The Eric Metaxas Show - Nicholas Basbanes

Episode Date: July 7, 2020

Nicholas Basbanes has written a fascinating biography of one of Eric's favorite authors, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and brings out engaging stories from his book, "Cross of Snow."

Hi, welcome to the Eric Mataxis show. I just found out I'm supposed to be someplace else right now. So my sincere apologies, but I simply won't be able to introduce today's host, Mr. Eric Mataxis. Hey, folks, welcome to the Eric Mataxis show. As you know, this is the show about everything. We like to talk about everything, a little bit of everything, everything that I think will interest you. One of the things that I love to talk about is culture and books. As you know, I've written a number of books. I very recently came across a biography of one of my favorite human beings, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. If you've watched this program or listened to this program for a few years, you know what a fan I am of Paul Revere's ride. And when I saw this biography, a new biography about Longfellow called Cross of Snow, I said, I've got to see this book.

I spent the last four days reading this book, knowing that I would have the privilege to interview the author of this book. And right now, for the full hour, my guest is Nick Baz Baines. Nick Baz Baines, welcome to this program. Well, thank you, Eric. Thank you for the wonderful comments about the book. Very gratifying. You know, as an author of books yourself, it doesn't mean a thing until you hear from readers. Here, hear what response.

Well, look, I want to just, I want to tell you, I'm rarely intimidated, but I read this book and I thought to myself, first of all, let me say this, it is extremely well written. There are many books that have important ideas in them, but there aren't that many books that are written in a way that is itself beautiful. I pride myself on my writing. And when I encounter great writing, it was such, such a joy. Let's let's let's, let's, let's, let's, let's, let's, let's, Let's just say that I realize when I'm talking to you, I'm talking to a real man of letters. You've written many books. You've written books about books. So let's, before we leap into Longfellow, if you don't mind, I just want to ask you a little bit about your own background. I know that your grandparents were Greek immigrants, so already you start at the head of the class. But just tell me, how did you find your way into writing the books that you have written? I spent 13 years as a book review editor in Worcester, Massachusetts.

And from the very beginning of my work, I did a literary column, which basically involved interviewing a major author every week, doing a personal interview going to Boston, meeting this person firsthand. And as a bonus, I always ask these authors to write a personal inscription into these books, which became a collection, a collection beyond, you know, the literary works that you were reviewing for the weekly paper, I was really collecting books as material objects to be valued in and of themselves.

And I interviewed hundreds of authors over the years, a thousand authors, I think we calculated. I left the newspaper in 19. I was working for the Worcester Telegram. I left the paper in 1991. I had a contract to write my first book, which was titled A Gentle Maddenable, Bibliofiles, bibliomains, meaning maniacs, and the eternal passion for books. And there really wasn't a publisher in New York that wanted to take it. And I really had to spend some time finding someone to really agree to take this book on.

And it was issued in a very small first printing, maybe 5,500 copies. It became a bestseller. We had three printings within the first month. They're still in print. There are 120,000 copies in print. who was a finalist for the National Books Critics Circle Award. And, you know, it was really exciting. And I continued to write books about books, book culture.

The premise there was, you know, a book collecting. You say, what could be more boring than a book about book collectors, except that I had a premise that really collectors, people who go out and preserve things and others regard as trash or refuse, really work in a way to preserve our culture, society, our literature, our heritage, things that otherwise go to the dump. And I documented many instances. And what I did is something that nobody else has ever done before, and I dare say hasn't done since. I mean, I gave you a conventional history of Bibliomania over

2000 years. Being a journalist, my roots are in investigative journalism. I was an investigative reporter before I was a book editor. And I really applied the techniques of investigative reporting to going out and finding the great, great book collectors of today and how they contributed in ways that their forebears. And so it was really exciting. I really boxed the compass. I traveled. I went all over the way.

