by Andy Juell
photos courtesy of National Park Service, Longfellow National Historic Site
Published in the September 2001 Issue of Anvil Magazine Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's classic poem, "The Village Blacksmith," has stood as a tribute to American blacksmiths and farriers for well over a century. This is the story of the history of that beautiful "spreading chestnut tree." THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH
Under the spreading chestnut tree
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
And children coming home from school
He goes on Sunday to the church,
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Toiling, - rejoicing - sorrowing,
Thanks! thanks, to thee, my worthy friend, -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Longfellow's blacksmith shop was more than poetic license. It sat on Brattle Street in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and the proprietor was one Dexter Pratt. And yes, the "spreading chestnut tree" stood out front of the shop. Brattle Street was widened in 1876, and the tree fell victim to progress. However, the children of Cambridge, as well as the town, took the wood and had a chair produced from it in honor of the poet. It was presented to him on his 72nd birthday. The chair is described as a "black-stained Eastlake-style armchair" made from the wood of the "Spreading Chestnut Tree" by H. Edgar Hartwell of Boston. The seat was tufted leather, the seat rail carved in the gothic or black-letter style with a portion of the verse from the original poem etched around the rails:
And children coming home from school, The chair was presented to Longfellow on February 22, 1879, by the children of Cambridge, a few of which probably "caught those burning sparks" in their youth. The chair currently resides in the first-floor study at Longfellow House, at the Longfellow National Historic Site, 105 Brattle Street, Cambridge, MA 02138, under the care of the National Park Service. Longfellow was so impressed with the gift that he composed a poem for the children of Cambridge as a way of saying thanks: FROM MY ARMCHAIR
Am I a king, that I should call my own
Only perhaps, by right divine of song
There by the blacksmith's forge,
And when the winds of autumn, with a shout,
And now some fragments of its branches bare,
And thus, dear children, have ye made for me
Only your love and remembrance could, -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Editor's Note: Our thanks to Lee Liles for bringing this story to our attention. Return to the September 2001 Table of Contents Return to the Commentary Articles Page
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