 
 
 Eliot, President Charles W., 256, 
 257. 
 
 Eliot, S., 106. 
 
 Elliott, Dr. S. R., recollections of 
 Parkmau, 52. 
 
 Ellis, Dr. George E., xii; Park 
 man s letter to, xiii, 315 ; 166. 
 
 England, 146, 187, 190, 196, 222, 
 279, 320. 
 
 Englishmen, contrasted by Park 
 man with Americans, 86. 
 
 English 6," 264. 
 
384 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Essex, 13. 
 
 Europe, Parkman s visit to, 15. 
 Everett, Edward, 243. 
 " Exploring the Magalloway," xiii, 
 60. 
 
 " FAILURE of Universal Suffrage," 
 Parkman s, 262, 267, 268, 269, 
 270, 272, 273, 275, 276, 277, 287. 
 
 Farnham, C. H., xii ; Parkraan 
 camps with, 37. 
 
 Farnsworth, 20. 
 
 Ferland, 206. 
 
 Fernaudina, 36. 
 
 Ferrera, the valley of, 67. 
 
 Feudalism, 207. 
 
 Fifth Symphony, the, 194. 
 
 Fiske, Prof. John, xii; on Park 
 man s perseverance under diffi 
 culties, 179, 216,231,355. 
 
 Fletcher, Miss, 252. 
 
 Florence, 132. 
 
 Florida, Parkman s journey to, 36. 
 
 "Forum," the, xii. 
 
 Fourierites, the, 120. 
 
 France, 146, 147, 187, 190, 219, 
 225, 233, 320. 
 
 " France in the New World," 327, 
 331. 
 
 Franconia Notch, 13. 
 
 Franklin, Benjamin, 278. 
 
 Frederick the Great, 220. 
 
 French and Indian War, the, 51,75. 
 
 French Canadians, the, Parkman 
 visits, 35, 285. 
 
 "French Explorers in the Great 
 West," 331. 
 
 French Revolution, the, 291. 
 
 Fresh Pond, 130. 
 
 Frog Pond, the, 42. 
 
 Frontenac, Count, 207, 215, 220, 
 224, 225, 331. 
 
 " Frontenac and New France un 
 der Louis XIV.," publication of, 
 36 ; 224, 225. 
 
 Frothingham, Rev. O. B., his 
 " Francis Parkman," xii, 6, 43, 
 130,307,310,311,347. 
 
 GARDEN Street, Cambridge, 12. 
 
 Garneau, 186, 206, 212. 
 
 Gamier, 221. 
 
 Garrison, William Lloyd, 278. 
 
 Gaspe , De, 212. 
 
 George, Lake, 13 ; Parkman s 
 fondness for, 14 ; Parkman s 
 visits to, 15, 36, 60, 66, 67, 220, 
 267. 
 
 George, Fort, 36. 
 
 German Spas, the, 39. 
 
 Giarri, 109. 
 
 Gibraltar, 64, 65, 90. 
 
 Girgenti, 116. 
 
 Glens Falls, 13, 60. 
 
 Godkin, E. L., on Parkman s per 
 sonal appearance, 9. 
 
 " Golden Farmer," the, 105. 
 
 Gould, Benjamin Apthorp, 12, 20, 
 75 ; letters from Parkman to, 
 177, 293. 
 
 Gray, 261. 
 
 Great Barrington, 16. 
 
 Grenada, 132. 
 
 Grisons, the, valleys of, 100. 
 
 Giuseppe, Parkman s guide, 98, 
 150. 
 
 Gury, 152. 
 
 HAGGARD, Rider, 348. 
 
 Hale, Hon. George S., xii ; Park- 
 man s visit to, 14, 336 ; letters 
 from Parkman to, 22, 23, 80. 
 
 " Half Century of Conflict," a, 14 ; 
 publication of, 39 ; 143, 160, 177 ; 
 revision planned of, 178; 215, 
 285, 352. 
 
 Hall, Caroline, 2 ; sketch of, 6-8 ; 
 1 1, 45 ; letter from Parkman to, 
 133 ; death of, 337. 
 
 Hall, Nathaniel, 2, 6,42. 
 
INDEX 
 
 385 
 
 Hamilton, Alexander, 277. 
 
 Hankredge, Sarah, 2. 
 
 Hanover Street, 45. 
 
 Hansen, Mr., 63. 
 
 "Harper s Magazine," 14, 60, 61, 
 151, 364. 
 
 Harrisburg, 16, 17. 
 
 Harrisse, Mr., letter from Park- 
 man to, 156. 
 
 Harvard College, xii, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 
 12, 15, 35, 38, 40, 44, 52, 74, 75, 
 82, 83, 132, 146, 152, 156, 200, 
 254, 255, 261, 262, 264, 343. 
 
 Harvard Law School, the, 15, 79, 
 80, 83, 120, 130, 133, 146, 200, 
 321. 
 
