John Brown's Body
Stephen Vincent Benét, the author of _John Brown's Body _and one of the
most splendid human creatures of these tragic times, was born in Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania, in 1898, the year of the Spanish War and one of the critical
moments of American history. He was the son of an army officer, James Walker
Benét, and of Frances Rose his wife, and he was singularly fortunate in his
inheritance. On his father's side he came of Spanish or, rather, Catalonian
stock, for his great grandfather had emigrated from the Balearic Islands to
Florida early in the 19th century. His mother's people were of English and
Scotch-Irish descent and lived in Pennsylvania. Thus, as a hundred critics have
noticed, he was actually a blend of the North and South, whose conflict none was
to understand better than he. But one might go farther and say that he was a
blend of North and South Europe as well. His father was an officer more than
usually accomplished in his profession, with a passion for poetry, not common
among experts on artillery. His paternal grandfather, General Stephen Vincent
Benét, had played a great part in equipping the Northern armies all through the
Civil War and rose to be Chief of Ordnance after the struggle. An uncle, Mr.
Laurence Benét, is a distinguished mechanical engineer and co-inventor of the
Benét-Mercier machine gun, which unhappily had to be used a great deal in the
first World War. The tradition of the family is military.
It should also be said of the family, all of whom I had the felicity to know,
most of them extremely well, that it is perhaps as distinguished for charm and
ability as any family whatever. I should not hesitate to compare them with the
Adams, the Darwins, or the Trevelyans. Stephen's elder brother, William Rose
Benét, and his sister, Laura Benét, also his senior, are poets of noble ability.
And the grace and humor of the circle left nothing to be desired. I never heard
better or more unaffected conversation on literature anywhere than on the porch
of the Commandant's quarters at Benicia, California, except possibly on the
porch of the Commandant's quarters in Augusta, Georgia. The Colonel was the very
spirit of wit and taste in such matters and intensely diverted by the fact that
his children had turned into poets under his nose. And Mrs. Benét over the
tea-cups was not a whit behind him in her enjoyment and understanding of the
phenomenon. As one privileged to share for many years the pleasures and sorrows
of that enchanting group, I can testify that Stephen Benét was fortunate beyond
most poets in his family environment.
One point is so obvious that to mention it is almost trite. There is a real
connection between the profession of the father and the performance of the son.
In the course of his career, an American soldier is likely to be stationed at
posts all over the country. And Englishmen perhaps do not always realize quite
what this means. It is as far from New York to San Francisco as from London to
Constantinople, and as far from the Canadian border to the southern tip of Texas
as from Birmingham to Gibraltar. And though we speak a common language, which
all but a few eccentrics admit to be English, we have our share of local
diversity and temperament. Stephen Benét had the experience of living in many of
the great regions of the republic, for each of which in turn he developed a
predilection and sympathy. As a preparation for what he was destined to create,
such an opportunity to get the whole country 'into his bones' was beyond
estimation. His love for the red-soiled rolling farmland of Pennsylvania, for
the yellow hills and particolored marshes of San Francisco Bay, for the
half-tropic lowlands and blue-grey mountains of Georgia, for the Sussex
landscapes of southern New England, came naturally and early and remained to him
always. None of our writers has had a larger sense of the country as a whole or
in its parts, as none has made nobler use of that sense. No doubt he was born
with a taste for particularity and humor, which vary notably from region to
region in the United States, but circumstances had given every opportunity to
satisfy any such taste. And genius, achieving a synthesis, was to do the rest.
That genius, as so often happens, was apparent enough when he was a boy of
thirteen, at the time I first knew him, for he already talked with a delightful
and innocent maturity that was without trace of self-conscious precocity. I
still possess a 'scroll' of verses produced by four members of the Benét family
to celebrate my twenty-seventh birthday, which I happened to spend with them in
Georgia.
1108254018
most splendid human creatures of these tragic times, was born in Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania, in 1898, the year of the Spanish War and one of the critical
moments of American history. He was the son of an army officer, James Walker
Benét, and of Frances Rose his wife, and he was singularly fortunate in his
inheritance. On his father's side he came of Spanish or, rather, Catalonian
stock, for his great grandfather had emigrated from the Balearic Islands to
Florida early in the 19th century. His mother's people were of English and
Scotch-Irish descent and lived in Pennsylvania. Thus, as a hundred critics have
noticed, he was actually a blend of the North and South, whose conflict none was
to understand better than he. But one might go farther and say that he was a
blend of North and South Europe as well. His father was an officer more than
usually accomplished in his profession, with a passion for poetry, not common
among experts on artillery. His paternal grandfather, General Stephen Vincent
Benét, had played a great part in equipping the Northern armies all through the
Civil War and rose to be Chief of Ordnance after the struggle. An uncle, Mr.
Laurence Benét, is a distinguished mechanical engineer and co-inventor of the
Benét-Mercier machine gun, which unhappily had to be used a great deal in the
first World War. The tradition of the family is military.
