John Lothrop Motley, A Memoir — Complete - Oliver Wendell Holmes

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flavor. We wrote for that, and sometimes verses in the corner of a

       paper called 'The Anti-Masonic Mirror,' and in which corner was a

       woodcut of Apollo, and inviting to destruction ambitious youths by

       the legend underneath—

       'Much yet remains unsung.'

       “These pieces were usually dictated to each other, the poet recumbent

       upon the bed and a classmate ready to carry off the manuscript for

       the paper of the following day. 'Blackwood's' was then in its

       glory, its pages redolent of 'mountain dew' in every sense; the

       humor of the Shepherd, the elegantly brutal onslaughts upon Whigs

       and Cockney poets by Christopher North, intoxicated us youths.

       “It was young writing, and made for the young. The opinions were

       charmingly wrong, and its enthusiasm was half Glenlivet. But this

       delighted the boys. There were no reprints then, and to pass the

       paper-cutter up the fresh inviting pages was like swinging over the

       heather arm in arm with Christopher himself. It is a little

       singular that though we had a college magazine of our own, Motley

       rarely if ever wrote for it. I remember a translation from Goethe,

       'The Ghost-Seer,' which he may have written for it, and a poem upon

       the White Mountains. Motley spoke at one of the college exhibitions

       an essay on Goethe so excellent that Mr. Joseph Cogswell sent it to

       Madam Goethe, who, after reading it, said, 'I wish to see the first

       book that young man will write.'”

      Although Motley did not aim at or attain a high college rank, the rules of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, which confine the number of members to the first sixteen of each class, were stretched so as to include him—a tribute to his recognized ability, and an evidence that a distinguished future was anticipated for him.

       Table of Contents

       Table of Contents

      Of the two years divided between the Universities of Berlin and Gottingen I have little to record. That he studied hard I cannot doubt; that he found himself in pleasant social relations with some of his fellow-students seems probable from the portraits he has drawn in his first story, “Morton's Hope,” and is rendered certain so far as one of his companions is concerned. Among the records of the past to which he referred during his last visit to this country was a letter which he took from a collection of papers and handed me to read one day when I was visiting him. The letter was written in a very lively and exceedingly familiar vein. It implied such intimacy, and called up in such a lively way the gay times Motley and himself had had together in their youthful days, that I was puzzled to guess who could have addressed him from Germany in that easy and off-hand fashion. I knew most of his old friends who would be likely to call him by his baptismal name in its most colloquial form, and exhausted my stock of guesses unsuccessfully before looking at the signature. I confess that I was surprised, after laughing at the hearty and almost boyish tone of the letter, to read at the bottom of the page the signature of Bismarck. I will not say that I suspect Motley of having drawn the portrait of his friend in one of the characters of “Morton's Hope,” but it is not hard to point out traits in one of them which we can believe may have belonged to the great Chancellor at an earlier period of life than that at which the world contemplates his overshadowing proportions.

      Hoping to learn something of Motley during the two years while we had lost sight of him, I addressed a letter to His Highness Prince Bismarck, to which I received the following reply:—

      FOREIGN OFFICE, BERLIN, March 11, 1878.

       SIR—I am directed by Prince Bismarck to acknowledge the receipt of

       your letter of the 1st of January, relating to the biography of the

       late Mr. Motley. His Highness deeply regrets that the state of his

       health and pressure of business do not allow him to contribute

       personally, and as largely as he would be delighted to do, to your

       depicting of a friend whose memory will be ever dear to him. Since

       I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Mr. Motley at

       Varzin, I have been intrusted with communicating to you a few

       details I have gathered from the mouth of the Prince. I enclose

       them as they are jotted down, without any attempt of digestion.

       I have the honor to be

       Your obedient servant,

       LOTHAIR BUCHER.

       “Prince Bismarck said:—

       “'I met Motley at Gottingen in 1832, I am not sure if at the

       beginning of Easter Term or Michaelmas Term. He kept company with

       German students, though more addicted to study than we members of

       the fighting clubs (corps). Although not having mastered yet the

       German language, he exercised a marked attraction by a conversation

       sparkling with wit, humor, and originality. In autumn of 1833,

       having both of us migrated from Gottingen to Berlin for the

       prosecution of our studies, we became fellow-lodgers in the house

       No. 161 Friedrich Strasse. There we lived in the closest intimacy,

       sharing meals and outdoor exercise. Motley by that time had arrived

       at talking German fluently; he occupied himself not only in

       translating Goethe's poem “Faust,” but tried his hand even in

       composing German verses. Enthusiastic admirer of Shakespeare,

       Byron, Goethe, he used to spice his conversation abundantly with

       quotations from these his favorite authors. A pertinacious arguer,

       so much so that sometimes he watched my awakening in order to

       continue a discussion on some topic of science, poetry, or practical

       life, cut short by the chime of the small hours, he never lost his

       mild and amiable temper. Our faithful companion was Count Alexander

       Keyserling, a native of Courland, who has since achieved distinction

       as a botanist.

       “'Motley having entered the diplomatic service of his country, we

       had frequently the opportunity of renewing our friendly intercourse;

       at Frankfort he used to stay with me, the welcome guest of my wife;

       we also met at Vienna, and, later, here. The last time I saw him

       was in 1872 at Varzin, at the celebration of my “silver wedding,”

       namely, the twenty-fifth anniversary.

       “'The most striking feature of his handsome and delicate appearance

       was uncommonly large and beautiful eyes. He never entered a

       drawing-room

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