 Harvard Natural History Society, 
 the, 1 6 ; Parkman s collection of 
 minerals presented to, 44. 
 
 Harvard Theological School, the, 
 259. 
 
 Hasty Pudding Club, the, 16. 
 
 Haverhill, Mass., 2. 
 
 Higginson, Col. T. W., letter from 
 Parkman to, 272. 
 
 Highlands of Scotland, the, 69. 
 
 Holmes, Dr. Oliver Wendell, xii. 
 
 Holworthy Hall, No. 9, 12, 76. 
 
 Hope Gate, the, 15. 
 
 Hopper, the, 16. 
 
 Hotel de France et de Bath, 29. 
 
 Howe, Lord, 222. 
 
 Hugo, Victor, 348. 
 
 Hunt, William Morris, 18, 98. 
 
 Huntington, Bishop, on Francis 
 Parkman (father), 4. 
 
 Kurd, Dr. Isaac, on Francis Park 
 man (father), 4. 
 
 ILLINOIS River, the, 35. 
 
 Incarnation, Marie de 1 , 221. 
 
 Indians, the, Parkman s study of, 
 15, 24, 35, 75, 84, 134, 136, 142, 
 143, 144, 145, 147, 190, 217-219 ; 
 
 285. 
 
 25 
 
 Institute of 1770, the, 16. 
 I. O. H. Society, the, 16. 
 Irving, Washington, 69. 
 Isles of Shoals, the, 352. 
 Italy, 65, 87; ladies of, 113; 148, 
 192. 
 
 JACKSONVILLE, 36. 
 
 Jamaica Park, 32. 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Mass., 11. 
 
 Jamaica Pond, 27, 29, 312, 350. 
 
 Jefferson, Thomas, 278. 
 
 Jericho, 13. 
 
 Jesuits, the, 66, 144, 152, 153, 217, 
 
 220, 225, 301, 313. 
 Jesuits in North America/ the, 
 
 84, 208, 232, 331. 
 Jogues, 221,308. 
 Johnson, 14. 
 Johnson, Dr., 347. 
 Journal of Horticulture, Tilton s, 
 
 32, 362. 
 
 KEENE, N. H., 14. 
 Keokuk, 35. 
 
 "King s Bridge Cottage," 106. 
 "Knickerbocker Magazine," the, 
 17, 22, 81, 360. 
 
 LAFITAU, 144. 
 
 Laloutre, 221. 
 
 Lancaster, 13. 
 
 Laramie, Fort, 134. 
 
 "La Salle," 156; completion of, 
 172 ; 178, 221, 226, 227, 228, 229, 
 236, 255. 
 
 La Salle, Cavalier de, 156, 177, 
 215, 225; Parkman s descrip 
 tion of, 226-229; 308. 
 
 "Last Supper," the, Da Vinci s, 
 193, 194. 
 
 Laval, Bishop, 220. 
 
 Laval University, 40. 
 
 Lebanon Springs, 16. 
 
 Lee, 16. 
 
386 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Lee, F., 105. 
 Lee, Francis L., 31. 
 Lexington, Mass., 6. 
 Lilium auratum, the, 31. 
 Lilium Parkmanni, the, 31. 
 Lincoln, Abraham, 278. 
 Lindsay, Sir David, 347. 
 Literary and Historical Society of 
 
 Quebec, the, 41. 
 Little Harbor, 39. 
 Little Magalloway River, the, 13. 
 Lodi, the bridge of, 194. 
 London, contrasted by Farkmau 
 
 with Paris, 88; 108, 172. 
 London Society of Antiquarians, 
 
 the, 41. 
 
 Longfellow, Henry W., 25, 348. 
 Long Sault, the, 34, 219. 
 Louis, Dr., 133. 
 Louis XIV., 147. 
 Louisburg, 36. 
 Louvre, the, 21. 
 Lowell, Rev. Charles, 25. 
 Lowell, James Russell, 25, 26, 349. 
 Lowell, Hon. John, xii; on Rev. 
 
 Francis Parkman, 5; 186, 188, 
 
 306. 
 
 Loyola, 226. 
 Luigi, Parkman s guide, see Ran- 
 
 nesi Luigi. 
 "Lyndhurst," 11. 
 
 " MCCLURE S Magazine," xii. 
 
 McGill University, 40. 
 
 Mackinaw, 16. 
 
 Madrid, 39. 
 
 Magalloway River, the, 13, 57, 58, 
 60. 
 
 Maine, Parkman s visits to, 1 5, 24. 
 
 Maisonneuve, 232, 301. 
 
 Malta, 115. 
 
 Mance, Mademoiselle, 232. 
 
 " Manners and Customs of Primi 
 tive Indian Tribes," Parkman s, 
 271. 
 
 Marengo, 194. 
 