Box the compass. You see? As a neighbor to use that maritime people. I want to ask my engineer, is the sound okay, James? Are we hearing this all right? Yeah, you guys sound okay. Okay. Let me go to the book that I have right.

here. And look, since people are watching, I can show it. It's a, it is a beautiful book. And as speaking to a bibliophile, you know, you care about the books themselves, not just the words in the books, but about the paper and so on and so forth. And in this book, Cross of Snow, which I want to say, again, is a life of Longfellow, biography of Longfellow. You often talk about books and about objects that you found in museums at the Craigie House in Cambridge. And it's obvious in reading this book how much you love books themselves. So that's part of the story. That leads that that grows out of that first book. It was a celebration of the object. And it was just a, it was just a progression. I wrote books about various aspects of book culture. My last book before this one,

it was a book about paper, a cultural history of paper. You should get a, I'm going to send you a copy of that book. I would listen after reading that book after reading this book next about this medium of transmission it was about paper this ubiquitous material that we handle every day multiple times and multiple ways and so that was a cultural history so what comes next I really wanted to do a biography now how did you come to write a biography of Longfellow what was the process that brings you you're writing about this man. In 2007, I did a magazine article for Smithsonian, and it was the bicentennial year of Longfellow.

And in preparing for that piece, I went to the Longfellow House in Cambridge, Massachusetts, at 105 Rattle Street, also known as Longfellow House Washington's headquarters. That's important because the House served as the command headquarters with General Washington during the siege of Boston of the run-up to the American Revolution, a very historic house. And Longfellow lived there for 50 years.

That's as you read the book. That's part of the story. But I went and I was just astounded by what was in there, not just the fact that it was this authentic house with authentic furnishings and artworks and furniture, but archives, paper archives, by the reckoning of the National Park Service, which operates it, 800,000, 800,000,

of materials was teeming with materials. And so much of it had not been studied before. And Longfellow had fallen out of fashion. And I have to say, I was angry about that. Okay, look, that's where we are violently in agreement. I am and have been furious for a while over what you talk about in your book. The idea that Longfellow fell out of fashion is horrific because he is so, Great. And early in your book, you get into this, how he was really kicked to the curb

dramatically and intentionally by the entire literary and cultural establishment. And you're beginning to see, and you are part of a renaissance to try to bring him back, which he deserved. I hope so. I mean, he's too good of a writer to be kicked out. you know, we all have our ups and downs, as I say in the book, literary fashion is a slippery slope. We all have ups, we all have downs. But in his instance, he didn't disappear through the natural consequence of falling out of favor with the general readership. People always loved his work. And I've got figures to back that up.

I mean, in preparation for this interview today, I contacted the people at the Library of America, which next month they celebrate the 20th anniversary of their edition of a collection. It's a collected edition of Longfellow's poetry. And in the 40-odd years of the Library of America, which attempts to bring to put back into print all of the cornerstones of American literature, the Longfellow collection came out 20 years ago after having, after 20 years of the Library of America. Forgive me, Nick. We're going to a hard break because it's radio.

We'll be right back to continue the conversation. Folks, don't go what. Folks, I continue my conversation with Nick Bazbane's. The book is titled Cross of Snow, A Life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I want to repeat to my audience. I rarely get to read books whose authors I interview on this program. I made a point of reading this book. And to say I enjoyed it would be an understatement.

Nick Bazbanes, congratulations. on a genuinely great book. I have to tell you, I don't say that lightly. Thank you. You honor me. Thank you very much. It's what a writer works for. Well, and I know it.

One point, Eric, before we forget it, if I may. Yeah. I was just talking about the Library of America edition and the continuing readership that Longfellow enjoys, despite the fact that he's been, you know, forgotten by the critical establishment. Of the 330 editions of works published by the Library of America over the last 40-something years,

he ranks 28th, 28th in sales, ahead of Jack Kerouac, ahead of Wallace Stevens, just a few behind Poe, a good, steady, mid-list seller, 28th, and he was the 100th book issued, so it took him 20 years to catch up to the others and pull ahead. But you're not surprised, are you? I mean, if you're given a choice between reading Jack Kerouac And the head of Wallace Stevens, he's ahead of Eugene O'Neill.

