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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16087-8.txt b/16087-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed405e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/16087-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8682 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, +October, 1864, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864 + A Magazine Of Literature, Art, And Politics + +Author: Various + +Release Date: June 18, 2005 [EBook #16087] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 14 *** + + + + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Footnotes moved to end of text.] + + + + +THE + +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + +A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. + +VOL. XIV.--OCTOBER, 1864.--NO. LXXXIV. + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by TICKNOR AND +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts. + + * * * * * + +A NIGHT IN THE WATER. + + +That was a pleasant life on picquet, in the delicious early summer of +the South, and among the endless flowery forests of that blossoming +isle. In the retrospect, I seem to see myself adrift upon a horse's back +amid a sea of roses. The various outposts were within a five-mile +radius, and it was one long, delightful gallop, day and night. I have a +faint impression that the moon shone steadily every night for two +months; and yet I remember certain periods of such dense darkness that +in riding through the wood-paths it was really unsafe to go beyond a +walk, for fear of branches above and roots below; and one of my officers +was once shot at by a Rebel scout who stood unperceived at his horse's +bridle. + +We lived in a dilapidated plantation-house, the walls scrawled with +capital charcoal-sketches by R., of the New Hampshire Fourth, with a +good map of the island and its paths by C. of the First Massachusetts +Cavalry; there was a tangled garden, full of neglected roses and +camellias, and we filled the great fireplace with magnolias by day and +with logs by night; I slept on a sort of shelf in the corner, bequeathed +to me by Major F., my jovial predecessor,--and if I waked up at any +time, I could put my head through the broken window, arouse my orderly, +and ride off to see if I could catch a picquet asleep. I spell the word +with a _q_, because such was the highest authority, in that Department +at least, and they used to say at post head-quarters that so soon as the +officer in command of the outposts grew negligent, and was guilty of a +_k_, he was instantly ordered in. + +To those doing outpost-duty on an island, however large, the main-land +has all the fascination of forbidden fruit, and on a scale bounded only +by the horizon. Emerson says that every house looks ideal until we enter +it,--and it is certainly so, if it be just the other side of the hostile +lines. Every grove in that blue distance appears enchanted ground, and +yonder loitering gray-back, leading his horse to water in the farthest +distance, makes one thrill with a desire to hail him, to shoot at him, +to capture him, to do anything to bridge this inexorable dumb space that +lies between. A boyish feeling, no doubt, and one that time diminishes, +without effacing; yet it is a feeling which lies at the bottom of many +rash actions in war, and of some brilliant ones. For one, I could never +quite outgrow it, though restricted by duty from doing many foolish +things in consequence, and also restrained by reverence for certain +confidential advisers whom I had always at hand, and who considered it +their mission to keep me always on short rations of personal adventure. +Indeed, most of that sort of entertainment in the army devolves upon +scouts detailed for the purpose, volunteer aides-de-camp and +newspaper-reporters,--other officers being expected to be about business +more prosaic. + +All the excitements of war are quadrupled by darkness; and as I rode +along our outer lines at night, and watched the glimmering flames which +at regular intervals starred the opposite river-shore, the longing was +irresistible to cross the barrier of dusk, and see whether it were men +or ghosts who hovered round those dying embers. I had yielded to these +impulses in boat-adventures by night,--for it was a part of my +instructions to obtain all possible information about the Rebel +outposts,--and fascinating indeed it was to glide along, noiselessly +paddling, with a dusky guide, through the endless intricacies of those +Southern marshes, scaring the reed-birds, which wailed and fled away +into the darkness, and penetrating several miles into the interior, +between hostile fires, where discovery might be death. Yet there were +drawbacks as to these enterprises, since it is not easy for a boat to +cross still water, even on the darkest night, without being seen by +watchful eyes; and, moreover, the extremes of high and low tide +transform so completely the whole condition of those rivers that it +needs very nice calculation to do one's work at precisely the right +time. To vary the experiment, I had often thought of trying a personal +reconnaissance by swimming, at a certain point, whenever circumstances +should make it an object. + +The opportunity at last arrived, and I shall never forget the glee with +which, after several postponements, I finally rode forth, a little +before midnight, on a night which seemed made for the purpose. I had, of +course, kept my own secret, and was entirely alone. The great Southern +fire-flies were out, not haunting the low ground merely, like ours, but +rising to the loftiest tree-tops with weird illumination, and anon +hovering so low that my horse often stepped the higher to avoid them. +The dewy Cherokee roses brushed my face, the solemn "Chuck-will's-widow" +croaked her incantation, and the rabbits raced phantom-like across the +shadowy road. Slowly in the darkness I followed the well-known path to +the spot where our most advanced outposts were stationed, holding a +causeway which thrust itself far out across the separating river,--thus +fronting a similar causeway on the other side, while a channel of +perhaps three hundred yards, once traversed by a ferry-boat, rolled +between. At low tide this channel was the whole river, with broad, oozy +marshes on each side; at high tide the marshes were submerged, and the +stream was a mile wide. This was the point which I had selected. To +ascertain the numbers and position of the picquet on the opposite +causeway was my first object, as it was a matter on which no two of our +officers agreed. + +To this point, therefore, I rode, and dismounting, after being duly +challenged by the sentinel at the causeway-head, walked down the long +and lonely path. The tide was well up, though still on the flood, as I +desired; and each visible tuft of marsh-grass might, but for its +motionlessness, have been a prowling boat. Dark as the night had +appeared, the water was pale, smooth, and phosphorescent, and I remember +that the phrase "wan water," so familiar in the Scottish ballads, struck +me just then as peculiarly appropriate. A gentle breeze, from which I +had hoped for a ripple, had utterly died away, and it was a warm, +breathless Southern night. There was no sound but the faint swash of the +coming tide, the noises of the reed-birds in the marshes, and the +occasional leap of a fish; and it seemed to my over-strained ear as if +every footstep of my own must be heard for miles. However, I could have +no more postponements, and the thing must be tried now or never. + +Reaching the farther end of the causeway, I found my men couched, like +black statues, behind the slight earthwork there constructed. I expected +that my proposed immersion would rather bewilder them, but knew that +they would say nothing, as usual. As for the lieutenant on that post, he +was a steady, matter-of-fact, perfectly disciplined Englishman, who wore +a Crimean medal, and never asked a superfluous question in his life. If +I had casually remarked to him, "Mr. Hooker, the General has ordered me +on a brief personal reconnaissance to the Planet Jupiter, and I wish you +to take care of my watch, lest it should be damaged by the Precession of +the Equinoxes," he would have responded with a brief "All right, Sir," +and a quick military gesture, and have put the thing in his pocket. As +it was, I simply gave him the watch, and remarked that I was going to +take a swim. + +I do not remember ever to have experienced a greater sense of +exhilaration than when I slipped noiselessly into the placid water, and +struck out into the smooth, eddying current for the opposite shore. The +night was so still and lovely, my black statues looked so dream-like at +their posts behind the low earthwork, the opposite arm of the causeway +stretched so invitingly from the Rebel main, the horizon glimmered so +low around me,--for it always appears lower to a swimmer than even to an +oarsman,--that I seemed floating in some concave globe, some magic +crystal, of which I was the enchanted centre. With each little ripple of +my steady progress all things hovered and changed; the stars danced and +nodded above; where the stars ended, the great Southern fire-flies +began; and closer than the fire-flies, there clung round me a halo of +phosphorescent sparkles from the soft salt water. + +Had I told any one of my purpose, I should have had warnings and +remonstrances enough. The few negroes who did not believe in alligators +believed in sharks; the skeptics as to sharks were orthodox in respect +to alligators; while those who rejected both had private prejudices as +to snapping-turtles. The surgeon would have threatened intermittent +fever, the first assistant rheumatism, and the second assistant +congestive chills; non-swimmers would have predicted exhaustion, and +swimmers cramp; and all this before coming within bullet-range of any +hospitalities on the other shore. But I knew the folly of most alarms +about reptiles and fishes; man's imagination peoples the water with many +things which do not belong there, or prefer to keep out of his way, if +they do; fevers and congestions were the surgeon's business, and I +always kept people to their own department; cramp and exhaustion were +dangers I could measure, as I had often done; bullets were a more +substantial danger, and I must take the chance,--if a loon could dive at +the flash, why not I? If I were once ashore, I should have to cope with +the Rebels on their own ground, which they knew better than I; but the +water was my ground, where I, too, had been at home from boyhood. + +I swam as swiftly and softly as I could, although it seemed as if water +never had been so still before. It appeared impossible that anything +uncanny should hide beneath that lovely mirror; and yet when some +floating wisp of reeds suddenly coiled itself around my neck, or some +unknown thing, drifting deeper, coldly touched my foot, it gave that +undefinable sense of shudder which every swimmer knows, and which +especially appeals to the imagination by night. Sometimes a slight sip +of brackish water would enter my lips,--for I naturally tried to swim as +low as possible,--and then would follow a slight gasping and contest +against choking, such as seemed to me a perfect convulsion; for I +suppose the tendency to choke and sneeze is always enhanced by the +circumstance that one's life may depend on keeping still, just as +yawning becomes irresistible where to yawn would be social ruin, and +just as one is sure to sleep in church, if one sits in a conspicuous +pew. At other times, some unguarded motion would create a splashing +which seemed, in the tension of my senses, to be loud enough to be heard +at Richmond, although it really mattered not, since there are fishes in +those rivers which make as much noise on special occasions as if they +were misguided young whales. + +As I drew near the opposite shore, the dark causeway projected more and +more distinctly, to my fancy at least, and I swam more softly still, +utterly uncertain as to how far, in the stillness of air and water, my +phosphorescent course could be traced by eye or ear. A slight ripple +would have saved me from observation, I was more than ever sure, and I +would have whistled for a fair wind as eagerly as any sailor, but that +my breath was worth more than anything it was likely to bring. The water +became smoother and smoother, and nothing broke the dim surface except a +few clomps of rushes and my unfortunate head. The outside of this member +gradually assumed to its inside a gigantic magnitude; it had always +annoyed me at the hatter's from a merely animal bigness, with no +commensurate contents to show for it, and now I detested it more than +ever. A physical fooling of turgescence and congestion in that region, +such as swimmers often feel, probably increased the impression. I +thought with envy of the Aztec children, of the headless horseman of +Sleepy Hollow, of Saint Somebody with his head tucked under his arm. +Plotinus was less ashamed of his whole body than I of this inconsiderate +and stupid appendage. To be sure, I might swim for a certain distance +under water. But that accomplishment I had reserved for a retreat, for I +knew that the longer I stayed down the more surely I should have to +snort like a walrus when I came up again, and to approach an enemy with +such a demonstration was not to be thought of. + +Suddenly a dog barked. We had certain information that a pack of hounds +was kept at a Rebel station a few miles off, on purpose to hunt +runaways, and I had heard from the negroes almost fabulous accounts of +the instinct of these animals. I knew, that, although water baffled +their scent, they yet could recognize in some manner the approach of any +person across water as readily as by land; and of the vigilance of all +dogs by night every traveller among Southern plantations has ample +demonstration. I was now so near that I could dimly see the figures of +men moving to and fro upon the end of the causeway, and could hear the +dull knock, when one struck his foot against a piece of timber. + +As my first object was to ascertain whether there were sentinels at that +time at that precise point, I saw that I was approaching the end of my +experiment. Could I have once reached the causeway unnoticed, I could +have lurked in the water beneath its projecting timbers, and perhaps +made my way along the main shore, as I had known fugitive slaves to do, +while coming from that side. Or had there been any ripple on the water, +to confuse the aroused and watchful eyes, I could have made a circuit +and approached the causeway at another point, though I had already +satisfied myself that there was only a narrow channel on each side of +it, even at high tide, and not, as on our side, a broad expanse of +water. Indeed, this knowledge alone was worth all the trouble I had +taken, and to attempt much more than this, in the face of a curiosity +already roused, would have been a waste of future opportunities. I could +try again, with the benefit of this new knowledge, on a point where the +statements of the negroes had always been contradictory. + +Resolving, however, to continue the observation a very little longer, +since the water felt much warmer than I had expected, and there was no +sense of chill or fatigue, I grasped at some wisps of straw or rushes +that floated near, gathering them round my face a little, and then, +drifting nearer the wharf in what seemed a sort of eddy, was able, +without creating further alarm, to make some additional observations on +points which it is not best now to particularize. Then, turning my back +upon the mysterious shore which had thus far lured me, I sank softly +below the surface and swam as far as I could under water. + +During this unseen retreat, I heard, of course, all manner of gurglings +and hollow reverberations, and could fancy as many rifle-shots as I +pleased. But on rising to the surface all seemed quiet, and even I did +not create as much noise as I should have expected. I was now at a safe +distance, since they were always chary of showing their boats, and they +would hardly take personally to the water. What with absorbed attention +first, and this submersion afterwards, I had lost