It should also be said of the family, all of whom I had the felicity to know,
most of them extremely well, that it is perhaps as distinguished for charm and
ability as any family whatever. I should not hesitate to compare them with the
Adams, the Darwins, or the Trevelyans. Stephen's elder brother, William Rose
Benét, and his sister, Laura Benét, also his senior, are poets of noble ability.
And the grace and humor of the circle left nothing to be desired. I never heard
better or more unaffected conversation on literature anywhere than on the porch
of the Commandant's quarters at Benicia, California, except possibly on the
porch of the Commandant's quarters in Augusta, Georgia. The Colonel was the very
spirit of wit and taste in such matters and intensely diverted by the fact that
his children had turned into poets under his nose. And Mrs. Benét over the
tea-cups was not a whit behind him in her enjoyment and understanding of the
phenomenon. As one privileged to share for many years the pleasures and sorrows
of that enchanting group, I can testify that Stephen Benét was fortunate beyond
most poets in his family environment.
One point is so obvious that to mention it is almost trite. There is a real
connection between the profession of the father and the performance of the son.
In the course of his career, an American soldier is likely to be stationed at
posts all over the country. And Englishmen perhaps do not always realize quite
what this means. It is as far from New York to San Francisco as from London to
Constantinople, and as far from the Canadian border to the southern tip of Texas
as from Birmingham to Gibraltar. And though we speak a common language, which
all but a few eccentrics admit to be English, we have our share of local
diversity and temperament. Stephen Benét had the experience of living in many of
the great regions of the republic, for each of which in turn he developed a
predilection and sympathy. As a preparation for what he was destined to create,
such an opportunity to get the whole country 'into his bones' was beyond
estimation. His love for the red-soiled rolling farmland of Pennsylvania, for
the yellow hills and particolored marshes of San Francisco Bay, for the
half-tropic lowlands and blue-grey mountains of Georgia, for the Sussex
landscapes of southern New England, came naturally and early and remained to him
always. None of our writers has had a larger sense of the country as a whole or
in its parts, as none has made nobler use of that sense. No doubt he was born
with a taste for particularity and humor, which vary notably from region to
region in the United States, but circumstances had given every opportunity to
satisfy any such taste. And genius, achieving a synthesis, was to do the rest.
That genius, as so often happens, was apparent enough when he was a boy of
thirteen, at the time I first knew him, for he already talked with a delightful
and innocent maturity that was without trace of self-conscious precocity. I
still possess a 'scroll' of verses produced by four members of the Benét family
to celebrate my twenty-seventh birthday, which I happened to spend with them in
Georgia.
John Brown's Body
Stephen Vincent Benét, the author of _John Brown's Body _and one of the
most splendid human creatures of these tragic times, was born in Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania, in 1898, the year of the Spanish War and one of the critical
moments of American history. He was the son of an army officer, James Walker
Benét, and of Frances Rose his wife, and he was singularly fortunate in his
inheritance. On his father's side he came of Spanish or, rather, Catalonian
stock, for his great grandfather had emigrated from the Balearic Islands to
Florida early in the 19th century. His mother's people were of English and
Scotch-Irish descent and lived in Pennsylvania. Thus, as a hundred critics have
noticed, he was actually a blend of the North and South, whose conflict none was
to understand better than he. But one might go farther and say that he was a
blend of North and South Europe as well. His father was an officer more than
usually accomplished in his profession, with a passion for poetry, not common
among experts on artillery. His paternal grandfather, General Stephen Vincent
Benét, had played a great part in equipping the Northern armies all through the
Civil War and rose to be Chief of Ordnance after the struggle. An uncle, Mr.
Laurence Benét, is a distinguished mechanical engineer and co-inventor of the
Benét-Mercier machine gun, which unhappily had to be used a great deal in the
first World War. The tradition of the family is military.
It should also be said of the family, all of whom I had the felicity to know,
most of them extremely well, that it is perhaps as distinguished for charm and
ability as any family whatever. I should not hesitate to compare them with the
Adams, the Darwins, or the Trevelyans. Stephen's elder brother, William Rose
Benét, and his sister, Laura Benét, also his senior, are poets of noble ability.
And the grace and humor of the circle left nothing to be desired. I never heard
better or more unaffected conversation on literature anywhere than on the porch
of the Commandant's quarters at Benicia, California, except possibly on the
porch of the Commandant's quarters in Augusta, Georgia. The Colonel was the very
spirit of wit and taste in such matters and intensely diverted by the fact that
his children had turned into poets under his nose. And Mrs. Benét over the
tea-cups was not a whit behind him in her enjoyment and understanding of the
phenomenon. As one privileged to share for many years the pleasures and sorrows
of that enchanting group, I can testify that Stephen Benét was fortunate beyond
most poets in his family environment.
One point is so obvious that to mention it is almost trite. There is a real
connection between the profession of the father and the performance of the son.