I mean, I've got the list. I don't have to read you. Look, I just want to say up front, I'm not surprised. I'm not at all surprised. You know, Wallace Stevens is effectively opaque half the time, as much as I love his language. There is something, I simply don't think anyone can touch Longfellow in many ways. And that's part of the beauty of your book is to bring him to a new readership. the poems speak for themselves.

But I wasn't aware of the Library of America book. I will get that ASAP. I recommend it very highly. I will do that. Well, again, let's just say that when you wrote this biography, of course there have been other biographies of Longfellow. In this book, you choose particularly to focus on his relationship with his wife, Fannie. that's really at the center of the book.

Is that because of a rediscovery of new materials, new letters? What do you take your children to focus on that? I would say not rediscovery, discovery, because Fannie has never really, Fannie has been written about, but she's always been on the margins. When she dies tragically in 1861, she disappears. And then we look at the next 22 years of Longfellow's life. That's when he grows the beard.

He grew the beard. For listeners who are unfamiliar with the biography, his wife dies quite tragically in a horrific accident involving a fire. She's sealing some envelopes with clippings of hair, one of her daughter's hair, and her dress catches on fire. Henry rushes into the room, tries desperately to put out the flames. He succeeds, but the woman dies the next morning. He sustains injuries.

and that's the point at which he begins to grow that beard. He has some facial injuries. And when you see that photograph on the picture of the book, I love that photograph because that was taken in England in 1868, and he was basically making a triumphant victory lap. He sold more in England in the 1860, basically throughout his career, than Lloyd Tennyson, the poet laureate, sold more than Robert Browning on their own turf. You know, I mean, think about this.

He was not just beloved in the United States of America. He was beloved all over the world. 30 different languages, he was at least, 30 languages minimum he was translated in and beloved. He's the only American to date to have his likeness, a bust erected in Westminster Abbey, Poets Connor. The only one. Isn't that amazing? I want to say that the story behind the story, and this maybe brings us to our mutual friend, Dana Joya, There was a time in America where people read poetry, when poetry was something that everyone read

because of modernism and the direction of culture and the arts in the last century, in a way that has changed radically, not just with regard to poetry, but with many of the arts. And I think that's part of the reason the cultural establishment was made uncomfortable by Longfellow. He was too popular, I think many people thought, to be good. In other words, in order to be good, you've got to be difficult or you've got to be accessible. And he wrote beautiful poetry. And he also used, he was a master at meter at metrical. You know, you look at his verse. These aren't just rhyming lines. I mean, the man is a master of dactylic ex-evidence for Evangeline. You know, everyone told him he shouldn't be using this difficult meter. That's the

meter that Homer used and verdure used. You shouldn't be using that with modern English. He did, and the book was fabulous. He takes this prochaic tetrameter, for instance, for Hiawatha. You get that sound, you know, that nice, you hate to say tom-tom sound, but it does evoke, you know, this subject matter. And it's an amazing facility that he has to select the meter and the type of verse, the metrical forms that he uses that are perfectly suited to what he's writing,

the poetry that he's writing. And they're beautiful to read, to read aloud. I mean, you can pick up a poem even of Longfellow's that you maybe had read before, haven't looked at in 40 years or whatever. I mean, I go back with Longfellow very, very far back. We had to memorize him when I was a kid. You pick up one of these poems like snowflakes. It's just a little three-stands of poem.

It's beautiful. It's accessible. You understand what he's saying, and the sound, as you just say it alone, is magnificent. He's too good of a writer to be rejected and to be... Well, you just reminded me of something. I talk about this all the time, you know, particularly when I'm talking about Paul Revere's ride. I say there were generations of Americans that were required to memorize these poems. And you are of that generation.

my generation and subsequent generations were not required to memorize Paul Revere's Ride or the village blacksmith. And where did you go to school? I'm always curious when you say that you were required. Where did you go to school and when was this? A very good public school system in Lowell, Massachusetts. I grew up in Lowell. My parents were hardworking, first generation Greek Americans. My grandparents all came to this country, the early years of the 20th century, to work in the textile mills up in Lowell, hardworking people, good, hardworking people whose number one goal was to educate their sons.