all my bearings but +the stars, having been long out of sight of my original point of +departure. However, the difficulties of the return were nothing; making +a slight allowance for the flood-tide, which could not yet have turned, +I should soon regain the place I had left. So I struck out freshly +against the smooth water, feeling just a little stiffened by the +exertion, and with an occasional chill running up the back of the neck, +but with no nips from sharks, no nudges from alligators, and not a +symptom of fever-and-ague. + +Time I could not, of course, measure,--one never can, in a novel +position; but, after a reasonable amount of swimming, I began to look, +with a natural interest, for the pier which I had quitted. I noticed, +with some solicitude, that the woods along the friendly shore made one +continuous shadow, and that the line of low bushes on the long causeway +could scarcely be relieved against them, yet I knew where they ought to +be, and the more doubtful I felt about it, the more I put down my +doubts, as if they were unreasonable children. One can scarcely conceive +of the alteration made in familiar objects by bringing the eye as low as +the horizon, especially by night; to distinguish foreshortening is +impossible, and every low near object is equivalent to one higher and +more remote. Still I had the stars; and soon my eye, more practised, was +enabled to select one precise line of bushes as that which marked the +causeway, and for which I must direct my course. + +As I swam steadily, but with some sense of fatigue, towards this +phantom-line, I found it difficult to keep my faith steady and my +progress true; everything appeared to shift and waver, in the uncertain +light. The distant trees seemed not trees, but bushes, and the bushes +seemed not exactly bushes, but might, after all, be distant trees. Could +I be so confident, that, out of all that low stretch of shore, I could +select the one precise point where the friendly causeway stretched its +long arm to receive me from the water? How easily (some tempter +whispered at my ear) might one swerve a little, on either side, and be +compelled to flounder over half a mile of oozy marsh on an ebbing tide, +before reaching our own shore and that hospitable volley of bullets with +which it would probably greet me! Had I not already (thus the tempter +continued) been swimming rather unaccountably far, supposing me on a +straight track for that inviting spot where my sentinels and my drapery +were awaiting my return? + +Suddenly I felt a sensation as of fine ribbons drawn softly across my +person, and I found myself among some rushes. But what business had +rushes there, or I among them? I knew that there was not a solitary spot +of shoal in the deep channel where I supposed myself swimming, and it +was plain in an instant that I had somehow missed my course, and must be +getting among the marshes. I felt confident, to be sure, that I could +not have widely erred, but was guiding my course for the proper side of +the river. But whether I had drifted above or below the causeway I had +not the slightest clue to tell. + +I pushed steadily forward, with some increasing sense of lassitude, +passing one marshy islet after another, all seeming strangely out of +place, and sometimes just reaching with my foot a soft tremulous shoal +which gave scarce the shadow of a support, though even that shadow +rested my feet. At one of these moments of stillness, it suddenly +occurred to my perception (what nothing but this slight contact could +have assured me, in the darkness) that I was in a powerful current, and +that this current set _the wrong way_. Instantly a flood of new +intelligence came. Either I had unconsciously turned and was rapidly +nearing the Rebel shore,--a suspicion which a glance at the stars +corrected,--or else it was the tide itself which had turned, and which +was sweeping me down the river with all its force, and was also sucking +away at every moment the narrowing water from that treacherous expanse +of mud out of whose horrible miry embrace I had lately helped to rescue +a shipwrecked crew. Either alternative was rather formidable. I can +distinctly remember that for about one half-minute the whole vast +universe appeared to swim in the same watery uncertainty in which I +floated. I began to doubt everything, to distrust the stars, the line of +low bushes for which I was wearily striving, the very land on which they +grew, if such visionary tiring could be rooted anywhere. Doubts trembled +in my mind like the weltering water, and that awful sensation of _having +one's feet unsupported_, which benumbs the spent swimmer's heart, seemed +to clutch at mine, though not yet to enter it. I was more absorbed in +that singular sensation of nightmare, such as one may feel equally when +lost by land or by water, as if one's own position were all right, but +the place looked for had somehow been preternaturally abolished out of +the universe. At best, might not a man in the water lose all his power +of direction, and so move in an endless circle until he sank exhausted? +It required a deliberate and conscious effort to keep my brain quite +cool. I have not the reputation of being of an excitable temperament, +but the contrary; yet I could at that moment see my way to a condition +in which one might become insane in an instant. It was as if a fissure +opened somewhere, and I saw my way into a mad-house; then it closed, and +everything went on as before. Once in my life I had obtained a slight +glimpse of the same sensation, and then too, strangely enough, while +swimming,--in the mightiest ocean-surge into which I had ever dared +plunge my mortal body. Keats hints at the same sudden emotion, in a wild +poem written among the Scottish mountains. It was not the distinctive +sensation which drowning men are said to have, that spasmodic passing in +review of one's whole personal history. I had no well-defined anxiety, +felt no fear, was moved to no prayer, did not give a thought to home or +friends; only it swept over me, as with a sudden tempest, that, if I +meant to get back to my own camp, I must keep my wits about me. I must +not dwell on any other alternative, any more than a boy who climbs a +precipice must look down. Imagination had no business here. That way +madness lay. There was a shore somewhere before me, and I must get to +it, by the ordinary means, before the ebb laid bare the flats, or swept +me below the lower bends of the stream. That was all. + +Suddenly a light gleamed for an instant before me, as if from a house in +a grove of great trees upon a bank; and I knew that it came from the +window of a ruined plantation-building, where our most advanced outposts +had their head-quarters. The flash revealed to me every point of the +situation. I saw at once where I was, and how I got there: that the tide +had turned while I was swimming, and with a much briefer interval of +slack-water than I had been led to suppose,--that I had been swept a +good way down-stream, and was far beyond all possibility of regaining +the point I had left. Could I, however, retain my strength to swim one +or two hundred yards farther, of which I had no doubt, and if the water +did not ebb too rapidly, of which I had more fear, then I was quite +safe. Every stroke took me more and more out of the power of the +current, and there might even be an eddy. I could not afford to be +carried down much farther, for there the channel made a sweep toward +the wrong side of the river; but there was now no reason why this should +happen. I could dismiss all fear, indeed, except that of being fired +upon by our own sentinels, many of whom were then new recruits, and with +the usual disposition to shoot first and investigate afterwards. + +I found myself swimming in shallow and shallower water, and the flats +seemed almost bare when I neared the shore, where the great gnarled +branches of the live-oaks hung far over the muddy bank. Floating on my +back for noiselessness, I paddled rapidly in with my hands, expecting +momentarily to hear the challenge of the picquet, and the ominous click +so likely to follow. I knew that some one should be pacing to and fro, +along that beat, but could not tell at what point he might be at that +precise moment. Besides, there was a faint possibility that some chatty +corporal might have carried the news of my bath thus far along the line, +and they might be partially prepared for this unexpected visitor. +Suddenly, like another flash, came the quick, quaint challenge,-- + +"Halt! Who's go dar?" + +"F-f-friend with the c-c-countersign," retorted I, with chilly, but +conciliatory energy, rising at full length out of the shallow water, to +show myself a man and a brother. + +"Ac-vance, friend, and give de countersign," responded the literal +soldier, who at such a time would have accosted a spirit of light or +goblin damned with no other formula. + +I advanced and gave it, he recognizing my voice at once. And then and +there, as I stood, a dripping ghost, beneath the trees before him, the +unconscionable fellow, wishing to exhaust upon me the utmost resources +of military hospitality, deliberately _presented arms_. + +Now a soldier on picquet, or at night, usually presents arms to nobody; +but a sentinel on camp-guard by day is expected to perform that ceremony +to anything in human shape that has two rows of buttons. Here was a +human shape, but so utterly buttonless that it exhibited not even a rag +to which a button could by any earthly possibility be appended, +buttonless even potentially; and my blameless Ethiopian presented arms +to even this. Where, then, are the theories of Carlyle, the axioms of +"Sartor Resartus," the inability of humanity to conceive "a naked Duke +of Windlestraw addressing a naked House of Lords?" Cautioning my +adherent, however, as to the proprieties suitable for such occasions +thenceforward, I left him watching the river with renewed vigilance, and +awaiting the next merman who should report himself. + +Finding my way to the building, I hunted up a sergeant and a blanket, +got a fire kindled in the dismantled chimney, and sat before it in my +single garment, like a moist, but undismayed Choctaw, until my horse and +clothing could be brought round from the Causeway. It seemed strange +that the morning had not yet dawned, after the uncounted periods that +must have elapsed; but when my wardrobe arrived, I looked at my watch +and found that my night in the water had lasted precisely one hour. + +Galloping home, I turned in with alacrity, and without a drop of +whiskey, and waked a few hours after in excellent condition. The rapid +changes of which that Department has seen so many--and, perhaps, to so +little purpose--soon transferred us to a different scene. I have been on +other scouts since then, and by various processes, but never with a zest +so novel as was afforded by that night's experience. The thing soon got +wind in the regiment, and led to only one ill consequence, so far as I +know. It rather suppressed a way I had of lecturing the officers on the +importance of reducing their personal baggage to a minimum. They got a +trick of congratulating me, very respectfully, on the thoroughness with +which I had once conformed my practice to my precepts. + + * * * * * + +ON A LATE VENDUE. + + +The red flag--not the red flag of the loathed and deadly pestilence that +has destroyed so many lives and disfigured so many fair and so many +manly countenances, but (in some circumstances) the scarcely less +ominous flag of the auctioneer--has been displayed from the handsome and +substantial red-brick house in Kensington-Place Gardens, London, in +which Thackeray lately lived, and in which he wrote the opening chapters +of his last and never-to-be-completed work, which we are all reading +with mingled pleasure and regret. + +I rejoice to see the flags and pennants gracefully waving from the masts +of the outward or the inward bound ship; to see our beautiful national +ensign,--the ensign that is destined sooner or later, so all loyal and +patriotic men and women hope and believe, triumphantly to float over the +largest, the freest, the happiest, the most prosperous country in the +whole wide world,--to see the stars and stripes fluttering in the breeze +from the city flag-staff and the village liberty-pole; to see the +dancing banners and the fluttering pennons of a regiment of brave and +stalwart men marching in all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of war to +the defence of their country in this her hour of danger and of need. As +a child, I loved to see the colors of the holiday-soldiers flapping in +the wind and flaunting in the sun on "muster-day." Nay, was not an uncle +of mine (he is an old man now, and is fond of bragging of the brave days +of old, when he was a gay and gallant sunshine-soldier) the +standard-bearer of a once famous company of fair-weather soldiers?--dead +now, most of them, and their + + "bones are dust, + And their good swords rust"; + +--and did not this daring and heroic uncle of mine, while bravely +upbearing his gorgeous silken banner (a gift of the beautiful and +all-accomplished ladies of Seaport) in a well-contested sham fight, +receive, from the accidental discharge of a field-piece, an honorable +and soldier-like wound, and of which he ever after boasted louder, and +took more pride in, than the bravest veteran in Grant's gallant army of +the scars and injuries received at the siege of Vicksburg? And no wonder +at that, perhaps. For you will find hundreds who have been cut by the +sword or pierced by the bullet of a Rebel, to one who has been ever so +slightly wounded upon a holiday training-field. + +But I never could, and I never shall, abide the sight of the red and +ruthless flag of the vendue-master. 'Tis a signal that death is still +busy, and that to many the love of money is greater than the love of +friends and of those nearer and dearer than friends,--that fortune is +fickle and that prosperity has fled,--that humbugs and sharpers are +alive and active. 'Tis a reminder--and therefore may have its use in the +world--of our mortality, an admonisher of our pride, a represser of our +love of greed and gain. 