In the course of his career, an American soldier is likely to be stationed at
posts all over the country. And Englishmen perhaps do not always realize quite
what this means. It is as far from New York to San Francisco as from London to
Constantinople, and as far from the Canadian border to the southern tip of Texas
as from Birmingham to Gibraltar. And though we speak a common language, which
all but a few eccentrics admit to be English, we have our share of local
diversity and temperament. Stephen Benét had the experience of living in many of
the great regions of the republic, for each of which in turn he developed a
predilection and sympathy. As a preparation for what he was destined to create,
such an opportunity to get the whole country 'into his bones' was beyond
estimation. His love for the red-soiled rolling farmland of Pennsylvania, for
the yellow hills and particolored marshes of San Francisco Bay, for the
half-tropic lowlands and blue-grey mountains of Georgia, for the Sussex
landscapes of southern New England, came naturally and early and remained to him
always. None of our writers has had a larger sense of the country as a whole or
in its parts, as none has made nobler use of that sense. No doubt he was born
with a taste for particularity and humor, which vary notably from region to
region in the United States, but circumstances had given every opportunity to
satisfy any such taste. And genius, achieving a synthesis, was to do the rest.
That genius, as so often happens, was apparent enough when he was a boy of
thirteen, at the time I first knew him, for he already talked with a delightful
and innocent maturity that was without trace of self-conscious precocity. I
still possess a 'scroll' of verses produced by four members of the Benét family
to celebrate my twenty-seventh birthday, which I happened to spend with them in
Georgia.
most splendid human creatures of these tragic times, was born in Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania, in 1898, the year of the Spanish War and one of the critical
moments of American history. He was the son of an army officer, James Walker
Benét, and of Frances Rose his wife, and he was singularly fortunate in his
inheritance. On his father's side he came of Spanish or, rather, Catalonian
stock, for his great grandfather had emigrated from the Balearic Islands to
Florida early in the 19th century. His mother's people were of English and
Scotch-Irish descent and lived in Pennsylvania. Thus, as a hundred critics have
noticed, he was actually a blend of the North and South, whose conflict none was
to understand better than he. But one might go farther and say that he was a
blend of North and South Europe as well. His father was an officer more than
usually accomplished in his profession, with a passion for poetry, not common
among experts on artillery. His paternal grandfather, General Stephen Vincent
Benét, had played a great part in equipping the Northern armies all through the
Civil War and rose to be Chief of Ordnance after the struggle. An uncle, Mr.
Laurence Benét, is a distinguished mechanical engineer and co-inventor of the
Benét-Mercier machine gun, which unhappily had to be used a great deal in the
first World War. The tradition of the family is military.
It should also be said of the family, all of whom I had the felicity to know,
most of them extremely well, that it is perhaps as distinguished for charm and
ability as any family whatever. I should not hesitate to compare them with the
Adams, the Darwins, or the Trevelyans. Stephen's elder brother, William Rose
Benét, and his sister, Laura Benét, also his senior, are poets of noble ability.
And the grace and humor of the circle left nothing to be desired. I never heard
better or more unaffected conversation on literature anywhere than on the porch
of the Commandant's quarters at Benicia, California, except possibly on the
porch of the Commandant's quarters in Augusta, Georgia. The Colonel was the very
spirit of wit and taste in such matters and intensely diverted by the fact that
his children had turned into poets under his nose. And Mrs. Benét over the
tea-cups was not a whit behind him in her enjoyment and understanding of the
phenomenon. As one privileged to share for many years the pleasures and sorrows
of that enchanting group, I can testify that Stephen Benét was fortunate beyond
most poets in his family environment.
One point is so obvious that to mention it is almost trite. There is a real
connection between the profession of the father and the performance of the son.
In the course of his career, an American soldier is likely to be stationed at
posts all over the country. And Englishmen perhaps do not always realize quite
what this means. It is as far from New York to San Francisco as from London to
Constantinople, and as far from the Canadian border to the southern tip of Texas
as from Birmingham to Gibraltar. And though we speak a common language, which
all but a few eccentrics admit to be English, we have our share of local
diversity and temperament. Stephen Benét had the experience of living in many of
the great regions of the republic, for each of which in turn he developed a
predilection and sympathy. As a preparation for what he was destined to create,
such an opportunity to get the whole country 'into his bones' was beyond
estimation. His love for the red-soiled rolling farmland of Pennsylvania, for
the yellow hills and particolored marshes of San Francisco Bay, for the
half-tropic lowlands and blue-grey mountains of Georgia, for the Sussex
landscapes of southern New England, came naturally and early and remained to him
always. None of our writers has had a larger sense of the country as a whole or
in its parts, as none has made nobler use of that sense. No doubt he was born
with a taste for particularity and humor, which vary notably from region to
region in the United States, but circumstances had given every opportunity to
satisfy any such taste. And genius, achieving a synthesis, was to do the rest.
That genius, as so often happens, was apparent enough when he was a boy of
thirteen, at the time I first knew him, for he already talked with a delightful
and innocent maturity that was without trace of self-conscious precocity. I
still possess a 'scroll' of verses produced by four members of the Benét family
to celebrate my twenty-seventh birthday, which I happened to spend with them in
Georgia.
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John Brown's Body
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940013774049 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing |
| Publication date: | 01/15/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Sales rank: | 810,445 |
| File size: | 291 KB |
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