My brother went to law school, and I went to, after Lowell High School, went to Bates College up in Lewiston, Maine, and Penn State after that. And then I stood three years as a naval officer in Vietnam, very proud years of service, I may say. and came back to Massachusetts and had been in journalism, but I grew up in Lowell. My parents were very hardworking people. I can't say that we had a lot of books in the house,

but we always respected books. And my most treasured possession was my first library card, and it kills me that I don't have it, you know? Every Saturday we would go down town, and I had my card, and I would take whatever the limit was. If it was 10 books, I could take home. I would take 10 books or 20 books. How old were you when you were required to memorize Longfellow?

What grade? It's funny you should ask that because when this book came out, I heard from some people that I went to elementary school with who I hadn't had any contact with, you know, 60 years, a long time. I mean, I grew up in the 50s. And this one young woman, I went to Varnham, junior high school, but said, do you remember, we had to memorize Evangelite and Paul Revere's right? That would have been about, you know, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth grades. And we

learned Latin too. I mean, we studied Latin in school then. My Latin is not bad as a result of that. Who studies Latin in schools today? Well, this, you know, this gets to what's happened to the culture. And this was a totally bipartisan thing. I had the privilege of interviewing Caroline Kennedy last year. And out of the blue, I asked her something about poetry, and she says, she starts going on and on about Paul Revere's Ride. Well, right next to me on the podium, I happen to have a copy of my book in which I devote a chapter to Paul Revere's Ride. And the two of us are gushing over this poem, which is obviously an extraordinarily patriotic poem. And I thought, you know, here, we had a time in America where everyone could celebrate America. She was going on and on about how her uncle Ted would recite the poem at family

gatherings. And I think that's kind of what is lost. And I think that it's just so beautiful to me that Longfellow provided poems that we can memorize. I mean, if you didn't have to memorize Longfellow, where would you go next? You know, I can't really think of anything to compare to Paul Revere's ride. You know, one of the raps against Longfellow, and Jill Lepore pointed it out in an essay that he received letters from children, hundreds of letters from children, and he answered as many as equally. It's estimated he received 20,000 letters, another 15, 100 or so asked for autographs, and you can't say that he answered everyone, but he tried to. And so many of them he received from children. and one letter he received from a nine-year-old girl out in Ohio who said, Dear Mr. Longfellow, I love your poetry.

I've memorized them. And it means so much to me. Okay, we're going to a break. We're going to come right back to that sentence, folks. Don't go away. The Trump campaign has a special offer just for you. President Trump wants to meet you. This will be the first opportunity he's had to meet with American patriots like you since our country started reopening.

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Again, Eric, in the coupon code, hit apply free shipping. These historic times will pass. The yuck in your gut will pass also with getthathe.com. That's get the tea.com. Folks, my apologies once again for cutting off Nicholas Bazbane. Nicholas, you were making a point, Nick, about what Jill Lepore wrote. And I read it in your book. I thought it's kind of a typical thing, isn't it, that people sneer.

That's the verb I would use. They sneer at anything that is universally beloved that is in their minds too popular, anything, God forbid, that rhymes. And yet, you know and I know that we're not talking about a poet who wrote, you know, this is not Edgar Guest. I mean, this is some of the greatest art ever produced. And what makes it all the greater is it managed also to be accessible to children and to people, you know, who were not fans of, let's say, William Carlos Williams or someone along those lines. Well, if you read the introduction to the book, I found this wonderful letter that Theodore Roosevelt wrote to, you know, and this is easily our most prolific president. I mean, in terms of writing books, he wrote 45 books, beautiful books and a multitude of subjects.

brilliant man. And he had written this critic for the Atlantic, and she had written an essay about Robert Browning. So he was actually responding to the Browning piece. But then he just said, but another thing about Longfellow, because he could see what was happening. The winds were changing and this mocking that you just described, this sneering. It had been in progress. And he could see where it was going. He said, please, just don't reject Longfellow just yet. Please, you read some of his poetry. You can hear the oars splash in the water. You can hear the clash of, you know, whatever. You can hear the sails unfurl. It's just this rugged, beautiful poetry that's too good to be rejected. This is Theodore Roosevelt is sitting president of the United States, writing to a critic, pleading. Now, this is not

some 10-year-old child in Ohio. This is the president of the United States, who's a Harvard graduate and who's written 45 books. We're not talking about some minor league intellect here. And yet, and yet that's what's remarkable about Longfellow. We should have, definitely should make the point because it wasn't just children, it wasn't just working people. It was intellectuals. It was politicians. Abraham Lincoln was read, the building of the ship.