'Tis evidently an invention of Satan's, this +selling by vendue; and perhaps the first auction was that by which Cain +sold the house and furniture of his brother Abel, then lately deceased. +If there were no such thing in the world as death and misfortune and +humbug, that bit of blood-colored bunting would be but seldom flaunting +in the wind. + +Charles Lamb counsels those who would enjoy true peace and quiet to +retire into a Quaker meeting; and if our sentimental readers (and for +such only is this paper written) would find wherewithal to feed and +pamper their melancholy, let them follow the mercenary flags, and become +haunters of auctions,--let them attend the sales of the effects of their +deceased friends and acquaintances,--let them see A's favorite horse, or +B's favorite country-seat, or C's favorite books and pictures knocked +down, amid the laughter of the crowd and the smart sayings and witty +retorts of the auctioneer, to the highest bidder,--and they will be +sadder, if not wiser, men than they were before. Such scenes should have +more effect on them than all the fine sermons on the vanities and +nothings of life ever preached. Sir Richard Steele, in his beautiful +paper, in the "Tatler," on "The Death of Friends," says, in speaking of +his mother's sorrow for his father's death, there was a dignity in her +grief amidst all the wildness of her transport that made pity the +weakness of his heart ever since; and perhaps it is owing to the +impressions I received at the first auction I ever attended that I am +now an inveterate sentimentalist. + +How well I remember that auction! Looking back "through the dim posterns +of the mind" into the far-off days of my childhood, I see, among other +things, the large and comfortable mansion--it was the home of plenty and +the temple of hospitality--in which I passed some of the goldenest hours +of my boyhood. But the finest play has an end, and the sweetest feasts +and the merriest pastimes do not last forever. Very suddenly, indeed, +did my visits to that happy home cease. For my good friends of the +"great house"--the dearest old lady and the kindest and merriest old +gentleman that ever patted a little boy on the head--were both seized +(oh, woe the day!) by a terrible disease, and died in spite of all that +the great doctor from Boston did to cure them. The last time I entered +the dear old house was on a beautiful balmy summer morning; the birds +were singing as I have never heard them sing since, and all Nature +seemed as glad and exultant as if death, misfortune, and auctioneers +were banished from the world. I found there, in place of the late kind +host and hostess, a crowd--so they seemed to me--of rude and +coarse-minded people; and I saw the hateful red flag of the auctioneer +hanging over the door. + +An eagle in a dove-cot, a fox in a barn-yard, a wolf among sheep, is +mild, merciful, and humane, when compared with the flock of human +vultures that had invaded this once happy residence, and were greedily +stripping it of all that the taste and the wealth of its late occupants +had furnished it with. Should I live to be a thousand years old, I do +not think I should forget the unladylike proceedings of sundry old women +at that auction. With what a free and contemptuous manner they examined +the fine old furniture, and handled the fine old china, and coolly +rummaged and ransacked every nook and corner, and peeped and pried into +every box, chest, and closet that was not locked! And their tongues, you +may be sure, were not idle the while! + +The auctioneer was a little dried-up mummy of a man, the ugliness of +whose countenance was, as it were, emphasized by a disagreeable leer +which would ever and anon deepen into a broad grin; this man, with his +dreary jokes and vapid small-talk, was equally repulsive to me. + +Oh, the tap of his little hammer did knock against my very heart! + +Of all the hammers in this busy and hammering world, from the huge +forge-hammer with which the brawny blacksmith deals telling blows upon +the glowing iron and beats it into shape, to the tiny hammer that the +watchmaker so deftly handles, the ivory-headed, ebony-handled instrument +of the auctioneer is the most potent. From the day it was first upraised +by the original auctioneer--the nameless and unknown founder of a mighty +line of auctioneers--over the chattels of some unfortunate mortal, to +the present time, when the red flag is constantly waving in all the +great cities and towns of the world, what an immense amount of property +of all kinds and descriptions has come under that little instrument! At +its fall the ancestral acres of how many spendthrift heirs have passed +away from their families forever into the hands of wealthy plebeian +parvenus! By a few strokes Dives's splendid mansion, and Croesus's +magnificent country-seat, and Phaėton's famous fast horses become the +property of others. At its tap human beings have been sold into worse +than Egyptian bondage. + +Horace Walpole confidently hoped that his famous collection of _virtł_ +would be the envy and admiration of the relic-mongers and the +curiosity-seekers of two or three hundred years hence; but he had not +been dead fifty years before the red flag was waving over Strawberry +Hill, and it was not taken down till the villa had been despoiled of all +the curious and costly toys and bawbles with which it was packed and +crammed. At each stroke of the hammer,--and for four-and-twenty days the +quaint Gothic mansion resounded with the "Going, going, gone" of the +auctioneer,--at every stroke of the hammer Walpole must have turned +uneasily in his grave; for at every stroke of that fatal implement some +beautiful miniature, or rare engraving, or fine painting, or precious +old coin, or beloved old vase, or bit of curious old armor, or equally +curious relic of the olden time, passed into the possession of some +unknown person or other. + +And the Duke of Roxburghe's magnificent collection of rare, curious, and +valuable books, in the gathering of which he spent a goodly portion of +his life, and evinced the policy and finesse of the most wily statesman +and the shrewdness and cunning of a Jew money-lender, was soon after his +decease scattered, by the hammer of Evans, over England and the +Continent. A circumstantial history of this memorable sale was written +by Dibdin the bibliomaniac. + +I do not, however, grieve much--indeed, to state the precise truth, I do +not grieve at all--at the dismantling of Strawberry Hill, or at the sale +of the Roxburghe library; but at the vendition of Samuel Johnson's dusty +and dearly loved books (they were sold by Mr. Christie, "at his Great +Room in Pall-Mall," on Wednesday, February 16, 1785) I own to being a +trifle sad and sentimental. For Walpole, with all his cleverness, is a +man one cannot love; and as for the bibliographical Duke, he evidently +thought more of a rare edition or a unique copy than of all the charms +of wit, poetry, or eloquence. I suspect that a splendid binding would +please him more than a splendid passage. Whereas Johnson (he was never +without a book in his pocket to read at by-times when he had nothing +else to do) had a scholar's love for books, and liked them for what they +contained, and not merely because they were rare and costly. + +Neither can I think unmoved of the dispersion "under the hammer" of the +fine library at Greta Hall, which Southey had taken so much pains and +pleasure in collecting, and which was, as his son has observed, the +pride of his eyes and the joy of his heart,--a library which contained +many a "monarch folio," and many a fine old quarto, and thousands of +small, but precious volumes of ancient lore, and which was particularly +rich in rare old Spanish and Portuguese books. Many of the old volumes +in this library had seen such hard service, and had been so roughly +handled by former owners, that they were in a very ragged condition when +they came into Southey's possession; and as he could not afford to have +them equipped in serviceable leather, his daughters and female friends +comfortably and neatly clothed them in colored cotton prints. The twelve +or fourteen hundred volumes thus bound filled an entire room, which the +poet designated as the "Cottonian Library." I saw, a year or two ago, +among the costly and valuable works upon the shelves of a Boston +bookstore, two or three volumes of this "Cottonian Library." They are +not there now. Perhaps the lucky purchaser of them may be a reader of +this article. If so, let me congratulate him upon possessing such rare +and interesting memorials of the famous and immortal biographer of +Doctor Daniel Dove of Doncaster. + +And sure I am that no gentle reader can contemplate the fate of Charles +Lamb's library without becoming a prey to + + "Mild-eyed melancholy." + +Elia's books,--his "midnight darlings," his "folios," his "huge +Switzer-like tomes of choice and massy divinity," his "kind-hearted +play-books," his book of "Songs and Posies," his rare old treatises, and +quaint and curious tractates,--the rich gleanings from the old London +book-stalls by one who knew a good book, as Falstaff knew the Prince, by +instinct,--books that had been the solace and delight of his life, the +inspirers and prompters of his best and noblest thoughts, the food of +his mind, and the nourishers of his fancies, ideas, and feelings,--these +books, with the exception of those retained by some of Elia's personal +friends, were, after Mary Lamb's death, purchased by an enterprising +New-York bookseller, and shipped to America, where Lamb has ever had +more readers and truer appreciators than in England. The arrival in New +York of his "shivering folios" created quite a sensation among the +Cisatlantic admirers of "the gentle Elia." The lovers of rare old books +and the lovers of Charles Lamb jostled each other in the way to Bartlett +and Welford's shop, where the treasures (having escaped the perils of +the sea) were safely housed, and where a crowd of _literati_ was +constantly engaged in examining them. + +The sale was attended by a goodly company of book-collectors and +book-readers. All the works brought fair prices, and were purchased by +(or for) persons in various parts of the country. Among the bidders were +(I am told) Geoffrey Crayon,--Mr. Sparrowgrass,--Clark, of the +"Knickerbocker" magazine,--that lover of the angle and true disciple of +Izaak Walton, the late Rev. Dr. Bethune,--Burton, the comedian,--and +other well-known authors, actors, and divines. The black-letter +Chaucer--Speght's edition, folio, London, 1598,--the identical copy +spoken of by Elia in his letter to Ainsworth, the novelist--was knocked +down to Burton for twenty-five dollars. I know not who was the fortunate +purchaser of "The Works of Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of +Newcastle,"--an especial favorite of Lamb's. Neither do I know the name +of the buyer of "The Works of Michael Drayton." They brought +twenty-eight dollars. A number of volumes (one of them my correspondent +opines was "The Dunciad," _variorum_ edition) were bought by an +enthusiastic lover of Elia who came all the way from St. Louis on +purpose to attend this auction. The English nation should have purchased +Lamb's library. But instead of comfortably filling an alcove or two in +the British Museum, it crossed the Atlantic and was widely scattered +over the United States of America. Will it ever be brought together +again? Ah, me! such things do not happen in the annals of books. + +'Tis no wonder that the old blind scholar, Bardo de' Bardi, in George +Eliot's grand story of "Romola," knowing as he did the usual fate of +private libraries, manifested a constant fear that his noble collection +of books would be merged in some other library after his death. Every +generous soul must heartily despise Tito Melema for basely disposing of +Bardo's library for lucre. There are plenty of good people, however, who +would uphold him in that transaction. Indeed, do not most of us with +unseemly haste and unnatural greed dispose of the effects of our +deceased friends and relations? The funeral is hardly over before we +begin to get ready for the auction. "I preserve," says Montaigne, "a bit +of writing, a seal, a prayer-book, a particular sword, that has been +used by my friends and predecessors, and have _not_ thrown the long +staves my father carried in his hand out of my closet." If the essayist +lived in these days, and followed the customs that now obtain, he would +send the sword and the staves, along with the other useless and (to him) +worthless tokens and remembrancers of the dead and gone Montaignes, to +the auction-room, and cheerfully pocket the money they brought. + +Thackeray had been dead but a few weeks when a scene similar to the one +he has so truthfully described in the seventeenth chapter of "Vanity +Fair" occurred at his own late residence. The voice of "Mr. Hammerdown" +was heard in the house, and the rooms were filled with a motley crowd of +auction-haunters and relic-hunters, (among whom, of course, were Mr. +Davids and Mr. Moses,)--a rabble-rout of thoughtless and unfeeling men +and women, eager to get an "inside view" of the home of the great +satirist. The wine in his cellars,--the pictures upon his walls,--the +books in his library,--the old "cane-bottomed chair" in which he sat +while writing many of his best works, and which he has immortalized in a +fine ballad,--the gifts of kind friends, liberal publishers, and +admiring readers,--yea, his house itself, and the land it stands +on,--passed under the hammer of the auctioneer. O good white head, low +lying in the dust of Kensal Green! it matters little to thee now what +becomes of the red brick mansion built so lovingly in the style of Queen +Anne's time, and filled with such admirable taste from cellar to roof; +but many a pilgrim from these shores will step aside from the roar of +London and pay a tribute of remembrance to the house where lived and +died the author of "Henry Esmond" and "Vanity Fair." + + * * * * * + +THE RIDE TO CAMP. + + + When all the leaves were red or brown, + Or golden as the summer sun, + And now and then came flickering down + Upon the grasses hoar and dun, + Through which the first faint breath of frost + Had as a scorching vapor run, + I rode, in solemn fancies lost, + To join my troop, whose low tents shone + Far vanward to our camping host. + Thus as I slowly journeyed on, + I was made suddenly aware + That I no longer rode alone. + Whence came that strange, incongruous pair? + Whether to make their presence plain + To mortal eyes from earth or air + The essence of these spirits twain + Had clad itself in human guise, + As in a robe, is question vain. + I hardly dared to turn my eyes, + So faint my heart beat; and my blood, + Checked and bewildered with surprise, + Within its aching channels stood, + And all the soldier in my heart + Scarce mustered common hardihood. + But as I paused, with lips apart, + Strong shame, as with a sturdy arm, + Shook me, and made my spirit start, + And all my stagnant life grew warm; + Till, with my new-found courage wild, + Out of my mouth there burst a storm + Of song, as if I thus beguiled + My way with careless melody: + Whereat the silent figures smiled. + Then from a haughty, asking eye + I scanned the uninvited pair, + And waited sternly for reply. + One shape was more than mortal fair; + He seemed embodied out of light; + The sunbeams rippled through his hair; + His cheeks were of the color bright + That dyes young evening, and his eyes + Glowed like twin planets, that to sight + Increase in lustre and in size, + The more intent and long our gaze. + Full on the future's pain and prize, + Half seen through hanging cloud and haze, + His steady, far, and yearning look + Blazed forth beneath his crown of bays. + His radiant vesture, as it shook, + Dripped with great drops of golden dew; + And at each step his white steed took, + The sparks beneath his hoof-prints flew, + As if a half-cooled lava-flood + He trod, each firm step breaking through. + This figure seemed so wholly good, + That as a moth which reels in light, + Unknown till then, nor understood, + My dazzled soul swam; and I might + Have swooned, and in that presence died, + From the mere splendor of the sight, + Had not his lips, serene with pride + And cold, cruel purpose, made me swerve + From aught their fierce curl might deride. + A clarion of a single curve + Hung at his side by slender bands; + And when he blew, with faintest nerve, + Life burst throughout those lonely lands; + Graves yawned to hear, Time stood aghast, + The whole world rose and clapped its hands. + Then on the other shape I cast + My eyes. I know not how or why + He held my spellbound vision fast. + Instinctive terror bade me fly, + But curious wonder checked my will. + The mysteries of his awful eye, + So dull, so deep, so dark, so chill, + And the calm pity of his brow + And massive features hard and still, + Lovely, but threatening, and the bow + Of his sad neck, as if he told + Earth's graves and sorrows as they grow, + Cast me in musings manifold + Before his pale, unanswering face. + A thousand winters might have rolled + Above his head. I saw no trace + Of youth or age, of time or change, + Upon his fixed immortal grace. + A smell of new-turned mould, a strange, + Dank, earthen odor from him blew, + Cold as the icy winds that range + The moving hills which sailors view + Floating around the Northern Pole, + With horrors to the shivering crew. + His garments, black as minčd coal, + Cast midnight shadows on his way; + And as his black steed softly stole, + Cat-like and stealthy, jocund day + Died out before him, and the grass, + Then sear and tawny, turned to gray. + The hardy flowers that will not pass + For the shrewd autumn's chilling rain + Closed their bright eyelids, and, alas! + No summer opened them again. + The strong trees shuddered at his touch, + And shook their foliage to the plain. + A sheaf of darts was in his clutch; + And wheresoe'er he turned the head + Of any dart, its power was such + That Nature quailed with mortal dread, + And crippling pain and foul disease + For sorrowing leagues around him spread. + Whene'er he cast o'er lands and seas + That fatal shaft, there rose a groan; + And borne along on every breeze + Came up the church-bell's solemn tone, + And cries that swept