 Margry, Pierre, 155, 156; Park 
 man s letters to, 157, 173, 186; 
 252. 
 
 Marquette, Parkman s description 
 of, 221. 
 
 Marston, W. A., 106. 
 
 Martineau, Rev. James, 311. 
 
 Massachusetts Hall, No. 24, 13; 
 No. 21, 13. 
 
 Massachusetts Historical Society, 
 the, Proceedings of, xii, 6, 41 ; 
 Parkman presents his collections 
 to, 160-161 ; 317. 
 
 Massachusetts Horticultural So 
 ciety, the, elects Parkman a life 
 member, 30; 32, 41. 
 
 Medicine Bow range, the, 323. 
 
 Medford, Mass., 2, 6, 12, 42, 43, 
 44, 45, 47, 72, 89, 319. 
 
 MSdicis, Marie de, 220. 
 
 Memphremagog, Lake, 15, 61. 
 
 Menendez, 220. 
 
 Messina, 94, 115, 149. 
 
 Mexico, the Gulf of, 177. 
 
 Michele, 118; described by Park 
 man, 119. 
 
 Michigan, 144. 
 
 Middlesex Fells, the, 12, 43, 106, 
 319. 
 
 Milan, 87, 99, 193. 
 
 Milan Cathedral, the, 193. 
 
 Millerites, the, 120. 
 
 Milton, John, 347. 
 
 Milton Lower Falls, 27. 
 
 Minot, F., 106. 
 
 Miscellaneous Papers, Parkman s, 
 240. 
 
 Missionaries, the, 66, 208. 
 
 Mohawks, the, 15. 
 
 Mohawk Valley, the, 197. 
 
 Moliere, 347. 
 
 Montcalm, Marquis de, letters to 
 Bourlamaque from, 158, 178; 
 173, 215, 334. 
 
INDEX 
 
 387 
 
 " Montcalm and Wolfe," 15 ; pub 
 lication of, 36 ; 39 ; Parkman s 
 general intention concerning, 
 173; 177; chastened diction of, 
 203 ; regarded by Parkman as 
 his best work, 204; 222, 224, 
 255, 280. 
 
 Monte Pellegrino, 65. 
 
 Moutmagny, 232. 
 
 Montreal, Parkman s visits to, 15, 
 28, 34, 36; Parkman s descrip 
 tion of the founding of, 232. 
 
 Morris, 25. 
 
 Motley, 123. 
 
 Mount Auburn Cemetery, 40. 
 
 Mount Desert, 336. 
 
 Murdock s Tavern, 115. 
 
 "My Fellow Clerk," 105. 
 
 NAPLES, 65, 95, 107, 110; women 
 of, 112; 194. 
 
 " Nation," the, xiii, 213, 242, 272, 
 348, 362. 
 
 " Neptune," the, 224. 
 
 New England, 144, 147, 148, 196, 
 206, 208, 218, 253, 285. 
 
 New England Historic Genealogi 
 cal Society, the, 41. 
 
 "New England Magazine," the, 
 xiii. 
 
 New France, 219, 224. 
 
 "New Hampshire Ranger," the, 
 365. 
 
 New Mexico, 286. 
 
 New North Church, the, in Bos 
 ton, 3, 75. 
 
 Newport, 16. 
 
 New York, 144. 
 
 New York City, 25, 326. 
 
 Niagara, 16. 
 
 Niagara, Fort, 16. 
 
 Nipissing, Lake, 35. 
 
 North Adams, 16. 
 
 " North American Review," the, 
 253, 271, 283, 287, 288, 362. 
 
 Northampton, 27. 
 North Yarmouth, Me., 6. 
 Norton, Charles Eliot, 26. 
 Nova Scotia, Parkman s visit to, 
 
 28. 
 
 OCALA, 36. 
 
 Ocklawaha River, the, 36. 
 
 Ogillallah Indians, the, 323. 
 
 Old French War, the, 24, 146, 187, 
 320. 
 
 " Old Regime in Canada," the, 36, 
 66, 185, 205, 220, 271, 280. 
 
 Onondaga Castle, 16. 
 
 "Oregon Trail," the, xiii; gives 
 striking scenes in Parkman s 
 life, xiv; the trip of, 17, 35, 
 134, 135, 136, 144, 304,309, 343 ; 
 Parkman dictates, 25 ; prepared 
 for publication, 26; 46, 58, 70, 
 81, 115, 121,124, 130,201. 
 
 Oswego, 16. 
 
 Ottawa River, the, 35. 
 
 "Our Common Schools," Park 
 man s, xiv, 254, 297. 
 
 Overbeck, the artist, 193. 
 
 PALATKA, 36. 
 
 Palermo, 65, 110, 114, 119, 149. 
 
 Palmer, 16. 
 
 Paradise, 16. 
 