He was read to him during the darkest days of the Civil War. And it brings him to tears, you know, and then you jump ahead to 1941. during the darkest days of England standing alone against the Nazis in Europe. And FDR still hasn't met Churchill yet, but he writes from memory the very same passage, say along no ship of states, say along no union, strong and great humanity. I don't want to paraphrase it. It's such an important, important line. But here you have two presidents separated by 80 years.

And this is at a time in the 1940s when Longfellow is supposedly dead. He's not dead. FDR is quoting him from memory. He sends Wendell Wilkie, who was recently defeated for the presidency as a special envoy to bring this handwritten excerpt from that poem and deliver it to Churchill, who reads it on the BBC. He reads it before Parliament. And in fact, later, they both signed broadsides of that little excerpt.

And one of them sold for $65,000 and a christmas. Wow. Wow. Oh, my goodness. It's about a poem having the power, the resonance. And the story of how Longfellow actually wrote that little, those few lines, substituted those lines in the building of the ship, which was supposedly about the building of a ship,

the making of a ship, designing it, a master and his daughter, and the young apprentice who's going to marry the daughter. And it's a story of the steps that are followed to build a ship and to sail it. And at the last minute, it was during, it was 1846, And these are these very contentious years. And this, by the way, my book is really written at parallel. So the 18 years of the marriage of Henry and Fannie Longfellow, it's from 1843 to 1861.

It's that run-up, those 18 really unbelievable years leading up to the Civil War. And his response to it, his wife's response to it, his good friend Charles Sumner's response to it. And at this time, Longfellow puts in those lines, Union strong and great. It's an amazing thing. He's not talking about a ship. He's talking about our combined. And of course, it seems

prophetic. He is, and how important it is to preserve the union. So then he said that one fellow didn't respond to what was going on. He didn't do it directly. When you're talking about Paul Revere's ride, those final lines and the hour of darkness and peril

in need, the people will wake up and celebrate Paul. Or get to hear. Whatever. I mean, it's magnificent. He's talking about what's going on right now. Paul Revere's ride was published. I mean, at the very time, the Civil War is breaking out. It was in the January 1861 issue of the Atlantic Monthly.

I didn't realize, you know, there's so much about him, I didn't know that I learned in the last few days reading your wonderful book. But his friendship with Charles Sumner, And it's an extraordinary thing. And then, you know, Charles Sumner, I've heard many times over the years that, you know, Charles Sumner was thrashed with a cane in the Senate. It's one of these moments in our history that if we think we're divided now, you know, slavery was that divisive of an issue, obviously, and led us to this horrible, horrible war. But the idea that this was a man who knew that art could be used.

to speak the truth. It was not polemical. He managed to say what needed to be said without being merely polemical. He was able to say, you know, to a generation of Americans and to future generations that we need to harken and hear the cry of Paul Revere. It spoke to something beyond his time, but at the same time it didn't shrink from speaking to the people of his time. He understood that the union must be preserved. So I think his willingness to do that speaks to people. We're going to come back again. We've got a couple more segments with Nick Baz Bains.

The book is Cross of Snow. Folks, I'm talking to Nick Baz Bains. He's author of a new book, a wonderful biography of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The book is called Cross of Snow. Maybe, Nick, you should tell our audience where the title comes from. I found that very moving. You already asked, and I discussed briefly, that this is fundamentally a life of Longfellow, but it's also a life of his second wife, Francis Elizabeth Appleton Longfellow, known as Fannie.