o'er open graves, + And equal sobs from cot and throne. + Against the winds she tasks and braves, + The tall ship paused, the sailors sighed, + And something white slid in the waves. + One lamentation, far and wide, + Followed behind that flying dart. + Things soulless and immortal died, + As if they filled the self-same part; + The flower, the girl, the oak, the man, + Made the same dust from pith or heart, + Then spoke I, calmly as one can + Who with his purpose curbs his fear, + And thus to both my question ran:-- + "What two are ye who cross me here, + Upon these desolated lands, + Whose open fields lie waste and drear + Beneath the tramplings of the bands + Which two great armies send abroad, + With swords and torches in their hands?" + To which the bright one, as a god + Who slowly speaks the words of fate, + Towards his dark comrade gave a nod, + And answered:--"I anticipate + The thought that is your own reply. + You know him, or the fear and hate + Upon your pallid features lie. + Therefore I need not call him Death: + But answer, soldier, who am I?" + Thereat, with all his gathered breath, + He blew his clarion; and there came, + From life above and life beneath, + Pale forms of vapor and of flame, + Dim likenesses of men who rose + Above their fellows by a name. + There curved the Roman's eagle-nose, + The Greek's fair brows, the Persian's beard, + The Punic plume, the Norman bows; + There the Crusader's lance was reared; + And there, in formal coat and vest, + Stood modern chiefs; and one appeared, + Whose arms were folded on his breast, + And his round forehead bowed in thought, + Who shone supreme above the rest. + Again the bright one quickly caught + His words up, as the martial line + Before my eyes dissolved to nought:-- + "Soldier, these heroes all are mine; + And I am Glory!" As a tomb + That groans on opening, "Say, were thine," + Cried the dark figure. "I consume + Thee and thy splendors utterly. + More names have faded in my gloom + Than chronicles or poesy + Have kept alive for babbling earth + To boast of in despite of me." + The other cried, in scornful mirth, + "Of all that was or is thou curse, + Thou dost o'errate thy frightful worth! + Between the cradle and the hearse, + What one of mine has lived unknown, + Whether through triumph or reverse? + For them the regal jewels shone, + For them the battled line was spread; + Victorious or overthrown, + My splendor on their path was shed. + They lived their life, they ruled their day: + I hold no commerce with the dead. + Mistake me not, and falsely say, + 'Lo, this is slow, laborious Fame, + Who cares for what has passed away,'-- + My twin-born brother, meek and tame, + Who troops along with crippled Time, + And shrinks at every cry of shame, + And halts at every stain and crime; + While I, through tears and blood and guilt, + Stride on, remorseless and sublime. + War with his offspring as thou wilt; + Lay thy cold lips against their cheek. + The poison or the dagger-hilt + Is what my desperate children seek. + Their dust is rubbish on the hills; + Beyond the grave they would not speak. + Shall man surround his days with ills, + And live as if his only care + Were how to die, while full life thrills + His bounding blood? To plan and dare, + To use life is life's proper end: + Let death come when it will, and where!"-- + "You prattle on, as babes that spend + Their morning half within the brink + Of the bright heaven from which they wend; + But what I am you dare not think. + Thick, brooding shadow round me lies; + You stare till terror makes you wink; + I go not, though you shut your eyes. + Unclose again the loathful lid, + And lo, I sit beneath the skies, + As Sphinx beside the pyramid!" + So Death, with solemn rise and fall + Of voice, his sombre mind undid. + He paused; resuming,--"I am all; + I am the refuge and the rest; + The heart aches not beneath my pall. + O soldier, thou art young, unpressed + By snarling grief's increasing swarm; + While joy is dancing in thy breast, + Fly from the future's fated harm; + Rush where the fronts of battle meet, + And let me take thee on my arm!" + Said Glory,--"Warrior, fear deceit, + Where Death gives counsel. Run thy race; + Bring the world cringing to thy feet! + Surely no better time nor place + Than this, where all the Nation calls + For help, and weakness and disgrace + Lag in her tents and council-halls, + And down on aching heart and brain + Blow after blow unbroken falls. + Her strength flows out through every vein; + Mere time consumes her to the core; + Her stubborn pride becomes her bane. + In vain she names her children o'er; + They fail her in her hour of need; + She mourns at desperation's door. + Be thine the hand to do the deed, + To seize the sword, to mount the throne, + And wear the purple as thy meed! + No heart shall grudge it; not a groan + Shall shame thee. Ponder what it were + To save a land thus twice thy own!" + Use gave a more familiar air + To my companions; and I spoke + My heart out to the ethereal pair:-- + "When in her wrath the Nation broke + Her easy rest of love and peace, + I was the latest who awoke. + I sighed at passion's mad increase. + I strained the traitors to my heart. + I said, 'We vex them; let us cease.' + I would not play the common part. + Tamely I heard the Southrons' brag: + I said, 'Their wrongs have made them smart.' + At length they struck our ancient flag,-- + Their flag as ours, the traitors damned!-- + And braved it with their patchwork-rag. + I rose, when other men had calmed + Their anger in the marching throng; + I rose, as might a corpse embalmed, + Who hears God's mandate, 'Right my wrong!' + I rose and set me to His deed, + With His great Spirit fixed and strong. + I swear, that, when I drew this sword, + And joined the ranks, and sought the strife, + I drew it in Thy name, O Lord! + I drew against my brother's life, + Even as Abraham on his child + Drew slowly forth his priestly knife. + No thought of selfish ends defiled + The holy fire that burned in me; + No gnawing care was thus beguiled. + My children clustered at my knee; + Upon my braided soldier's coat + My wife looked,--ah, so wearily!-- + It made her tender blue eyes float. + And when my wheeling rowels rang, + Or on the floor my sabre smote, + The sound went through her like a pang. + I saw this; and the days to come + Forewarned me with an iron clang, + That drowned the music of the drum, + That made the rousing bugle faint; + And yet I sternly left my home,-- + Haply to fall by noisome taint + Of foul disease, without a deed + To sound in rhyme or shine in paint; + But, oh, at least, to drop a seed, + Humble, but faithful to the last, + Sown by my Country in her need! + O Death, come to me, slow or fast; + I'll do my duty while I may! + Though sorrow burdens every blast, + And want and hardship on me lay + Their bony gripes, my life is pledged, + And to my Country given away! + Nor feel I any hope, new-fledged, + Arise, strong Glory, at thy voice. + Our sword the people's will has edged, + Our rule stands on the people's choice. + This land would mourn beneath a crown, + Where born slaves only could rejoice. + How should the Nation keep it down? + What would a despot's fortunes be, + After his days of strength had flown, + Amidst this people, proud and free, + Whose histories from such sources run? + The thought is its own mockery. + I pity the audacious one + Who may ascend that thorny throne, + And bide a single setting sun. + Day dies; my shadow's length has grown; + The sun is sliding down the west. + That trumpet in my camp was blown. + From yonder high and wooded crest + I shall behold my squadron's camp, + Prepared to sleep its guarded rest + In the low, misty, poisoned damp + That wears the strength, and saps the heart, + And drains the surgeon's watching lamp. + Hence, phantoms! in God's peace depart! + I was not fashioned for your will: + I scorn the trump, and brave the dart!" + They grinned defiance, lingering still. + "I charge ye quit me, in His name + Who bore His cross against the hill!-- + By Him who died a death of shame, + That I might live, and ye might die,-- + By Christ the Martyr!"--As a flame + Leaps sideways when the wind is high, + The bright one bounded from my side, + At that dread name, without reply; + And Death drew in his mantle wide, + And shuddered, and grew ghastly pale, + As if his dart had pricked his side. + There came a breath, a lonely wail, + Out of the silence o'er the land; + Whether from souls of bliss or bale, + What mortal brain may understand? + Only I marked the phantoms went + Closely together, hand in hand, + As if upon one errand bent. + + * * * * * + +THE TRUE STORY OF LUIGI. + + +A white dove flew down into the market-place one summer morning, and, +undisturbed among all the wheels and hoofs, followed the footsteps of +Luigi. + +He carried in one hand a sunflower, and thoughtlessly, while it hung +there, with nervous fingers scattered the seeds as he went his way. So +that the dove cooed in her little swelling throat, gathered what Luigi +spilled, and, startled at last by a frisking hound, flew up and alighted +on the tray which Luigi's other hand poised airily on his head, and was +borne along with all the company of fair white things there in the +sunshine. + +The street-urchins warned Luigi of the intruder among his wares, and +then, slyly putting up his hand, the boy tossed the seeds in a shower +about the tray. Off flew the dove, and back with the returning gust she +fluttered, and, pausing only to catch her seed, she came and went, +wheeling in flashing circles round his head as he pursued his path. + +It was at the pretty picture he thus presented, as, having left the +market-place, he came upon the higher streets of the town, that a lady, +looking from her window, made exclaim. The kind face, the pleasant +voice, attracted him; in a moment after, while she was yet thinking of +it, the door was pushed partly open, a dark boy, smiling, appeared, +followed by the unslung tray, and a voice like a flute said,-- + +"_Sono io_,--it is I. Will the lady buy?" + +And then the image-vender showed his wares. + +The lady chaffered with him a moment, and at its close he was evidently +paying no attention to what she said, but was listening to a voice from +the adjoining room, the clear voice of a girl singing her Italian +exercises. + +His face was in a glow, he bent to catch the words with signalling +finger and glittering eyes; it was plainly neither the deftly sweet +accompaniment nor the melody that charmed him, but the language: the +language was his own. + +With the cadence of the measure the sound was broken capriciously, the +book had been thrown down, and the singer herself stood balancing in the +doorway between the rooms, a hand on either side,--still lightly +trilling her scales, smiling, beaming, blue-eyed, rosy. The sunbeam that +entered behind the shade swinging in the wind fell upon the beautiful +masses of her light-brown hair, and illumined all the shifting color +that played with such delicate suffusion upon her cheek and chin; her +face was a deep, innocent smile of joy; she would have been dazzling but +for the blushes that seemed to go and come with her breath and make her +human; and so much did she embody one's ideal of the first woman that no +one wondered when all called her Eve, although her name was Rosamond, +and she was the Rose of the World. + +Directly Eve saw the boy kneeling there over his tray, the cast +suspended in his hand, as he leaned intently forward with the rich +carmine deepening the golden tint of his brow and with that yellow fire +in his wine-dark eyes, she ceased singing, and, not hesitating to mimic +the well-known call, cried,-- + +"Images?" + +Then Luigi remembered where he was, and answered the question asked five +minutes since. + +"Signora, seven shillings." + +"That is reasonable, now," said the lady. "I will have it for that sum. +Do you cast these things yourself?" + +"My master and I." + +"Have you been long here?" + +"Alas! much, much time," said he, with melancholy earnestness. + +"And from what part of Italy did you come?" she kindly asked. + +"_Vengo da Roma_" replied the boy, drawing himself up proudly. + +"The Roman peasant is a prince, mamma," said Eve quickly, in an +undertone. + +Luigi glanced up instantly and smiled, and offered to her a little +plaster cherub, silver-gilt, just spreading wings for flight. + +"It is for her," said he, with an appealing look at the mother. "For +her,--_la principessina_. I myself made it." + +No one perceived his adroit under-meaning; but Eva bethought herself of +her school-phrases, and venturously selected one. + +"_Č grazioso_!" said she. + +Luigi's face kindled anew; it seemed as if the sound of his native +tongue were like some magic wand that called the blind blood to his +cheek or drove it into the pools of his heart; the smile broke all over +his face as light dances on burnished gold; he turned to her boldly with +outstretched hands, like some one asking an alms. + +"Give to me a song," he said. + +"_Volontieri_" quoth Eve, in hesitating accent, and flitted back to her +piano. Without a thought, he followed. + +It was a little song of flowers and sunshine that Eve began to carol +over the carolling keys; the words fell into the sweetness of the air, +that seemed laden with the morning murmur of bees and blossoms; it was +but a verse or two, with a refrain that went repeating all the honeyed +burden, till Luigi's face fairly burned with pleasure, where he stood at +timid distance in the doorway. + +"_Ciņ mi fa bene!_ That does me good!" cried he, as she rose. "Ah, +Signorina, I am happy here!" + +Then he turned and found the elder lady counting out his money. He +received the seven shillings quietly, as his due; but when she would +have paid him for the cherub, he pushed the silver swiftly back. + +"It is a gift!" said he, with spirit. + +"No, no," said Eve. "I should like it, but I must pay for it. You will +be so kind as to take the price?" she asked, her hand extended, and a +winning grace irradiating all her changing rosy countenance. + +A shadow fell over the boy's face, like that of a cloud skimming down a +sunny landscape. + +"_A Lei non posso dar un rifiuto_," said he, meeting her shining eyes; +and he gravely gathered the money and slung his tray. + +As he raised it, Eve laid along its side a branch of unsullied +day-lilies that had been filling the room with their heavy fragrance. +The image-boy interested her; he was a visible creature of those foreign +fairy-shores of which she had dreamed; that she did anything but show +kindness to a vagrant whom she would not see again never crossed her +mind; perhaps, too, she liked that Italy, in his person, should admire +her,--that was pardonable. But, at the action, the shadow swept away +from the boy's face again, all his lights and darks came flashing out, +eyes and teeth and color sparkling in his smile, like sunshine after +rain; he made his low obeisance, poised the tray upon his head, and, +with a wave of his hand, went out. + +"_A rivederla_!" he called back to her from the door, and was gone. + +And soon far down the street they heard his musical cry again; and +perhaps the little distant dove, who had forsaken him on entrance, also +caught the sound, and was reminded by it, as he pecked along the dusty +thoroughfare, of some remote and pleasant memory of morning and the +market-place. + + * * * * * + +It was a week afterward, that, as Eve and her mother loitered over +luncheon, the door again softly opened, and they saw Luigi standing +erect on the threshold, and holding with both hands above the brightly +bronzed face a tall, slender, white jar of ancient and exquisite shape, +carefully painted, and having a glass suspended within, lest any water +it might receive should penetrate the porous plaster. + +He did not look at Eve, but marched to her mother, and deposited it upon +the floor at her feet. + +"For the Signora's lilies," said he. + +And remembering the silver pieces of the week before, and fearing lest +she should really grieve him, the Signora perforce accepted it with +admiring words; while Eve ran to fill it from the garden, into which +abode of bliss--as gardens always are--the long casement of the +music-room opened. Luigi hesitated, his hand upon the door, wistful +wishes in his face; then he cast a smiling, deprecating glance at the +mother, lightly crossed the floor, was over the sill, and stood beside +Eve in the walk. + +To right and left the long, straight stems rose in rank, and bore their +floral crown of listening lilies, calm, majestic, pure, and only +stirring now and then when the wind shook a waft of gold-dust down the +shining leaf, or rifled the inmost heart of its delicious wealth of +odor; on either side of the path the snowy bloom lay like a fallen +cloud. + +"It is a company of angels," said Luigi, brokenly, "a cloud of seraphs +with their gold harps! If they should sing," hazarded he, "it would be +the song the Signorina gave me,--alas, it is long since!" + +"It is a week," said she, laughing and lingering. + +"Eve!" came a warning voice. + +"That is the Signorina's name?" questioned Luigi, as he bent to help her +cut the stems. + +"Eve,--yes, they call me so." + +"Certainly I had not thought it," he repeated to himself. + +"Why, what did you suppose it was?" she heedlessly asked. + +"_Luigia!