DE AMICITIIS by Eugene Field: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
A book-loving man relaxes in bed, surrounded by his cherished old volumes, and happily declares they are his dearest friends—better than wine, better than being with others.
The poem
Though care and strife Elsewhere be rife, Upon my word I do not heed 'em; In bed I lie With books hard by, And with increasing zest I read 'em. Propped up in bed, So much I've read Of musty tomes that I've a headful Of tales and rhymes Of ancient times, Which, wife declares, are "simply dreadful!" They give me joy Without alloy; And isn't that what books are made for? And yet--and yet-- (Ah, vain regret!) I would to God they all were paid for! No festooned cup Filled foaming up Can lure me elsewhere to confound me; Sweeter than wine This love of mine For these old books I see around me! A plague, I say, On maidens gay; I'll weave no compliments to tell 'em! Vain fool I were, Did I prefer Those dolls to these old friends in vellum! At dead of night My chamber's bright Not only with the gas that's burning, But with the glow Of long ago,-- Of beauty back from eld returning. Fair women's looks I see in books, I see _them_, and I hear their laughter,-- Proud, high-born maids, Unlike the jades Which men-folk now go chasing after! Herein again Speak valiant men Of all nativities and ages; I hear and smile With rapture while I turn these musty, magic pages. The sword, the lance, The morris dance, The highland song, the greenwood ditty, Of these I read, Or, when the need, My Miller grinds me grist that's gritty! When of such stuff We've had enough, Why, there be other friends to greet us; We'll moralize In solemn wise With Plato or with Epictetus. Sneer as you may, _I'm_ proud to say That I, for one, am very grateful To Heaven, that sends These genial friends To banish other friendships hateful! And when I'm done, I'd have no son Pounce on these treasures like a vulture; Nay, give them half My epitaph, And let them share in my sepulture. Then, when the crack Of doom rolls back The marble and the earth that hide me, I'll smuggle home Each precious tome, Without a fear my wife shall chide me!
A book-loving man relaxes in bed, surrounded by his cherished old volumes, and happily declares they are his dearest friends—better than wine, better than being with others. He loves them so much that he jokes about wanting to be buried with them and plans to sneak them back home when the world comes to an end. It's a warm, amusing poem that captures the profound comfort books can provide.
Line-by-line
Though care and strife / Elsewhere be rife,
Propped up in bed, / So much I've read
They give me joy / Without alloy;
No festooned cup / Filled foaming up
A plague, I say, / On maidens gay;
At dead of night / My chamber's bright
Fair women's looks / I see in books,
Herein again / Speak valiant men
The sword, the lance, / The morris dance,
When of such stuff / We've had enough,
Sneer as you may, / _I'm_ proud to say
And when I'm done, / I'd have no son
Then, when the crack / Of doom rolls back
Tone & mood
Warm, witty, and self-deprecating, Field writes like someone who's completely at ease with his obsession and finds it genuinely amusing. There's no tension or lofty statements about the importance of literature—just the cheerful satisfaction of a person who's discovered what makes him happy and feels a bit smug about it. His humor is light and homey, never biting.
Symbols & metaphors
- The old books in vellum — The books are more than just reading material; they are friends, companions, and the community the speaker has chosen for themselves. The vellum binding shows their age and worth, and the term "musty" is used fondly rather than negatively. They embody a rich world of human experience that the speaker values more than the reality outside his window.
- The gaslit chamber — The bedroom, illuminated by a gas lamp, serves as the speaker's sanctuary. Field enhances this ambiance by introducing both the physical lamp and the metaphorical "glow of long ago" emitted by the books. The room transforms into a space where the present intersects with the distant past.
- The festooned cup of wine — The decorated wine cup represents the traditional social pleasures that the speaker turns away from — drinking, mingling, and pursuing others. By rejecting it, he shows that his joys are found within himself and in solitude, and he embraces that completely.
- Burial with the books — Asking to be buried with his books is both a humorous image and a sincere statement of identity. It conveys that these items are so integral to who he is that being apart from them, even in death, seems inappropriate. The joke about sneaking them past his wife at the Last Judgment adds a light touch, preventing the sentiment from feeling grim.
- The wife's disapproval — The wife shows up twice — first, she calls his reading "simply dreadful," and then she takes on the role of someone he worries will scold him even after he's gone. She represents common, practical views, and her mild disapproval makes the speaker's love for his books seem even more stubborn and charming.
Historical context
Eugene Field was an American journalist and poet based in Chicago during the latter half of the 19th century, and he’s best remembered today for children's poems like "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod." However, he was also a passionate bibliophile who collected rare books with genuine enthusiasm, a sentiment that shines through in "De Amicitiis" — which translates from Latin to "On Friendships," a nod to Cicero's well-known essay on the topic. Field's title carries a subtle joke: while Cicero wrote about human friendships, Field's closest companions are his books. This poem was part of his 1896 collection *Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac*, released shortly after he passed away at the age of 45. The mentions of Chaucer's Miller, Plato, and Epictetus aren’t just for show; Field truly had a wide-ranging reading habit, and the poem captures the genuine essence of a 19th-century book collector's library.
FAQ
It's Latin for "On Friendships." Field took this from Cicero's well-known essay *De Amicitia*, which discusses human friendship. The humor lies in the fact that Field's poem is also about friendship, but his closest companions are his books rather than people.
This refers to the Miller from Chaucer's *Canterbury Tales*. The Miller's Tale is one of the raunchier stories in the collection—it's both earthy and funny. Field is expressing that when he seeks something a little rougher and more entertaining, he looks to Chaucer. "Grist that's gritty" suggests material that is raw and satisfying.
Plato, an ancient Greek philosopher, and Epictetus, a Stoic philosopher from the first century AD, represent the serious, philosophical side of Field's reading. These are the books he picks up when he wants to engage his mind rather than just be entertained. Including them alongside Chaucer highlights the diversity of his library.
Field was married to Julia Sutherland Comstock, and the personal details in his poems often reflected real life. While she may not have actually called his books "dreadful," the wife in the poem serves as a warm comic counterpoint — a voice of practical common sense contrasting with his bookish obsession.
Alloy refers to a blend of metals — when you alloy gold, you combine it with a less expensive and less durable metal. "Without alloy" means it's pure, unmixed, and uncontaminated. The joy he gets from his books is untainted, strong, and wholly his own.
It's somewhat of a joke, but it also genuinely reflects his sense of identity. He’s expressing that these books are such an integral part of him that being separated from them is unimaginable. The last stanza takes the humor further, connecting it to the Last Judgment — he plans to sneak them home before his wife catches on.
Vellum is a premium material crafted from animal skin, often utilized for high-quality bookbinding and manuscripts. Books bound in vellum are both old and valuable—the sort that serious collectors treasure. By referring to them as "old friends in vellum," Field emphasizes that these are rare and beloved volumes, not just inexpensive paperbacks.
Both elements work together seamlessly. The humor is authentic—the unpaid bills, the wife's eye-rolls, the scheme to sneak books past St. Peter—but beneath it all lies a heartfelt passion for reading. Field isn't poking fun at bibliophiles; he is one himself, and the poem genuinely honors the significance books hold for those who truly cherish them.