 Paris, 28, 35, 39; contrasted by 
 
 Parkman with London, 88 ; 
 
 Parkman s comments upon, 100- 
 
 101; 172,317, 335. 
 Parker, Theodore, 66, 95, 96, 312 ; 
 
 his criticism of " Pontiac," 374- 
 
 378. 
 
 Parker, Mrs. Theodore, 95, 96. 
 Parkman, Breck, 3. 
 Parkman, Ebenezer, 1 ; sketch of, 
 
 2-3 ; his diary, 2. 
 Parkman, Elias, 1. 
 Parkman, Elias 2 , 1. 
 
388 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Parkman, Eliot, 81; death of, 
 340. 
 
 Parkman, Eliza W.S., 7,312, 334, 
 338, 339, 345, 351. 
 
 Parkman, Francis, Rev., 2 ; sketch 
 of, 3-5 ; 11, 45 ; letters from his 
 son, 56, 57 ; 75, 79, 81 ; letter to 
 Francis from, 81 ; 258. 
 
 Parkman, Mrs. Francis, see Hall, 
 Caroline. 
 
 Parkman, Francis, chief interest 
 of life of, vii ; his extreme re 
 serve, vii ; his thoroughness and 
 sincerity, ix ; singular lack of 
 personal elements in life of, x ; 
 chief publications concerning 
 life of, xii ; little unpublished 
 matter from hand of, xiii ; his 
 autobiographic letters, xiii, 74, 
 122, 140, 141, 163, 187, 190, 198, 
 300, 315, 316,317, 318-332; his 
 miscellaneous articles, xiv ; an 
 original man, 1 ; his descent, 1, 
 2 ; his ancestors, 2-8 ; effect of 
 his ancestry upon, 8 ; limitations 
 imposed by his physical organ 
 ism, 8-9 ; his mental make-up, 
 9; his personal appearance, 9, 
 340-342 ; birth of, 11 ; his birth 
 place, 11; his childhood, 12; en 
 ters Harvard College, 12; his 
 special interests at Harvard, 12 ; 
 his college rooms, 12-13; his 
 trip with Slade, 13-14; his 
 trip with White, 13 ; his fond 
 ness for Lake George, 14 ; visits 
 Hale and Perry, 14, 336 ; his trip 
 to Canada, 15 ; his trip to Maine, 
 15 ; birth of his deep enthusiasm, 
 15 ; visits Europe, 15 ; graduates 
 from college and enters Har 
 vard Law School, 15 ; his study 
 of Indian life, 15, 24, 35, 75, 84, 
 134, 136, 142, 143, 144, 145, 
 147; his social life at Harvard, 
 
 16, 17-19; his research through 
 western Massachusetts, 16; his 
 ambitions focussed on a definite 
 work, 16 ; his trips to St. Louis, 
 16, 35, 70, 119, 121 ; his trip 
 through Pennsylvania, 1 7 ; the 
 trip of the " Oregon Trail," 17, 
 70, 134, 135, 136, 144, 304, 310; 
 his reserve as to his literary am 
 bition, 19 ; his letters to Hale, 
 19, 22, 23, 80; his early begin 
 nings in gathering materials for 
 his great work, 24 ; his health 
 gives way, 24-25 ; devotes him 
 self to medical treatment, 25 ; 
 dictates the " Oregon Trail," 
 25 ; begins " Pontiac," 25, 325 ; 
 Elliott s recollections of, 25-26 ; 
 his marriage, 27 ; his first home, 
 27; his later residences, 27; com 
 pletes work on " Pontiac," 27 ; 
 " Vassall Morton " published, 28 ; 
 his trip to Montreal, Quebec, 
 and Nova Scotia, 28; becomes 
 unable to walk, 28 ; his family, 
 28 ; death of his son, 28 ; death 
 of his wife, 28; his visits to 
 Paris, 28, 100, 101, 335 ; his 
 alarming mental condition, 29; 
 returns to Boston, 29 ; turns to 
 Nature for consolation, 29 ; de 
 votes himself to horticulture, 29 ; 
 his success in this field, 29-34 ; 
 writes "The Book of Roses," 
 32 ; receives appointment as Pro 
 fessor of Horticulture to the 
 Bussey Institute, 32 ; gives up 
 special efforts in horticulture, 
 32; benefits he derived from 
 horticulture, 33 ; visits Wash 
 ington and Richmond, 34 ; an 
 other journey to Canada, 34 ; 
 his journey to Fort duelling, 35 ; 
 elected Overseer of Harvard Col 
 lege, 35, 255 ; again visits Paris, 
 
INDEX 
 
 389 
 
 35 ; resigns as Overseer, and ac 
 cepts appointment as Professor 
 of Horticulture, 35 ; again visits 
 Europe, 35 ; visits the French 
 Canadians, 35, 36 ; the " Old 
 Regime " published, 36 ; chosen 
 a Fellow of the Corporation of 
 Harvard, 36, 255 ; " Frontenac " 
 published, 36 ; helps organize 
 the St. Botolph Club, 36 ; " Mont- 
 calm and Wolfe " published, 
 