And the story of how they became husband in life was a story unto itself, the wooing seven-year courtship, the really bad idea. of writing a novel using her as a fictional character. Big mistake. That's all discussed in the book. But once she does accept his proposal of marriage, and they are married on July the 13th, 1842, it's 18 years of just extraordinary productivity.

It ushers in the most productive, the most fruitful years of his professional life and the happiest years of his life. I mean, all the great narrative poems are now written, Evangeline, Heawatha, Miles Standish, building of the ship. You go on on Paul Revere's ride, the great, great poems. And then it ends 18 years, and it ends horribly, as I mentioned earlier. And he's devastated.

He was married earlier. His first wife died after a miscarriage, and he was devastated. He never thought he'd had happiness again. When Fannie accepted his proposal, he wrote in his journal, Vita, oh, this day, forever blessed, that ushered. in this vita novo of happiness, the new life of happiness. And it was.

It was idyllic, and their house became almost like a literary shrine for pilgrims to visit. Still is, it's a National Park Service historic site. After her death, and it was almost 18 years to the day of their marriage, she was buried on their 18th anniversary.

Jump ahead 18 years. And what does he do after her death? Yes, he grieves. It's one of the great, great stories, I think, of perseverance, of strength, of dealing with grief, of dealing with loss. He had five young children, and he focused on. I mean, one letter he says, inside, I am bleeding.

He said, to the world, to the outside world, I am calm. Inside, I am bleeding to death. But he does what he has to do. And what is he, among the things he does? He is the first American to do a complete translation of Dante into English. and it's remarkable. And it is still praised today and valued as really one of the outstanding translations of Dante. By the way, in your book you mentioned that Harold Bloom, whose class I took at Yale,

that he regarded Longfellow as truly great. In a way that surprised me, it thrilled me to think that Harold Bloom thought that, but also that Bloom reckoned Longfellow's translation of the divine comedy to be a great translation. I thought to myself, I want to get a copy of that as soon as possible. I cannot wait to read Longfellow's translation, which takes us to the issue of he was a genius linguist. I had no idea until I read your book. It is a staggering thing what he did with other languages. You know, when Ole Bull comes to the house, he converses with him in Norwegian.

When Frederica Bremer comes to the house, they talk in Swedish. You know, when the emperor of Brazil comes to the house, they talk Portuguese. He speaks French to French, Frenchmen, German. I mean, and his language skills are magnificent. His two trips abroad to learn these languages I discuss in the book. You won't have time to get to them. I don't think of this program, but it's really a very important aspect of the knowledge, the conception of who Longfellow is.

I mean, you can argue, you know, we talk about multiculturalism. His longfellow is prize for his moderate conservative values. And you can argue that he's the first multiculturals. He introduces no fewer than 50 German authors, including Gerta and Schiller, to American readers. He translates Dante. he introduces Spanish writers, Italian writers. And he actually has half a dozen, nine different textbooks in various languages while he's a professor. He speaks languages.

One of the things he did, he went to Europe at the age of 18, graduated from Bowdoin College at the age of 18. One of his classmates was Nathaniel Hawthor. That's pretty good class, don't you? Yeah. And at the age of 18, he goes to Europe. He is allowed, he is entrusted by his parents. We're talking 1826 here. He goes to Europe for three years to learn the languages he will be required to teach when he comes back.

All of this said, okay, his wife dies horrifically. And on the 18th anniversary, he is suffering inwardly, but he is still producing magnificently. He makes trips to England and all over the continent. He's received. He's honored. And yet he's still grieving inside. And on the 18th anniversary, Fannie's loss, he sits down in July the 10th, 1879, he writes out this poem, this sonnet. It's called the Cross of Snow.

And I read it as a contemplation of two paintings, one very personal one in the bedroom. One of his wife hangs across the bed on the second floor. And it's in the long sleepless watches of the night. the face of one long dead looks at me from the wall where round its head the night lamp casts a halo of pale light here in this room she died

and never through modern dim of fire and our canon books be read the legend of a tale of a life more bened. I'm fluffed up the last couple of lines. More benedite. That's a word. It stopped me. The critics wrap him for using that word, some critics.

