He wished he could be alone to savor the sentiments coursing through him. More than anything else in that moment, despite the affection he felt for his merry group, Emerson wished everyone would be quiet.
It had never ceased to amaze him that he, neither a monster nor the handsomest of men, and his wife, large-boned and plain, had managed to produce so delicate a beauty.īut bothered he was on this April day in 1871. He acknowledged her comment with a brief smile and noticed her gloved hands, her bonnet, the slight change in her figure reflecting her pregnancy. He loved his daughter and did not show his annoyance. And yet everyone else, his party and a scattering of other travelers gathered on the open-air train car, somehow felt the need to speak, to exclaim, a few of them even to debate the merits of what they were seeing. Ever since the observation car had been attached to the train at Emigrant Gap-it was little more than a flat car with a low wall around it and some benches nailed into it-the extraordinarily beautiful views of springtime in the Sierra Nevada had infused his spirit with wonder and melancholy.Īll Emerson wanted that day was to observe and ponder. San Francisco Bay.” For the father in question, the author and transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson, both comments were yet another intrusion. “It’s the Pacific Ocean.” Her husband, Will Forbes, seated beside her but more engrossed in the map spread out on his lap than with the actual scenery, responded without looking up: “It’s a bay, dear.
0 kommentar(er)