 36 ; his journey to Florida, 36 ; 
 camps with Farnham on the 
 Batiscan, 37 ; his camp in the 
 Rangeleys, 38 ; visits Europe 
 with his sister, 39 ; his last jour 
 ney to Europe, 39 ; his increas 
 ing maladies, 39 ; " Half Cen 
 tury of Conflict " published, 39 ; 
 characteristic close of his life, 
 39 ; his death, 40 ; honors reaped 
 by, 40 ; his membership in vari 
 ous societies, 41 ; memorial to 
 be erected to, 41 ; unconsciously 
 began his preparation for his 
 torical writing in boyhood, 42 ; 
 his life on his grandfather s 
 farm, 42 ; his collection of min 
 erals, 44 ; zoology naturally at 
 tractive to, 44 ; anecdotes of his 
 early life, 44-51 ; his favorite 
 recreations, 46 ; his study of sci 
 ence, 47 ; his essay on " Studies 
 of Nature," 49 ; his return to 
 nature, 51 ; concentrates his 
 powers and activities upon writ 
 ing a history of the French and 
 Indian War, 51 ; his remarkable 
 preparations, 51-52 ; his jour 
 nals, 52 ; extracts from, 54-70, 
 85-122, 143, 149-152, 192-194; 
 202 ; a narrow escape, 54-56 ; 
 letters home, 56, 57 ; " Explor 
 ing the Magalloway," 60-61 ; 
 goes to Europe for his health, 
 
 63 ; his surprising indifference 
 to archaeology, 65 ; at Palermo, 
 65, 110, 149; at Vesuvius, 65- 
 66 ; at Lake Como, 66 ; crosses 
 the Alps, 67-69, 133 ; in Scot 
 land, 69 ; his education in books, 
 72 ; his early schooling, 72 ; 
 Cushing s estimate of, 72-73 ; 
 independence of his college 
 course, 74, 146 ; his scholarship, 
 77 ; his attitude regarding the 
 law, 80-81 ; letter from his 
 father to, 81 ; his study of man, 
 83 ; collects materials for " The 
 Jesuits," 84 ; significance of his 
 " Vassall Morton," 84 ; his aver 
 sion for philosophizing, 85 ; con 
 trasts Americans with English 
 men, 86 ; at Basle, 86 ; at Milan, 
 87, 99, 193; at Piazenza, 87; at 
 Gibraltar, 64, 90 ; contrasts Paris 
 and London, 88 ; his tour about 
 Sicily, 85, 92 ; at Sciacca, 92 ; 
 at Messina, 94, 149 ; at Rome, 
 86, 95, 151, 192 ; at Naples, 95, 
 107, 194; visits Virgil s tomb, 
 96 ; at Cara, 97 ; at Subiacco, 
 98 ; in Switzerland, 99 ; his let 
 ter to Mary Park man, 101 ; at 
 Brighton, 102 ; his taste for 
 studying character, 102-103 ; 
 his skill in reading men, 103; 
 the " Star Theatre," 104; as an 
 amateur actor, 1 05 ; at Bologna, 
 108; in London, 88, 108; rarely 
 expresses sympathy or admira 
 tion for men, 109 ; at Giarri, 
 109; at Colico, 111; his ready 
 appreciation of manliness, 111 ; 
 his appreciation of the feminine 
 character, 112; reviews memoirs 
 of Mrs. Riedesel, 113-114; his 
 remarkable memory of the eye, 
 114 ; free from class prejudice, 
 114-116; describes Luigi, 116- 
 
390 
 
 INDEX 
 
 119; the unity of his life, 121 ; 
 early struggles with his own na 
 ture, 122; failure of " Vassall 
 Morton," 124 ; depth of his early 
 interest in poetry, 1 24 ; his re 
 liance on words and deeds as in 
 dications of character, 125-126; 
 tragic element in his life, 127 ; 
 muscular development his early 
 hobby, 127; his self-discipline, 
 128 ; his gymnasium, work, 128- 
 129 ; walking a favorite exer 
 cise of, 129; nature of his ail 
 ments, 131-138 ; at Florence, 
 132 ; letter to his mother from, 
 133; letters to Abbe Casgrain 
 from, 136, 204, 205, 211, 213, 
 278, 283, 314 ; his individuality 
 in his work, 139 ; his chivalrous 
 turn of mind, 139 ; his intimate 
 relations with his work, 140 ; 
 his methods of working, 140- 
 159, 170-172, 174-177 ; his study 
 of Romanism, 147-153 ; his 
 study of documents, 153 ; his 
 personal address, 155 ; his strug 
 gle with Margry, 155-157; his 
 letters to Margry, 157, 173, 186; 
 his discovery of Montcalm s let 
 ters to Bourlamaque, 158 ; his 
 manuscript material, 160; his 
 triumph over difficulties, 162- 
 164 ; his supernormal energy 
 and application, 165-167 ; his 
 indebtedness to his misfortunes, 
 168 ; effect of his physical weak 
 ness upon his work, 169-170; 
 develops a remarkable memory, 
 171 ; his reserve in regard to 
 his work, 172; his exceptional 
 efforts for accuracy, 177 ; letters 
 to Gould from, 177, 293; his 
 pursuit of the truth, 178, 182, 
 204, 207 ; his philosophy of his 
 torical writing, 180-186 ; his de 
 
