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For me the voyage was magnificent—I nearly always feel too good to be
true at sea, and this time we had heavenly weather. Miss Lewis4 was miserable, as always on the
water, but she was not violently ill. One of my pleasures on the way over
was the reading of your book5, which seems to
me very different from any American novel I have ever read. The first thing
that struck me was that no other picture of our manners had made us of[?]
so deeply and, I might say, warmly provincial as that. It’s as if every town was a big,
quarrelling family. The people, even the enemies, are so intimate with each other—an intimacy that
almost makes one shudder, whether it is in enmity or friendship. I realize at once, on seeing it presented, that
this is characteristic of of our
communities, but I had never thought much about it before. Of the individual
people, I think I found “Tura Lura” the most interesting. There is a
fascination about her which I can’t explain to myself, and a haunting
quality which is quite apart from the pathos of her fate. She moves through
the pages in a curious way of her own and one continually feels the beauty
and mysteriousness of her. Brace and his wife are both wonderful characters,
and they help to interpret everybody else. The rebel college professor
stands out among the best of the people. I would like to have a whole book
about him. Perry seemed to me more clear in the first part of the book than
in the last—but the ferment which makes a personality was the theme of
your book, was it not? That ferment I feel more than I feel the man who
emerged from it.
I must wait until I can talk it over with you to go into the story in detail,
but I do not want to wait that long to tell you what a singularly live and
vital book I think it. There is everywhere a kind of heartening vigor about
it, like the sound of hammer on the anvil—one of the sounds I always
find most stimulating in the activities of
of mortal men. There is such a throb of energy in the story, apart from its
emotional richness, a kind of prod[?] prodigal interest in people and
things that keeps perpetually kindling as one reads.
Paris2 was never so beautiful before,
and we have had golden weather with soft gray days between. We are staying
in this hotel just across the river from the Lourve Louvre, and look out upon it and the green river and the
bridges perpetually. The Luxembourg gardens are all gold and green, as beautiful as youth [illegible] itself. The many crippled soldiers
who take the air there in motor-tricycles, and the old veterans of 1870 who
come to help them about, and the little boys who come by to help both sets
of cripples,—all these make one remember that all this beauty is
preserved and kept at a cost. We will have much to tell you when we get
back. In the meantime, we send you a great deal of love. Please don’t move
away from Bank street! I like to think that you are there.