| Professor Boyesen in His Study. | [4] |
| The Birthplace of W. D. Howells at Martins Ferry, Ohio. | [5] |
| The Giustiniani Palace. | [6] |
| W. D. Howells, After His Return From Venice. | [7] |
| W. D. Howells, in Cambridge in 1868. | [8] |
| W. D. Howells’ Summer Home at Belmont in 1878. | [9] |
| The Author of “Annie Kilburn.” | [10] |
| General Lew Wallace. | [19] |
| William Dean Howells. | [20] |
| Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. | [22] |
| Alphonse Daudet. | [24] |
| Hawarden Castle. | [46] |
| The Library. | [47] |
| The Gladstone Family. | [51] |
| “Balanoglossus”, and Large Sea Lamprey. | [53] |
| Embryos Showing Gill-slits. | [53] |
| Adult Shark. | [54] |
| Marble Head of Satyr. | [55] |
| Head of Satyr in Group of Marsyas and Apollo. | [55] |
| Faun. | [55] |
| Form of the Ear in Baby Outang. | [55] |
| Horned Sheep and Goat with Cervical Auricles. | [55] |
| Ear of Barbary Ape, Chimpanzee, and Man. | [57] |
| James Parton in 1852. | [59] |
| James Parton in 1891. | [62] |
| The Chateau de La Chesnaye. | [84] |
| Count de Lesseps in 1869. | [85] |
| Madame de Lesseps in 1880. | [88] |
| Count de Lesseps in 1880. | [89] |
| Count de Lesseps in 1892. | [90] |
REAL CONVERSATIONS.—I.
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS AND HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN.
Recorded By Mr. Boyesen.
When I was requested to furnish a dramatic biography of Mr. Howells, I was confronted with what seemed an insuperable difficulty. The more I thought of William Dean Howells, the less dramatic did he seem to me. The only way that occurred to me of introducing a dramatic element into our proposed interview was for me to assault him with tongue or pen, in the hope that he might take energetic measures to resent my intrusion; but as, notwithstanding his unvarying kindness to me, and many unforgotten benefits, I cherished only the friendliest feelings for him, I could not persuade myself to procure dramatic interest at such a price.
My second objection, I am bound to confess, arose from my own sense of dignity which rebelled against the rôle of an interviewer, and it was not until my conscience was made easy on this point that I agreed to undertake the present article. I was reminded that it was an ancient and highly dignified form of literature I was about to revive; and that my precedent was to be sought not in the modern newspaper interview, but in the Platonic dialogue. By the friction of two kindred minds, sparks of thought may flash forth which owe their origin solely to the friendly collision. We have a far more vivid portrait of Socrates in the beautiful conversational turns of “The Symposium” and the first book of “The Republic,” than in the purely objective account of Xenophon in his “Memorabilia.” And Howells, though he may not know it, has this trait in common with Socrates, that he can portray himself, unconsciously, better than I or anybody else could do it for him.
If I needed any further encouragement, I found it in the assurance that what I was expected to furnish was to be in the nature of “an exchange of confidences between two friends with a view to publication.” It was understood, of course, that Mr. Howells was to be more confiding than myself, and that his reminiscences were to predominate; for an author, however unheroic he may appear to his own modesty, is bound to be the hero of his biography. What made the subject so alluring to me, apart from the personal charm which inheres in the man and all that appertains to him, was the consciousness that our friendship was of twenty-two years’ standing, and that during all that time not a single jarring note had been introduced to mar the harmony of our relation.
Equipped, accordingly, with a good 4 conscience and a lead pencil (which remained undisturbed in my breast-pocket), I set out to “exchange confidences” with the author of “Silas Lapham” and “A Modern Instance.” I reached the enormous human hive on Fifty-ninth Street where my subject, for the present, occupies a dozen most comfortable and ornamental cells, and was promptly hoisted up to the fourth floor and deposited in front of his door. It is a house full of electric wires and tubes—literally honeycombed with modern conveniences. But in spite of all these, I made my way triumphantly to Mr. Howells’s den, and after a proper prelude began the novel task assigned to me.
PROFESSOR BOYESEN IN HIS STUDY AT COLUMBIA COLLEGE.