 mand for original sources, 1 83 ; 
 choice of his theme, 186-190; 
 his work slow in being recog 
 nized, 189 ; cannot be called an 
 artist born, 191 ; his relations to 
 art, 191-195, 199 ; his relations 
 to nature, 195-199; his skill in 
 writing, 200; his style, 200- 
 204 ; his love of strong lan 
 guage, 202 ; a " Passionate Pu 
 ritan," 210; letter from Prof. 
 Sparks to, 211 ; his manner un 
 der criticism, 211 ; his opinion 
 of other historians, 212 ; his 
 methods in portraiture, 214; his 
 life and character heroic, 216 ; 
 his imaginative sympathy, 216; 
 criticism of his portrayal of the 
 Indian, 217-219; his detesta 
 tion of duplicity, 220 ; his likes 
 and dislikes of his characters, 
 220-229 ; similarity between La 
 Salle and, 225-229; sources of 
 his power, 239-232 ; his external 
 success, 236 ; his citizenship, 
 239 ; his miscellaneous papers, 
 240; the "Tale of the Ripe 
 Scholar, " 242-251 ; stimulates 
 a love for thoroughness in 
 scholarship, 251 ; his interest 
 in public schools, 252 ; his " Our 
 Public Schools," 254 ; his ser 
 vices to Harvard College, 254- 
 256 ; his admiration for strenu 
 ous vitality, 237, 258 ; his amus 
 ing aversion to ministers, 258, 
 311 ; his attitude on the educa 
 tion of women, 259-260; his 
 " Failure of Universal Suffrage," 
 262-273 ; in opposition to nine 
 teenth century civilization, 265 ; 
 opposed to democratic philan 
 thropies, 265 ; fired by the 
 Civil War, 268, 287, 303; op 
 posed to the principle of equal- 
 
INDEX 
 
 391 
 
 ity, 268, to Woman Suffrage, 
 273, 288-294, to educating the 
 Indian, 285, to Universal Suf 
 frage, 287, to idealists and re 
 formers, 295 ; his letter to Col. 
 Higginson, 272 ; his religious 
 opinions and feelings, 284, 311- 
 314; his "Remarks against 
 Woman Suffrage," 288-294 ; 
 his definite philosophy of civili 
 zation, 294 ; his personal health, 
 298-300; his youthful charac 
 teristics, 300 ; his martial traits, 
 301-304 ; his love of action, 305, 
 of study, 306 ; his philosophy of 
 life, 308 ; his letter to Dr. Ellis, 
 315; his autobiographical frag 
 ment, 316-332 ; his reasons for 
 writing it, 317; letter to Brim 
 mer from, 321 ; his innate con 
 servatism, 333 ; his lack of hu 
 man sympathy, 334 ; his home 
 life, 337; death of his mother, 
 337 ; assistance rendered by his 
 sister to, 339 ; death of his 
 brother, 340 ; his homes, 342 ; 
 his library, 343 ; his sense of 
 humor, 345-346 ; his reading, 
 347; his interest in children, 349 ; 
 at the Wentworth Mansion, 352 ; 
 his strong social instincts, 353 ; 
 his conversation, 354-355 ; his 
 friendship, 355-356 ; bibliog 
 raphy of his writings, 359- 
 364 ; his poem, 365-373 ; Par 
 ker s criticism of " Pontiac," 
 374-378. 
 
 Parkman, Mrs. Francis, see Bige- 
 low, Catherine Scollay. 
 
 Parkman, Francis 3 , 28 ; death of, 
 28, 334. 
 
 Parkman, G., 105. 
 
 Parkman, Grace, 28. 
 
 Parkman, Katharine, 28. See also 
 Coolidge, Mrs. J. T., Jr. 
 
 Parkman, Mary, letter from Park 
 man to, 101. 
 
 Parkman, Samuel, 2. 
 
 Parkman, Samuel (son of Eben- 
 ezer),3, 11. 
 
 Parkman, Thomas, 1. 
 
 Parkman, William, 1. 
 
 Parkman, William (son of Eben- 
 ezer), 3. 
 
 " Parkman Collection," the, 344. 
 