_" said he. And his low, rapt tone was indescribably simple, +sweet, and intense. + +Eve did not know what the boy himself was called. + +"I wish it were," said she. "That is a pleasant sound." + +And rising with her armful, she went in and heaped the jar with honor, +while Luigi, pleased and proud, lifted it to the level of the +black-walnut bracket. + +"Signora, behold what is beautiful!" said he, stepping back. + +The Signora looked at the lilies, but Luigi looked at Eve. + +They had lunched. Eve went into the other room to her exercises. Her +mother poured out a glass of wine for the unbidden guest. He repulsed it +with an angry eye and a disdainful gesture. But then there rose the +sound of Eve's voice just beyond;--while he stayed, he could listen. +With sudden change from frown to smile, he stepped forward and took the +plate. + +"To the Signora's health," said he, with a courtesy that sat well on the +supple shape and the dark beauty of the boy, whose homely garb, whose +poverty, and whose profession seemed only the disguise of some young +prince,--and sipped the wine, and broke the fine, white bread, while his +cheek was scarlet with delight at recurrence of the familiar sounds, +even though in such simple phrase. + +"That is a proud boy," said Eve's mother, when he had gone, and she +paused a moment to see how Eve went on. "He urges no one." + +"Italy is full of its troubles, _mia madre_. He is the exile of a noble +family,--no other beggar would be so haughty," looked up and answered +Eve, laughing between her bars. "Mamma, what different beings different +meridians make!" she exclaimed, dropping her music. "Is he so sweet and +lofty and fiery because he has lived in the shadow of old +temples,--because, if he stumbled over a pebble in the street, it was +the marble fragment of a goddess,--because the clay of which he is made +has so many times been moulded into heroes?" + +"Are there no further fancies with which you can invest an +image-vender?" + +"But he is unique. Did you ever see any one like him? Daily beauty has +made him beautiful. Is that what the Doctor means, when he says a +Corinthian pillar in the market-place would educate a generation better +than a pulpit would?" + +"They have both in Rome," said her mother, with meaning. + +"And, in spite of them, perhaps our hero cannot spell! Yet he is more +accomplished than we, mamma. He speaks Italian beautifully," said she, +with _espičglerie_. + +"But hardly Tuscan." + +"Silver speech for all that. I have reached the end of my idioms, +though. I always said school was good for something, if one could only +find it out," she archly cried, her little fingers running in arpeggios +up the keys. "To think he understood them so! Then Dante's women would." + +"Heaven forbid!" + +"How his face glows at them,--like a light behind a mask! It is quite +the opera, when he comes. I will sing to him an aria, and then it will +make a scene." + +"You are a madcap. What do you want a scene for?" + +"Spice. When my voice fills his handsome eyes with tears, he makes me an +artist; when he turns upon you in that sudden, ardent air, he brings a +sting of foreign fire into this quiet summer noon." + +"Amuse yourself sparingly with other people's emotions, Eve." + +"Especially when they are suave as olive-oil, pungent as cherry-cordial, +and ready to blaze with a spark, you know. Ah, it is all as interesting +to me as when the little sweep last year looked out from the chimney-top +and made the whole sky brim over with his wild music." + +Here a clock chimed silverly from below. + +"There is the half-hour striking, and you have lost all this time," said +the caressing mother, her fingers lost in the bright locks she lifted. + +"Never mind, mother mine," said she, turning in elfish mood to brush her +lips across the frustrated fingers. "Art is long, if time is fleeting," +she sang to the measure of her _Non pił mesta_, beginning again to +shower its diamonds about till all the air seemed bright with her young +and sparkling voice. + + * * * * * + +Summer days are never too long for the fortunes of health and happiness, +and at the sunset following this same morning Eve leaned from the +casement, watching the retiring rays as if she fain would pursue. A +tender after-glow impurpled all the heaven like a remembered passion, +and bathed field and fallow in its bloom. It gave to her a kind of +aureole, as if her beauty shed a lustre round her. The window where she +leaned was separated from the street only by a narrow inclosure, where +grew a single sumach, whose stem went straight and bare to the eaves, +and there branched out, like the picture of a palm-tree, in tossing +plumes. Blossoming honeysuckles wreathed this stem and sweetened every +breath. + +A figure came sauntering down the street, an upright and pliant form, +laden with green boughs. It was Luigi, with whom it had been a holiday, +and who, roaming in the woods, had come across a wild stock on whose +rude flavor the kindly freak of some wayfarer had grafted that of pulpy +wax-heart cherries, tart ruddiness and sugared snow. Pausing before Eve, +he gazed at her lingeringly, then sprang half-way up the adjacent +door-steps, and proffered her his fragrant freight. Eve deliberated for +a moment, but the fruit was tempting, the act would be kind. As he stood +there, he wore a certain humility, and yet a certain assurance,--the +lover's complicate timidity, that seems to say he will defend her +against all the world, for there is nothing in the world he fears except +herself. Eve bent and broke a little spray of the nearest branch. + +"They are all for you," pleaded he,--"all." + +"I have enough," said Eve. + +"I brought them for the Signorina from the wood. Behold! the tints are +hers. The cream upon Madonna's shoulder,--here; the soft red flame upon +her cheek is there." + +"Ah! I thank you," said Eve. "Good night." + +"_Scusi_,--I beg that the Signorina take them." + +"No, no," answered Eve, obliged to speak, and, hanging on her foot, half +turned away, a moment before flight; "why should I rob you so?" + +"It is not take,--but give! Why? Only that to me you are so kind. _O +quanta bontą_! You speak the speech I love. You sing its songs. I was a +wanderer. _Io era solo_. Alone and sad. But since I heard your voice, I +am at home again, and life is sweet!" + +And suddenly and dexterously he flung the boughs past her in at the open +window, laughed at his success till the teeth flashed again in his dusky +face, kissed both his hands and ran down the steps, singing in a ringing +recitative something where the _bella bellas_ echoed and reėchoed each +other through the evening as far as they could be heard at all. + +Eve smiled to herself, gathered up the scattered boughs, and went into +the lighted room behind, where her gay companions clustered, appearing +at the door thus laden, and with a blush upon her brow. + +"Mamma," said she, her lovely head bent on one side and ringed with +gloss beneath the burner, "the fruit is fresh, whether you call it +cherry or _ciriegia_." And straightway planting herself at her mother's +feet, taper fingers twinkled among shadowy leaves till the boughs were +bare of their juicy burden, and they all made merry together upon the +spoils of Luigi. + + * * * * * + +July was following June in sunshine down the slope of the year, and Eve, +pursuing her pleasures, might almost have forgotten that an image-boy +existed, had Luigi allowed her to forget. But he was omnipresent as a +gnat. + +As she walked from church on the next Sunday afternoon alone, gazing at +her shadow by the way, she started to see another shadow fall beside it. +In spite of his festal midsummer attire of white linen, a sidelong +glance assured her that it was Luigi; yet she did not raise her eyes. He +continued by her, in silence, several steps. + +"Signorina Eve," said he then, "I went that I might worship with you." + +But Eve had no reply. + +"My prayer mounted with yours,--may he forgive, _il padre mio_," said +Luigi. "_Ebbene!_ It is not lovely there. It is cold. Your heaven would +be a dreary place, perhaps. Come rather to mine!" For they approached a +little chapel, the crystallization in stone of a devout fancy, and +through the open doors rolling organ, purple incense, and softened light +invited entrance. "It is the holy vespers," said the boy. "_Ciascuno +alia sua volta._ The Signorina enters,--_forse?_" + +"Not to-day," answered Eve, gently. + +"Kneel we not," then faltered he, "before one shrine,--although," and he +grew angry with his hesitation, "at different gates?" + +"Ah, certainly," said Eve. "But now I must go home." + +"The Signorina refuses to come with me, then!" he exclaimed, springing +forward so that he opposed her progress. "Her foot is too holy! she +herself has said it. Her eyes are too lofty,--_gli occhi azzurri!_! It +is true; stood she there, who would look at the blessed saints? Ah! you +have a fair face, but it is--_traditrice_!" + +And as he confronted her, with his clenched hands slightly raised and +advanced from his side, the lithe figure drawn back, the swarthy cheek, +the eager eyes, aglow, and made more vivid by his spotless attire, Eve +bethought herself that a scene in public had fewer charms than one in +private, and, casting about for escape, quietly stepped across the +street. For an instant Luigi gazed after her like one thunderstruck; +then he dashed into the vestibule and was lost in its shadows. + +It was at midnight that Eve's mother, rising to close an open window, +caught sight of an outline in the obscurity, and discerned Luigi leaning +on the railing below, with one arm supporting his upturned face. "Ah, +the sad day! the sad day!" he was sighing in his native speech. "Pardon, +pardon, Signorina! Alas! I was beside myself!" + +And on the next twilight Eve stood at the gate, her arms and hands full +of a flush of rosy wild azaleas from the swamps, bounty that had been +silently laid upon her by a fast and fleeting shadow. She doubted for a +moment, then dropped them where she stood. But a tint as deep as theirs +was broken by the arch and dimpling smile that flickered round her mouth +as she went in, laughing because this devotion was so strange, and +blushing because it was so genuine. "Mamma," said she, her eyes cast +down, her head askant like a shy bird's, "I am afraid I have a lover!" +And then to think of it the child grew sad. It pained her to grieve him +with the beautiful pink blossoms she had dropped, and which she knew he +would return to find; but better trivial sting than lasting ache, she +had heard. And perhaps in his tropical nature the passion would be brief +as the pain. + + * * * * * + +The broad, bright river flowing past the town by summer noon or night +was never left unflecked with sails. And of all who loved its swinging +bridge, its stately shores, its breezy expanses, none sought them more +frequently than Eve. + +She had gone out one day with her companions--who, beside her, seemed +like the moss that clusters on a rose-bud--to watch the shoal in the +weir as the treacherous ebb forsook it. It was a favorite diversion of +Eve's,--for she always felt as if she were Scheherazade looking into the +pools of her fancy, and viewing the submerged city with its princes and +its populace transformed to fish, when, having entered the heart-shaped +inclosure, she leaned over the boat-side and noted the twin tides of +life whose facile and luminous career followed all the outline of the +weir. For the mackerel, swimming in at the two eddies of the mouth, +struck straight across in transverse courses till they met the barrier +on either side, and then each slowly felt the way along to the end of +the lobe, where, instead of escaping, they struck freely across again, +and thus pursued their round in everlasting interchase of +lustre,--through the darkly transparent surface each current glancing on +its swift and silent way, an arrow of emerald and silver. Curving, +racing, rippling with tints, they circled, till, warned by some subtile +instinct that the river was betraying them, fresh fear swept faster and +faster their lines of light, the rich dyes deepened in the splendid +scales, and some huddled into herds, and some, more frantic than the +rest, leaped from the water in shining streaks, and darted away like +stars into outer safety. There the sail-boat already had preceded them, +and the master of the weir, having taken its place, from the dip-net was +loading his dory with massive fare of frosted silver and fusing jewel. +As Eve and her friends lingered yet a moment there, watching the +picturesque figure splashing barelegged in the shallow water, one of the +droll little craft known as Joppa-chaises came up beside them, a fulvous +face appeared at its helm, a tawny hand was extended, and they left +Luigi bargaining for fish, and stringing these simulations of massed +turquoise and scale-ruby at a penny apiece. + +What little wind there was that day blew from the southeast, and +sheathed the brightness of the noonday sky in a soft veil of haze; and +having made this pretty sight their own, Eve's party spread their sail +for tacking to and fro, meaning to reach the sea. This, for some hidden +reason, the wind refused to let them do, and when it found them +obstinate brought an accomplice upon the scene, and they suddenly +surprised themselves rocking this side the bar, and caught in the vapory +fringes of a dark sea-turn, that, creeping round about, had soon so +wrapped and folded them that they could scarcely see the pennon drooping +at their mast-head. This done, the wind fell altogether, and they lay +there a part of the great bank of mist that all day brooded above the +bar. Everywhere around them the gray cloud hung and curled and curdled; +it was impossible to see an oar's-length on either side; their very +faces were unfamiliar, and seemed to be looking like the faces of +spirits from a different atmosphere; their little boat was the whole +world, and beyond it was only void. Now and then an idle puff parted the +bank to right and left, their sail flapped impatiently, and in the +sudden space they saw the barge that dashed along with the great white +seine-boat heaped high with nets towering in its midst, the oars of the +six red-shirted rowers flashing in the sun as it cut the channel and +rushed by to join the fishing-fleet outside,--or they caught a glimpse +of some little gunning-float, covered with wisps of hay and carrying its +single occupant couched _perdu_ along its length,--or, while they +lunched and trifled and jested, Eve with her crumbs tolled about them +the dwellers in the depths, and in the falling flake of sunshine laughed +to see a stately aldermanic flounder, that came paddling after a +chicken-bone, put to rout by a satanic sculpin, whereat an eel swiftly +snaked the prize away, and the frost-fish, collecting at a chance of +civil war, mingled in the _mźlée_, tooth and nail, or rather fin and +tail. Then the vapors would darken round them again, till, with the +stray rays caught and refracted in their fleece, it seemed like living +in an opal full of cloudy color and fire. Far off they heard the great +ground-swell of the surf upon the beach, or there came the dull report +of the sportsmen in the marsh, or they exchanged first a laugh and then +a yawn with some other unseen party becalmed in the fog and drifting +with the currents; and all day long, on this side and on that, the cloud +rang with near and distant music, as if Ariel and his sprites had lost +their way in it, the tinkling of a mandolin, the singing of a clear, +rich voice that had the tenor's golden strain, and yet, in floating +through the mist, was sweet and sighing as a flute. The melody and the +undistinguished words it bore upon its wings, delicious tune and +passionate meaning, seemed the speech of another planet, an orb of song, +the delicate sound lost when at sunset the threaded mist broke up and +streamed away in fire, but coming again, as if they were haunted by the +viewless voices of the air, when star-beam and haze tangled together at +last in the dusk of summer night and found them still rocking on the +swell, vainly whistling for the wind, and slowly tiding up with the +flood. + +It was one of those days so long in the experience, but so charming to +remember. Eve, with her wilful, fearless ways, her quips and joyousness, +had been the life and the delight of it; now, chilled and weary, she +hailed the sight of the lamps that seemed to be hung out along the shore +to light them home: for their boatmen were inexperienced, and, though +wind failed them, had not dared before to lift the oars, ignorant as +they were of their precise whereabouts, and even now made no progress +like that of the unseen voice still hovering around them. There had been +a season of low tides, and when, to save the weary work of rowing a +heavy sail-boat farther, it was decided to make the shore, they were +hindered by a length of shallow water and weedy flat, through which the +ladies of the party must consent to be carried. A late weird moon was +rising down behind the light-houses, all red and angry in the mist still +brooding over the horizon, the boat lay in the deep shade it cast, the +river beyond was breaking into light, reach after reach, like a blossom +into bloom. Two of her friends had already been taken to the bank; Eve +stood in the bow, awaiting her bearers, and watching the distant bays of +the stream, each one of which seemed just on the verge of opening into +an impossible midnight glory. She heard the plash of feet in the water, +but did not heed it other than to fold her cloak more conveniently about +her, her eye caught the contour of a vague approaching form, and then +shadowy arms were reaching up to encircle her. She was bending, and just +yielding herself to the clasp, when the hearty voice of her bearers +sounded at hand, bidding her be of good cheer; the adumbration shrank +back into the gloom, and, before she recovered from her start, firm arms +had borne her to firm land. + +"Well, Eve," said one of her awaiting friends, "is the earth going up +and down with you? As for me, my head swims like a buoy. I feel as if I +had waltzed all day." + +"Nympholeptic, then," said Eve,-- + + "'When you do dance, I wish you + A wave of the sea, that you might ever do + Nothing but that.'" + +"I thought they threw out the anchor down there," said the other. "Are +they tying her up for the night, too? How long it takes them! Oh, for an +inquisition and a rack,--I am so cramped! Eve, here, is extinguished. +What a day it has been!" + + "'Oh, sweet the flight, at dead of night, + When up the immeasurable height + The thin cloud wanders with the breeze + That shakes the splendor from the star, + That stoops and crisps the darkling seas, + And drives the daring keel afar + Where loneliness and silence are! + To cleave the crested wave, and mark + Drowned in its depth the shattered spark, + On airy swells to soar, and rise + Where nothing but the foam-bell flies, + O'er freest tracts of wild delight, + Oh, sweet the flight at dead of night!'" + +sang Eve. "Ah, there they are! I am so tired that I could fall asleep +here, if there were but a reed to lean against!" + +"_Appoggiatevi a me_" sighed a murmurous voice in her ear, with musical +monotone. + +A little shiver ran over Eve, but no soul saw it; in an instant she knew +the sound that had all day haunted the sea-turn; yet she could neither +smile nor be angry at Luigi's simplicity; with a peremptory motion of +her hand, she only waved him away, and fortified herself among her +companions, who, thoroughly awakened, made the night ring as they wended +along. They rallied Eve, then grew vexed that she refused the sport, and +kept silence awhile, only to break it with gayer laughter, elate with +life while half the world was stretched in white repose. At length they +paused to rest in the lee of a cottage that seemed more like a hulk +drawn up on shore than any house, but matted from ground to chimney in a +smother of woodbine. + +"A picturesque place," said one of the chevaliers. + +"And a picturesque body lives in it," replied another. "The beauty of +the fisher-maidens. I have seen her out upon the flats at low tide +digging for clams, barefooted, the short petticoats fluttering, a +handkerchief across her ears,--and outline could do no more." + +"I have seen her, too," said Eve. "Though she lives in the belt of +sunburn, she is white as snow,--milk-white, with hazel eyes. She has +hair like Sordello's Elys. She is a girl that dreams. Let us serenade +her till she sees visions." + +And Eve's voice went warbling lightly up, till the others joined, as if +the oriole in his hanging nest not far away had stirred to sing out the +seasons of the dark. + + "The hours that bear thy beauty prize + Star after star sinks numbering,-- + The laden wind at thy lattice sighs + To find thee slumbering, slumbering! + + "Ah, wantonly why waste these hours + That love would fain be borrowing? + Soon youth and joy must fall like flowers, + And leave thee sorrowing, sorrowing! + + "Ye fleeting hours, ye sacred skies, + Sweet airs around her hovering, + Oh, open me the envied eyes + Your spells are covering, covering! + + "Or only, while the dew's soft showers + Shake slowly into glistening, + Let her, O magic midnight hours, + In dreams be listening, listening!" + +And their voices blended so together as they sang, and the plunge of the +sea came on the east-wind in such chiming chord, that they never heeded +the old mandolin whose strings in humble remoteness Luigi struck to +their tune. But mingling the sound of the sea and the sound of the +strings in her memory, it seemed to Eve that Luigi was fast becoming the +undertone of her life. + + * * * * * + +But Luigi was not to be abashed. Faint heart never won fair lady, he +said to himself, in some answering apophthegm. And thereat he summoned +his reserves. + +At noon of the next day, Eve, having run down-stairs into the room where +her mother sat, stood before her during the inspection of the attire she +had proposed as possible for an approaching masquerade some weeks hence. +She wore a white robe of classic make, and over its trailing folds her +bright hair, all unbound from the heavy braids, streamed in a thousand +ripples of scattered lustre, the brown breaking into gold, the gloss +lurking in tremulous jacinth shadows, tresses like a cascade of ravelled +light falling to her feet, shrouding her in a long and luminous +veil,--such "sweet shaken hair" as was never seen since Spenser and +Ariosto put their heads together. + +"_Come sta_?" said some one in the doorway. And there stood Luigi, +having deposited his tray of images on the steps, holding up a long +string of birds'-eggs blown, tiny varicolored globes plundered from the +thrushes, bobolinks, blue-jays, and cedar-birds, and trembling upon the +thread as if their concrete melody quivered to open into tune. + +For an indignant instant Eve felt her seclusion unwarrantably violated; +she turned upon the invader with her blushes, and the venturesome Luigi +blenched before the gaze. Still, though he retreated, a part of him +remained: a slender brown hand, that stretched back in relief against +the white door-post, yet suspended the pretty rosary; and there it +caught Eve's eye. + +Now it was Euterpe that Eve was to represent at the masquerade; and what +ornament so fit and fanciful as this amulet of spring-time, whose charm +commanded all that hour of freshness, fragrance, and dew, when the +burdened heart of the dawn bubbles over with music? Yet the enticement +was brief. Eve looked and longed, and then hurriedly turned her back +upon the tempting treasure, her two hands thrusting it off. "Behind me, +Satan!" cried she, tossing a laugh at her mother; and Paula, the stately +servant who had followed her down, signified to Luigi that the door +awaited his movements. + +Then the hand quietly withdrew, and his footstep was heard upon the +threshold. It was arrested by a sound: Eve stood in the doorway, +gathering her locks in one hand, and blushing and smiling upon him like +sunshine, whether she would or no. + +"You are very kind," said she, hesitating, and fluttering out the broad, +snowy love-ribbon that was to ornament her lute, "but, if you +please,--indeed"-- + +"Indeed, the Signorina cares not for such bawbles," said Luigi, sadly, +covering her with his gaze. Then he turned, mounted his tray again, and +went slowly down the street, forgetting to cry his wares. + +Perhaps, after this, Luigi felt that his situation was desperate; +perhaps despair made him bold,--for, having already spoiled Eve's +pleasure for the day, that same evening found him in her mother's +garden, half hidden in the grape-vines, and watching the movements in +the lighted room opposite, through the long window, whose curtain was +seldom dropped. + +It was a gay old town in those days, kind to its lads and lasses, and if +the streets were grass-grown, it seemed only that so they might give +softer footing to the young feet that trod them. Almost every night +there was a festival at one house or another, and this evening the +rendezvous was with Eve. The guests gathered and dallied, the dancers +floated round the room, the lovers uttered their weighty trifles in such +seclusion or shadow as they could secure, the voices melted in happy +unison. Eve, with snowy shoulders and faultless arms escaping from the +ruffle of her rosy gauzes, where skirt over skirt, like clinging petals, +made her seem the dryad of a wild rose-tree just rising and looking from +her blushing cup, Eve flitted to and fro among them, and, all the time, +Luigi's gaze brooded over the scene. Sometimes her shadow fell in the +lighted space of turf, and then Luigi went and laid his cheek upon it; +it passed, and he returned once more to his hiding-place, and the dark, +motionless countenance, with its wandering, glittering eyes, appeared to +hang upon the dense leafage that sheltered all the rest of him like a +vizard in whose cavities glowworms had gathered. And more than once, in +passing, Eve delayed a moment, and almost caught that gaze; she was +sensible of his presence there, felt it, as she might have felt an +apparition, as if the eyes were those of a basilisk and she were +fascinated to look and look again, till filled with a strange fear and +unrest. It grew late; by-and-by, before they separated, Eve sang. It +would have been impossible for her to say why she chose a luscious +little Italian air, one that many a time at home, perhaps, Luigi had +heard some midnight lover sing. Through it, as he listened now, he could +fancy the fountain's fall, the rustle of the bough, the half-checked +gurgle of the nightingale, upon the scented waft almost the slow +down-floating of the scattered corolla of the full-blown flower. The +tears sparkled over his face, first of delight, and then of anger. +Something was wanting in the song,--he missed the passionate utterance +of the lover standing by the gate and pouring his soul in his singing. + +Suddenly the room was startled by the ring of a voice from the garden, a +voice that outbroke sweet and strong, that snatched the measure from +Eve's lips, flung a fervor into its flow, a depth into its burden, and +carried it on with impetuous fire, lingering with tenderness here, swift +with ardor there, till all hearts bounded in quicker palpitation when +the air again was still. For deep feeling has a potency of its own, and +all that careless group felt as if some deific cloud had passed by. + +As for Eve, what coquetry there was in her nature was but the innocent +coruscation of happy spirits, the desire to see her power, the necessity +of being dear to all she touched. Far from pleasant was this vehemence +of devotion; the approach of it oppressed her; she comprehended Luigi as +a creature of another species, another race, than herself; she shrank +before him now with a kind of horror. That night in a nervous excitation +she did not close an eye, and in the morning she was wan as a flower +after rain. + +This state of things found at least one observer, a personage of no less +authority in household matters than Paula, the tall and stately woman of +Nubian lineage who had been the nurse of Eve, and who every morning now +stood behind her chair at breakfast, familiarly joining in and gathering +what she chose of the conversation. Erect as a palm-tree, slender, +queenly, with her thin and clearly cut features, and her head like that +of some Circassian carved in black marble, she had a kinship of +picturesqueness with Luigi, and could meet him more nearly on his own +ground than another, for her voice was as sweet as his, and he was only +less dark than she. Breakfast over, she took her way into the garden, +set open the gate, and busied herself pinching the fresh shoots of the +grape-vine, too luxuriant in leaves. She did not wait long before Luigi +came up the side-street, his tray upon his head, his gait less elastic +than beseemed the fresh, fragrant morning. Paula stepped forward and +gave him pause, with a gesture. + +"Sir!" said she, commandingly. + +Luigi looked up at her inquiringly. Then a pleasant expectation overshot +his gloomy face; he smiled, and his teeth glittered, and his eyes. +Instantly he unslung his tray and set it upon the level gate-post. + +"Sir," said Paula, "do you come here often?" + +"_Tutti i giorni_," answered Luigi, scarcely considering her worth +wasting his sparse and precious English upon. + +"You come here often," said Paula. "Will you come here no more?" + +Luigi opened his eyes in amaze. + +"You will come here no more," said Paula. + +"_Chi lo_,--who wishes it?" stammered Luigi. + +"My mistress," answered Paula, proudly, as if to be her servant were +more than enough distinction, and to mention her name were sovereign. + +"Who commands?" he demanded, imperatively. + +"Still my mistress." + +"She said--Tell me that!" + +"She said, 'Paula, if the boy disturbs us further, we must take +measures.'" + +"The Signorina?" + +"Her mother." + +"Not the Signorina, then!" And Luigi's gloomy face grew radiant. + +"She and her mother are one," replied Paula. + +Luigi was silent for a moment. One could see the shadows falling over +him. Then he said, softly,-- + +"My Paula, you will befriend me?" + +Paula bridled at the address; arrogant in family-place, she would have +assured him plainly that she was none of his, to begin with, had he been +an atom less disconsolate. + +"Never more than now!" said she, loftily. + +Luigi did not understand her; her tone was kind, but there was a "never" +in her words. + +"I should be the most a friend," said Paula, unbending, "in urging you +to forget us." + +"Ah, never!" + +"Let me say. Can you read?" + +"Some things," replied Luigi quickly, his brow brightening. + +"Can you write?" + +"It may be. Alas! I have not tried." + +"You see." + +There was no appeal from Paula's dictatorial demeanor. + +"_Dio_! I am unfit! Ah, Jesu, I am unfit! But if she cared not--if I +learned"--and he paused, striving now for the purest, most intelligible +speech, while his face beamed with his smiling hope. + +"Listen," interposed Paula, with the dignity of the headsman. "You have +no truer friend than me at this moment, as some day you will discover. +Come, now, will you do me a favor?" + +"_Di tutto cuore_!" + +"Then leave us to ourselves." + +"Not possible!" cried Luigi, stung with disappointment. + +"What would you do, then? Would you wear her life out? Would you keep +her in a terror? She has said to me that she must go away. It suffocates +one to be pursued in this manner. You are not pleasant to her. Hark. She +dislikes you!" And Paula bent toward him with uplifted finger, and, +having delivered her stroke, after watching its effect a moment, reared +herself and adjusted her gay turban with internal satisfaction. + +Luigi cast his eyes slowly about him; they fell on the smooth +grass-plats rising with webs of shaking sparkle, the opening flowers +half-bowed beneath the weight of the shining spheres they held, the +brilliant garden bathed in dew, the waving boughs tossing off light +spray on every ravaging gust, the far fair sky bending over all. Then he +hid his face against the great gate-post, murmuring only in a dry and +broken sob,-- + +"_C' č sole_?" + +Paula herself was touched. She put her hand on his shoulder. + +"It is a silly thing," said she. "Do not take it so to heart. Put it out +of sight. There is many a pretty tambourine-tosser to smile upon you, +I'll warrant!" + +But Luigi vouchsafed no response. + +"Come," said she, "pluck up your courage. You will soon be better of +it." + +"_Non sarņ meglio_!" answered Luigi. "I shall never be better." + +He lifted his head and looked at her where she stood in the light, +black, but comely, transfixing her on the burning glances of his bold +eyes. "In your need," said he, "may you find just such friend as I have +found!" The words were of his native language, but the malediction was +universal. Paula half shivered, and fingered the amulet that her +princely Nubian ancestor had fingered before her, while he spoke. Then +he bowed his head to its burden, fastened the straps, and went bent and +stooping upon his way, repeating sadly to himself, "And does the sun +shine?" + + * * * * * + +A week passed. Part of another. Eve saw no more of Luigi, but was yet +all the time uncomfortably conscious of his espionage. He was hardly a +living being to her, but, as soon as night fell, the soft starry nights +now in which there was no moon, she felt him like a darker film of +spirit haunting the shadow. In the daytime, sunshine reassured her, and +she remained almost at peace. + +She was sitting one warm afternoon at the open window up-stairs, looking +over a box of airy trifles, flowers and bows and laces, searching for a +parcel of sheer white love-ribbon, a slip of woven hoarfrost that was +not to be found. There was none like it to be procured; this was the +night of the little masquerade; it was indispensable; and immediately +she proceeded to raise the house. In answer to her descriptive inquiry, +Paula, who every noon nestled as near the sun as possible, responded in +a high key from the attic a descriptive negative; neither had her +mother, waking from a _siesta_ in the garden, seen any white gauze +folderols. The three voices made the air well acquainted with the +affair. + +However, Eve was not to be baffled; she remembered distinctly having had +the love-ribbon in her hands on the day she first proposed the dress; it +must be found, and she sat down again at the open casement, intrenched +behind twenty boxes of like treasure, in any one of which the thing +might have hidden itself away, while her mother came up and established +herself with a fan at the other window, and Paula, descending from her +perch, rummaged the neighboring dressing-room. + +On the opposite side of the street stretched a long strip of shaven +turf, known as the Parade, yet seldom used for anything but +summer-evening strolls, and below its velvet terraces, in a green +dimple, lay a pool, borrowing all manner of umberous stains from the +shore, and yet in its very heart contriving to reflect a part of heaven. +Languishing elm-trees lined its edge, and beneath the boughs, whose +heavily drooping masses seemed like the grapes of Eshcol, rude benches +offered rest to the weary. + +On one of these benches now sat a person profoundly occupied in carving +something into its seat. If he could easily have heard the voices in the +dwelling opposite, he had not once glanced up. Now and then he paused +and leaned his head upon the arm that lay along the rail, then again he +pursued his task. Once, when his progress, perhaps, had exceeded +expectation, or the striking of a clock beneath some distant spire +announced no need of haste, he laid down his knife, left his occupation, +and came to lean against the low fence beneath Eve's window and gaze +daringly up. Eve did not see him. Her mother did, and held her breath +lest Eve should turn that way, and, having directed Eve's glance +elsewhere, shook her fan at the bold boy. But there was no insolence in +Luigi's gaze. He seemed merely wishing that his work should be marked; +and, having attracted fit attention, he returned quietly to the bench +and the carving once more. + +At length the sun hung high over the west, preparing to fall into his +hidden resting-place that colored all the cloudless heaven with its +mounting tinge. Luigi rose and inspected his work. Then again he crossed +the street and stood below Eve's window. It was a long time that he +leaned with his arms folded on the bar of the low paling. Perhaps he +meant that she should look at him. She had closed the last of her +receptacles, and, dismissing the matter, for want of better employment, +her scissors were tinkering upon a tiny hand-glass with a setting +thickly crusted in crystals, a trifle that one clear day a sailor diving +from her father's ship had found upon the bottom of the sea,--a very +mermaid's glass dropped in some shallow place for Eve herself, a glass +that had reflected the rushing of the storm, the sliding of the keel +above, the face of many a drowning mariner. Careless of all that, at the +moment, she held it up now to the light to see if further furbishing +could brighten it, and as she did so was hastily checked. She had caught +sight of a dark face just framed and mirrored, the sad eyes raised and +resting on her own, luminous no more, but heavy, and longing, and dull +with a weight of woe. At the same moment, Paula, who had by no means +abandoned the lost love-ribbon, cried from within,-- + +"Well, Miss, the lutestring has been spirited away, and no less. I've +searched the house through, and nobody has it." + +"_Qualcheduno l' ha_," breathed a sweet, melancholy tone from below; and +they turned and saw it in Luigi's hands, the frosty film of gossamer. He +held it up a moment, pressed it to his lips, folded it again into his +breast; and if it was plain that somebody had it, it was plainer still +that somebody meant to keep it. And then, as if twin stars were bending +over him out of the bluest deeps of heaven, Luigi kept Eve's eyes awhile +suspended on his despairing gaze, and without other word or gesture +turned and went away. + + * * * * * + +Many days afterward, when it was certain that the little foreign +image-vender had indeed departed, Eve stole over to the bench beneath +the lofty arches of the elm-tree, all checkered with flickering +sunlight, and endeavored to read the sentence carved thereon. It was at +first undecipherable, and then, the text conquered, not easy for her to +comprehend. But when she had made it hers, she rose, bathed with +blushes, and stole away home again, feeling only as if Luigi had laid a +chain upon her heart. + +Years have fled. The little legend yet remains cut deep into the wood, +though he returns no more, and though, since then, her + + "Part in all the pomp that fills + The circuit of the summer hills + Is that her grave is green." + +Rain and snow have not effaced its _intaglio_, nor summer's dust, nor +winter's wind; and if you ever pass it, you yet may read,-- + + AMOR QUE A NULLO + AMATO + AMAR PERDONA. + + * * * * * + +COMMUNICATION. + + +_Whether virtue can be taught_ is a question over which Plato lingers +long. And it is a curious illustration of the different eyes with which +different men read, that some students of Plato are confident he answers +the question in the affirmative, while others are equally sure that he +gives it an unqualified negative. "Plato," says Schwegler, "holds fast +to the opinion that virtue is science, and therefore to be imparted by +instruction." "We are told," says Burgess, one of Bohn's translators, +"that, as virtue is not a science, it cannot, like a science, be made a +subject of teaching." Professor Blackie, again, an open-minded and +eloquent scholar, cannot doubt that virtue may be verbally imparted, +nor, therefore, that the great Athenian thinker so believed and +affirmed. + +What is the voice of common sense and the teaching of history touching +this matter? Can a liberal and lofty nature be included in words, and so +passed over to another? Elevation of character, nobility of spirit, +wealth of soul,--is any method known, or probably ever to be known, +among men, whereby these can be got into a text-book, and then out of +the text-book into a bosom wherein they had no dwelling before? Alas, is +not the story of the world too full of cases in which the combined +eloquence of verbal instruction, vital influence, and lustrous example, +aided even by all the inspirations of the most majestic and moving +presence, have failed utterly to shape the character of disciples? Did +Alcibiades profit greatly by the conversation of Socrates? Was Judas +extremely ennobled by the companionship of Jesus? Was it to any +considerable purpose that the pure-minded, earnest, affluent Cicero +strewed the seeds of Stoic culture upon the wayside nature of his son? +Did Faustina learn much from Antoninus Pius, or Commodus from Marcus +Aurelius? + +I think we must assume it as the judgment of common sense that there +neither is nor is likely to be any educational mortar wherein a fool may +be so brayed that he shall come forth a wise man. The broad, unequivocal +sentence of history seems to be that whoever is not noble by nature will +hardly be rendered so by art. Education can do much; it can foster +nobilities, it can discourage vices; but literal conveyance of lofty +qualities, can it effect that? Can it create opulence of soul in a +sterile nature? Can it cause a thin soil to do the work of a deep one? +We have seen harsh natures mellowed, violent natures chastened, rough +ones refined; but who has seen an essentially mean nature made +large-hearted, self-forgetful, fertile of grandest faiths and greatest +deeds? Who has beheld a Thersites transformed into an Achilles? Who a +Shylock, Iago, or Regan changed into an Antonio, Othello, or Cordelia, +or a Simon Magus into a Paul? What virtue of nature is in a man culture +may bring out; but to put nature into any man surpasses her competence. + +Nay, it would even seem that in some cases the finest openings and +invitations for what is best in man must operate inversely, and elicit +only what is worst in him. Every profoundest truth, when uttered with +fresh power in history, polarizes men, accumulating atheism at one pole, +while collecting faith and resolve at the other. As the sun bleaches +some surfaces into whiteness, but tans and blackens others, so the sweet +shining of Truth illumines some countenances with belief, but some it +darkens into a scowl of hate and denial. The American Revolution gave us +George Washington; but it gave us also Benedict Arnold. One and the same +great spiritual emergency in Europe produced Luther's Protestantism and +Loyola's Jesuitism. Our national crisis has converted General Butler; +what has it done for Vallandigham? + +It were easy to show that the deepest intelligence of the world concurs +with common sense in this judgment. Its declaration ever is, in effect, +that, though Paul plant and Apollos water, yet fruit can come only out +of divine and infinite Nature,--only, that is, out of the native, +incommunicable resources of the soul. "No man can come to me," said +Jesus, "except the Father draw him." "To him that hath shall be given." +The frequent formula, "He that hath ears to hear, let him hear," is a +confession that no power of speech, no wisdom of instruction, can +command results. The grandest teacher, like the humblest, can but utter +his word, sure that the wealthy and prepared spirits will receive it, +and equally sure that shallow, sterile, and inane natures will either +not receive it at all, or do so to extremely little purpose. + +And such, as I read, is the judgment of Plato; though, ever disposed to +explore the remote possibilities of education, he discusses the subject +in a tentative spirit, as if vaguely hoping that more might, through +some discovery in method, be accomplished by means of doctrine. But in +the "Republic" his permanent persuasion is shown. He there bases his +whole scheme of polity, as Goethe in the second part of "Wilhelm +Meister" bases his scheme of education, upon a primary inspection of +natures, in which it is assumed that culture must begin by humbly +accepting the work of Nature, forswearing all attempt to add one jot or +tittle to the native virtue of any human spirit. + +It is always, however, less important for us to know what another thinks +upon any high matter than to know what is our own deepest and inevitable +thought concerning it; for, as the man himself thinketh, not as another +thinketh for him, so is he: his own thoughts are forces and engines in +his nature; those of any other are at best but candidates for these +profound effects. I propose, therefore, that we throw open the whole +question of man's benefit to man by means of words. Let us inquire--if +possible, with somewhat of courage and vigor--what are the limits and +what the laws of instructive communication. + +And our first discovery will be that such communication has adamantine +limitations. The off-hand impression of most persons would probably be +that we are able to make literal conveyance of our thought. But, in +truth, one could as soon convey the life out of his veins into the veins +of another as transfer from his own mind to that of another any belief, +thought, or perception whatsoever. + +Words are simply the signs, they are not the vehicles, of thought. Like +all signs, they convey nothing, but only suggest. Like all signs, they +are intelligible to none but the initiated. One man, having a certain +mental experience, hoists, as it were, a signal, like ships at sea, +whereby he would make suggestion of it to another; and if in the mental +experience of that other be somewhat akin to this, which, by virtue of +that kindred, can interpret its symbol, then only, and to the extent of +such interpretation, does communication occur. But the mental experience +itself, the thought itself, does not pass; it only makes the sign. + +If, for example, I utter the word _God_, it conveys nothing out of my +mind into the mind of you, the reader; it simply appeals to your +conception of divinity. If I attempt to explain, then every word of the +explanation must be subject to the same conditions; not one syllable of +it can do more than merely appeal to somewhat already in your mind. For +instance, suppose I say, _God is love_; what then is done? The appeal is +shifted to another sign; that is all. What my own soul, fed from the +vital resources and incited by the vital relationships of my life, has +learned of love, that my thought may connect with the word; but of all +this nothing passes when it is uttered; and the sound, arriving at your +ear, can do no more than invite you to summon and bring before the eye +of your consciousness that which your own soul, out of its divine depths +and through the instruction of vital relationship, has learned and has +privily whispered to you of this sacred mystery, love. Just so much as +each one, in the inviolable solitudes of his own consciousness, has +learned to connect with this, or with any great word, just that, and +never a grain more, it can summon. And if endeavor be made to explain +any such by others, the explanation can come no nearer; it can only send +words to your ear, each of which performs its utmost office by inviting +you to call up and bring before your cognizance this or that portion of +your mental experience. But always what answers the call is your mental +experience, no less yours, no less wedded to your life, than the blood +in your arteries; it cannot be that of any other. + +And the same is true, or