And so that's a sonnet. It's an A-plus In some views, maybe now that makes it an A-minus. It's just old Henry, again, forcing a word to make it right. But if you study that word, if you look at actually it is translation of the divine, it's a perfect word. It means blessed. It derives from Benedictus, St. Benedict. It's a perfect word for that place and that sonnet.

And by the way, Harold Bloom says, and you studied under Harold, I interviewed him three or four times. I had the pleasure and the honor to interview. him. He, no less than authoritative than Harold Bloom says, there is no better composer of sonnets, any American who did sonnets better than Henry Longfell. Isn't that amazing? He ranks him. He's not Shakespeare. He's not Keats and he's not Shelly and he's not Wordsworth, but they're Brits. You know, Longfellow is by far the best author of sonnets, the 14-line, perfect little poems. It is, it is. The second part of that song, that poem,

He talks about this great mountain. There is a mountain. Forgive me, Nick. Once again, we have to go to a break. When we come back, we are going to get to the second part of this glorious sonnet. Folks, don't go away. Folks, welcome back. I'm talking to Nick Bazbane's.

Yes, it's a Greek name. He's the author of a glorious biography of Longfellow. The title of the book is Cross of Snow. And we're just talking about that title and how it comes from a poem that we're Longfellow wrote 18 years after the tragic death of his wife. The poem is titled Cross of Snow. And the final six lines of the poem, you were just, Nick, going to get to that. Henry had visited the centennial exhibition of 1876 in Philadelphia,

and he had seen this magnificent painting by the outdoor artist James Thomas Moran, And it was of a mountain that had recently been discovered during geological searches and mapping expeditions in the Rockies. And it was a mountain that on its side, through the crevices and ravines, displayed a cross. And it electrified people. Millions of people saw this poem. Actually, that painting won the first prize of the exhibition. And so, again, Henry is always getting his cues from paintings or things that he reads, ideas, the stories. He writes about Florence Nightingale because of an article he's read in the Times of London.

I mean, it's, you know, wherever you get your ideas. But after he has written in the first eight lines about the painting that he looks at here in this room, she died, then he goes, there is a mountain in the distant west that sun-defying in its deep ravines displays a cross of snow upon its side, a cross of snow. Such is the cross, such is the cross I wear upon my breast these eight. 18 years were all the changing scenes and seasons changeless as the day she died. As a symbol of his grief, he's bearing on his chest across the sides of the mountain. And I thought to myself, you know, there in 14 lines is in a kind of microscopic blueprint for the book I wanted to write.

It gave me the architecture, really, for a narrative structure. I mean, I really did try to achieve kind of a dual narrative. I mean, of voices because the richness of materials. One of the things that was thrilling for doing this book, thrilling. And I hope, you know, I have a chance to do another book that goes into the 19th century was to be able to write about people who wrote magnificent letters. We wrote magnificent letters and they saved them. They kept beautiful journals and they kept documents.

And as a person who likes to allow people to speak to hear their voices, what an opportunity it was for me to really allow. these two remarkable people to speak, to let them speak, to let them tell us how things are going, through their letters and through their journals. And they were such wonderful writers and very forthright. It was a wonderful opportunity. I mean, you don't find that after the 19th century. Well, isn't that tragic? I mean, it made me feel deeply ashamed, actually. When I read their journals and their letters, I thought to myself, the idea that they took the time to express themselves so very beautiful.

beautifully with such detail. You quote, as you just said, extensively from their letters and their journals. And look, first of all, the title, Cross of Snow, it's a spectacular title for a number of reasons. But the idea that that poem written in his last year would some things up that way. I mean, it's really... It wasn't published in his lifetime. It was so personal. He tucked it in an envelope and left.

it among his belongings. I have to tell you, that I saw at the Harvard Library, and you've been through archival materials. You know, it's very precise. You go one sheet after another. I have to say when I turned over a piece of paper, and there was the holographic copy of crosses and the envelope. I mean, you have touched so many things with your hands. If you don't mind, we're going to keep you on for a little bit more conversation. Folks, that's the end of this hour, but if you can continue with us, it's my privilege to talk to the author of Cross of Snow.