 Parkman Crab, the, 31. 
 
 Parkman Professorship of Theol 
 ogy, the, 4. 
 
 Patchen, Captain, 13. 
 
 Peabody, Dr. Ephraim, 5. 
 
 Peabody, Joe, 20, 23. 
 
 Peltrie, Madame de la, 221, 232. 
 
 Penn, William, 285. 
 
 Pennsylvania, Parkman s trips 
 through, 17, 144. 
 
 Peoria, 111., 35, 178. 
 
 " Percy Reliques," the, 347. 
 
 Perry, Horatio J., Parkman s visit 
 to 14; 21, 22, 78, 144. 
 
 Phi Beta Kappa Society, the, 16. 
 
 Philadelphia, 17. 
 
 Phillips, Sir Thomas, 158. 
 
 Phillips, Wendell, 278. 
 
 Piacenza, 87. 
 
 Pierce, Prof., 77. 
 
 " Pioneers of France in the New 
 World," the, 34, 1 73, 1 82, 205, 234. 
 
 Pitt, William, 222. 
 
 Pittsburg, 17. 
 
 Plymouth, Mass., 5. 
 
 Politi, Signore, 117. 
 
 Pompadour, Madame de, 220. 
 
 " Pontiac," see " Conspiracy of 
 Pontiac." 
 
 Pope, 347. 
 
 Portsmouth, N. H., 13, 39, 44, 352 
 
 Prairie du Chien, 35. 
 
 Prescott, 30, 212. 
 
 Puritanism, 206, 210. 
 
 Puritans, the, 5, 148. 
 
392 
 
 INDEX 
 
 QUAKERS, the, 302. 
 Quebec, xi, xiii ; Parkman s visits 
 to, 15, 28, 35, 36 ; 224. 
 
 RADCLIFFE College, 259. 
 Rameau, 213. 
 Rangeley Lakes, the, 38. 
 Rannesi, Luigi, Parkman s guide, 
 
 92, 93; described by Parkman, 
 
 115-119. 
 
 " Red Jacket," Stone s, 213. 
 " Rejected Addresses/ 347. 
 " Revue Canadienne," the, 205. 
 Rhine, the, 68. 
 Richmond, 34. 
 Riedesel, Mrs. General, Parkman s 
 
 review of the memoirs of, 113. 
 Rio Grande, the, 134. 
 Ripley, 25. 
 Rochester, 16. 
 Rocky Mountains, the, 24, 46, 119, 
 
 198, 323. 
 
 Rogers, Sarah, 2. 
 Rogers the Ranger, 15, 220, 222; 
 
 Parkman s poem on, 365-373. 
 Roman Catholic Church, the, 
 
 Parkman s study of, 148; 285. 
 Romanism, Parkmau s study of, 
 
 147, 148, 151, 152, 153, 207. 
 Rome, 85, 95, 113, 133, 151, 192, 
 
 193. 
 
 Rossiter, Joanna, 2. 
 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 278, 291. 
 Royal Historical Society of Lon 
 don, the, 41. 
 
 Royal Society of Canada, the, 41. 
 R. T. D. Society, the, 16. 
 Russel, William, 73. 
 
 SABBATH Day Point, 13. 
 
 Sacs and Foxes, the, in Boston, 
 
 143. 
 
 "Safe Side," the, 313. 
 St. Augustine, 37. 
 St. Botolph Club, the, 36, 41, 353. 
 
 St. Johns, 15. 
 
 St. Lawrence River, the, 36. 
 
 St. Louis, Parkman s trips to, 10, 
 
 35, 70, 119, 121, 309. 
 Saint Michel, No. 21 Boulevard, 
 
 35. 
 
 St. Peter s, at Rome, 152, 193. 
 Saint-Vallier, 220. 
 Salem, Mass., 1. 
 Saltonstall, Elizabeth, 2. 
 Saltonstall, Hon. Leverett, xii. 
 " Sam Hall," 194. 
 Sandwich, 2, 16. 
 San Francisco, 340. 
 San Martino, 150; monastery of, 
 
 150; 151. 
 Santander, 39. 
 Saratoga, 13, 60. 
 Sargent, Prof., 41. 
 " Satan," Parkman s rifle, 130. 
 Saturday Club, the, 353. 
 SaultSte. Marie, 16. 
 " Scalp Hunter," the, xiii. 
 Schooner Head, 336. 
 Schutte, Mrs., 17. 
 Sciacca, 92. 
 Scotland, 69, 202. 
 Scott, Walter, 69, 73, 199, 203, 347. 
 Seneca Lake, 16. 
 Shakespeare, Parkman s fondness 
 
 for, 347. 
 
 Shaw,J. C., 105, 106. 
 Shaw, Robert, 26. 
 Shea, J. G., letter from Parkman 
 
 to, 178. 
 Shelley, 348. 
 Shimmin, C., 105, 106. 
 Sicily, 70, 89, 92 ; country inns of, 
 
 93; women of, 112; 148, 151. 
 Sidmouth, England, 1. 
 Silliman, Prof., 54. 
 Sioux, the, 218. 
 Slade, Daniel D., Parkman s trips 
 
 with, 13, 14, 58. 
 Smith, Horace, 347. 
 
INDEX 
 
 393 
 
 Snelling, Fort, Parkman s journey 
 to, 35. 
 
 Snow, 21. 
 
 Snow, Mr., 64. 
 
 " Some of the Reasons against Wo 
 man s Suffrage," Parkman s, 288. 
 
 Spain, 132, 146. 
 
 Sparks, Prof., letter to Parkman 
 from, 211. 
 
 Spliigen Pass, the, 67. 
 
 Springfield, 16. 
 
 Standish, Miles, 218. 
 
 Stanstead, 14. 
 
 " Star Theatre," the, 104-105. 
 
 Staten Island, 25, 326. 
 
 Stembel, Commodore, 340. 
 
 Stephentowu, 16. 
 
 Stevens, 252. 
 
 Stevenson, R. L., 348. 
 
 Stewart, Dr. George, letter from 
 Parkman to, 349. 
 
 Stockbridge, 16. 
 
 Stoics, the, 310. 
 
 Stone, his " Red Jacket," 213. 
 
 Story, William, 2. 
 
 Subiacco, 98. 
 
 Switzerland, 99. 
 
 Syracuse, 16. 
 
 "TALE of the Ripe Scholar, " 
 
 the, 242-251. 
 
 " Taming of the Shrew," the, 105. 
 " Teatro Sebeto," the, 107. 
 Tete Rouge, 304. 
 Thayer, Gideon, 72. 
 Thoreau, 196. 
 Ticonderoga, 3, 13. 
 Tonty, Henri de, 220. 
 Trask, Sarah, 1. 
 Treadwell, 21. 
 Trenton, 17. 
 Trois Freres, the, 21. 
 Trout Run, 16. 
 Troy, 14. 
 Two Mountains, 34. 
 
 UNDERBILL, 14. 
 
 Union Club, the, 353. 
 
 United States, the, 280, 331. 
 
 " Universal Suffrage," Parkman 
 on, xiv. 
 
 Universal Suffrage, Parkman op 
 posed to, 262, 287. 
 
 "VASSALL Morton," xiv; pub 
 lished, 28, 34, 84 ; heroine of, 
 114, 123, 124; failure of, 124, 
 189; 237,305, 306, 314, 336, 338, 
 341, 347. 
 
 Venice, 139. 
 
 Versailles, 193, 224. 
 
 Very s, 21. 
 
 Vesuvius, Mount, 65. 
 
 Vimont, 232. 
 
 Vinci, Leonardo da, 193 ; his 
 "Last Supper," 194. 
 
 Virgil, tomb of, 96. 
 
 WALNUT Street, No. 8, 29. 
 
 Ward, Rev. Julius H., xii. 
 
 Washington, D. C., 17, 34. 
 
 Washington, George, 277. 
 
 Washington, Mount, 13, 14, 16. 
 
 Wendell, Barrett, writes memoir 
 of Francis Parkman," xii, 
 352, 355. 
 
 Wentworth Mansion, 39, 40 ; de 
 scription of, 352. 
 
 Westborough, Mass., 1, 2, 3. 
 
 West New Brighton, 25. 
 
 Wheelwright, Edward, his "Me 
 moir of Francis Parkman," xii, 
 2,3,5, 6, 12, 14, 17-19, 46, 73, 
 77, 78, 129, 130; his "Class of 
 1844," 16. 
 
 Whipple, Edwin P., on Francis 
 Parkman (father), 4. 
 
 Whirlwind, the, 134. 
 
 White, Henry Orne, Parkman s 
 trip with, 13. 
 
 White Mountain Notch, the, 53. 
 
394 
 
 INDEX 
 
 White Mountains, the, 14, 15. 
 Windsor, 16. 
 
 Winnipesaukee, Lake, 13. 
 Winsor, Justin, xii, 183. 
 Winthrop, Hon. Robert C., xii. 
 Wisconsin, 144. 
 Wild, 20. 
 
 Willey House, the, 54. 
 Williams, Mr., 143. 
 Williams College, 40. 
 Williamsport, 16. 
 Willis, 25. 
 
 Wolfe, 35, 215 ; Parkman s de 
 scription of, 222. 
 
 Woman-suffrage opposed by Park- 
 man, 273, 288. 
 
 " Woman Suffrage," Parkman on, 
 xiv. 
 
 Worcester, Mass., 3. 
 
 Wordsworth, William, 196, 338, 
 347. 
 
 Wyman, 261. 
 
 YODMANS, Prof., 25. 
 
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