nearly the same, respecting the most obvious +outside matters. Suppose one to make merely this statement, _I see a +house_. Now, if the person addressed has ever had experience of the act +of vision, if he has ever seen anything, he will know what _see_ means; +otherwise not. If, again, he has ever seen a house, he will know what +_house_ denotes; not otherwise. Or suppose, that, not knowing, he ask +what a house is, and that the first speaker attempt to explain by +telling him that it is such and such a structure, built of brick, wood, +or stone; then it is assumed that he has seen stone, wood, or brick, +that he has seen the act of building, or at least its result;--and in +fine, the explanation, every syllable of it, can do no more than appeal +to perceptions of which the questioner is assumed to have had +experience. + +We do, indeed, gain an approximate knowledge of things we have never +seen. For example, I have an imperfect notion of a banian-tree, though I +have never seen one; but it is only by having seen other trees, and by +having also had the perceptions to which appeal is made in describing +the peculiarities of the banian. So he who is born blind may learn so +much concerning outward objects as the senses of touch, hearing, smell, +and taste can impart to him; and he may profit by verbal information to +such extent as these perceptions enable him. But the perception itself, +and so thought, faith, and in fine all mental experience whatsoever, +whether of high order or low, whether relating to objects within us or +to objects without, take place only in the privacy of our own minds, and +are in their substance not to be transferred. + +Observe with precision what is here said. The mental experience of each +man, if it be of any spiritual depth, has transacted itself in his +nature in virtue, to a most important degree, of spiritual relationship +with other human beings. There never was an act of development in any +man's soul that did not imply a humanity, and involve the virtue of +social affinity. I should be dumb, but for the ears of others; I should +be deaf, that is, my human ear would be closed, but for human voices; +and there is no particle of human energy, and no tint of human coloring, +for which we are not, in part, indebted to vital human fellowship. +Nevertheless, of this experience, though in the absence of social +connection it could not have occurred, not one jot nor tittle can be +made over to another by means of words. It can hoist its verbal signal, +and the like experience in other souls may interpret the sign; it can do +no more. + +Men may, indeed, _commune_; that is, they may by verbal conference enter +mutually into a sense of an already existing unity of inward experience; +and there are other and eminent uses of words, of which more anon; but +here let it be noted with sufficient emphasis that of minds there can be +no mixture, and that speech can make no substantive conveyance of any +mental product from one mind to another. Each soul must draw from its +native fountains; though we must never forget that without conversation +and social relationship its divine thirst would not have been excited. + +Therefore, in the midst of all warmest and quickest verity of social +nearness, there is a kind of sacred and inviolable solitude of the soul. +We speak across to each other, as out of different planets in heaven; +and the closest intimacy of souls is like that of double stars which +revolve about each other, not like that of two lumps of clay which are +squeezed and confounded together. + +So much, then, concerning the limits of verbal communication. Words, we +say, are not vehicles. No perception, no mental possession, passes from +mind to mind. You can impart to another no piece of knowledge whose main +elements were not already in his mind, no thought which was not +substantially existent in his consciousness before your voice began to +seek his ear. Instructors may, indeed, put a pupil in the way to obtain +fresh perceptions, and more rarely a wise man may put an apt disciple in +the way to obtain deeper insights; but, after all, the learner must +_learn_; the learner must for himself behold the fact, with the eyes of +body or of soul; and he must behold it as it is in itself, not merely as +it is in words. + +Hence the new scheme of school-education. Agassiz says, in +substance,--"If you would teach a boy geography, take him out on the +hills, and make the earth herself his instructor. If you would teach him +respecting tigers or turtles, _show_ him tiger or turtle. Take him to a +Museum of Natural History; let him always, so far as possible, learn +about facts from the facts themselves." Judicious and important advice. +And the basis of it we find in what has been set forth above, namely, +that words convey no perception, whether of physical or of spiritual +truth. + +It follows, therefore, that only he whose soul is eloquent within him +will gain much from any eloquence of his fellow. Only he whose heart is +a prophet will hear the prophet. A divine preparation of the nature, +divine activities of the soul, precede all high uses of communication. +Though Demosthenes or Phillips speak, it is the hearer's own spirit that +convinces him. Conviction cannot be forced upon one from without. Hence +the well-known futility of belligerent controversy. No possible logic +will lead a man ahead of his own intelligence; neither will any take +from him the persuasions which correspond to his mental condition. A +good logical _pose_ may sometimes serve to lower the crest of an +obstreperous sophist, as boughs of one species of ash are said to quell +the rattlesnake; but with both these sinuous animals the effect is +temporary, and the quality of the creature remains unchanged. + +Even though one be sincerely desirous of advancing his intelligence, it +is seldom, as Mr. Emerson has somewhere said, of much use for him to +carry his questions to another. He of whom insight is thus asked may be +sage, eloquent, apt to teach; but it will commonly be found, +nevertheless, that his words, for some reason, do not seem to suit the +case in hand: admirable words they are, perhaps, for some cases closely +analogous to this, it may be for all such cases, and it is a thousand +pities that the present one does not come within their scope; but this, +as ill luck will have it, is that other case which they do _not_ fit. + +And yet, despite these iron limits, communication is not only one of the +especial delights, but also one of the chief uses, of human life. As +every spiritual activity implies fellowship, so does almost every +thought, almost every result of spiritual activity, imply some speech of +our fellows. Voices and books,--who would be himself without them? I do +not believe myself to have now in my mind one valuable thought which +owes nothing to the written or spoken thought of other men, living or +dead. + +How, then, is it that the speech of our fellows renders us aid? What are +to us the uses of the words of others? + +And here be it first of all frankly acknowledged, that there is much +speech of no remarkable import, in itself considered, which yet serves +good ends. There is much speech whose office is simply to refresh the +sense of fellowship. It will not make a good leading article; but the +leading article which subserves equal uses is not to be contemned. So +much are men empowered by each other, that any careless, kindly chat +which gives them the sense of cordial nearness gives also warmth and +invigoration. Better than most ambitious conversation is the light, +happy, bubbling talk which means at bottom simply this:--"We are at home +together; we believe in each other." Words are good, if they only +festoon love and trust. Words are good, if they merely show us that +worthy natures do not suspect us, do not lock their closets when we are +in the house, do not put their souls in dress-costume to meet us, but +leave their thoughts and hearts naked in our presence, and are not +ashamed. Be it mine sometimes to sit with my friend when our mere +nearness and unity of spirit are felt by us both to be so utterly +eloquent, that, without silence, we forbear to set up any rivalry to +them by grave and meditated speech,--observing, it may be, a falling +leaf toyed with by the wind, and speaking words that drop from the lips +like falling leaves, and float down a zephyr that knows not which way to +blow. Some of the sweetest and most fruitful hours of life are these in +which we speak half-articulate nothings, merely airing the sense of +fellowship, and so replete with this wealth of vital intimacy that we +have room for nothing more. + +But our aim is to regard communication as an instruction, and to +consider the more explicit and definite uses of words. + +And of these the first, and one of the chief, is based upon the very +limitations which have been set forth,--upon the very fact that words +are _not_ vehicles. I have said that there is a certain divine solitude +of the soul; and of this solitude the uses are infinitely great. The +absolute soul of humanity, we hold, seeks to insphere itself in each +person, though in each giving itself a peculiar or individual +representation; and only as this insphering takes place are the ends of +creation attained, only so is man made indeed a _human_ life. Therefore +must we draw out of that, out of that alone; therefore truth is +permitted to come to us only out of these infinite depths, albeit +incitement, invitation, and the ability to draw from these native +fountains may be due to social connection. Because our life is really +enriched only as the absolute soul gives itself to us, therefore will it +suffer us no otherwise than by its gift to supply our want. And as it +cannot give itself to us save in response to a felt want, a seeking, an +inward demand, it belongs to the chief economies of our life to bring us +to this attitude of inward request, to this call and claim upon the +resources of our intelligence. + +Now words come to us as empty vessels, which we are to fill from within; +and in making for this purpose a requisition upon the perpetual contents +of reason, conscience, and imagination, we open a valve through which +new spiritual powers enter, and add themselves to our being. If the word +_God_ be sometimes spoken simply and spontaneously, a youth who hears it +will be sure upon some day, when the sense of the infinite and divine +stirs vaguely within him, to ask himself what this word means, to +require his soul to tell him what is the verity corresponding thereto; +and precisely this requisition is what the soul desires, for only when +sought may its riches be found. The utilities of words in this kind are +deserving of very grave estimation. Words teach us much, but they teach +less by what is in them than by what is not in them,--less by what they +give to us than by what they demand from us. + +It is, therefore, one of the grand services of communication to bring us +to the limits of communication, making us feel, that, ere it can go +farther, there must occur in us new stretches of thought, new energies +of hope, faith, and all noble imagining. It were well, therefore, that, +among other things, we should sometimes thank God for our ignorance and +weakness,--thank Him for what we do _not_ understand and are not equal +to; for with every fresh recognition of these, with every fresh approach +to the borders of our intelligence, we are prepared for new requisitions +upon the soul. As in a pump the air is exhausted in order that the water +may rise, so a void in our intelligence _caused by its own energy_ +precedes every enrichment. Hence he who will not admit to his heart the +sense of ignorance will always be a fool; he who is perpetually filled +with self-sufficiency will never be filled with much else. And from this +point of view one may discern the significance of that doctrine of +humility which belongs equally to Socratic thinking and Christian +believing. + +It follows, too, that we need not laboriously push and foist upon the +young our faith and experience. Aside from direct vital influence, which +is a powerful propagandist, our simple, natural, inevitable speech will +cause them to do much better than learn from us, it will cause them to +learn from their own souls. And however uncertain may be a harvest from +questions asked of others, a great question rightly put to one's self +not only must be fruitful, but carries in it a capacity for infinite +fruitfulness; while the longer and more patiently and persistently one +can wait for an answer, the richer his future is to be. I am sure of him +who can put to his heart the great questions of life, and wait serenely +and vigilantly for a response, one, two, ten years, a lifetime, wellnigh +an eternity, if need be, not falling into despondencies and despairing +skepticisms because the universe forbears to babble and tattle its +secret ere yet he half or a thousandth part guesses how deep and holy +that secret is, but quietly, heroically asking and waiting. And toward +this posture of asking the profound and vital words assist us by being +heard,--which is their first eminent use to us. + +Secondly, they serve us greatly, when they simply cause a preėxisting +community of thought to be mutually recognized. It is much to bring like +to like, brand to brand, believing soul to believing soul. As several +pieces of anthracite coal will together make a powerful heat, but +separately will not burn at all, so in the conjunction of similar faiths +and beliefs there is a wholly new effect; it is not at all the mere sum +of the forces previously in operation, but a pure product of union. "My +confidence in my own belief," said Novalis, "is increased _infinitely_ +the moment another shares it with me. The reason is obvious. You and I +have grown up apart, and have never conferred together; our +temperaments, culture, circumstances are different; we have come to have +certain thoughts which seem to us true and deep, but each of us doubts +whether these thoughts may not be due to his peculiarities of mind, +position, and influence. But to-day we come together, and discover, +that, despite these outward diversities in which we are so widely +unlike, our fundamental faiths are one and the same; the same thoughts, +the same beliefs have sprung into life in our separate souls. Instantly +is suggested a unity underlying our divided being, a law of thought +abiding in mind itself,--not merely in your mind or mine, but in the +mind and soul of man. What we arrive at, therefore, is not merely the +sum of you and me, the aggregate of two men's opinions, but the +universal, the absolute, and spiritually necessary. Such is always the +suggestion which spontaneous unity of faith carries with it; hence it +awakens religion, and gives total peace and rest." + +But the faiths which are to be capable of these divine embraces must +indeed be spontaneous and native. Hence those who create factitious +unity of creed render these fructifications impossible. If we agree, not +because the absolute soul has uttered in both of us the same word, but +because we have both been fed with dust out of the same catechism, our +unity will disgust and weary us rather than invigorate. Dr. Johnson said +he would compel men to believe as he and the Church of England did, +"because," he reasoned, "if another differs from me, he weakens my +confidence in my own scheme of faith, and so injures me." Now this +speech is good just so far as it asserts social dependence in belief; it +is bad, it is idiotic or insane, so far as it advocates the substitution +of a factitious and artificial unity for one of spiritual depth and +reality. The fruits of the tree of life are not to be successfully +thieved. In dishonest hands they become ashes and bitterness. He who has +more faith in an Act of Parliament than in God and the universe may be a +good conventional believer; but, in truth, the choice he makes is the +essence of all denial and even of all atheism and blasphemy. + +Let each, then, bring up out of his own soul its purest, broadest, +simplest faith; and when any ten or ten thousand find that the same +faith has come to birth in their several souls, each one of them all +will be exalted to a divine confidence, and will make new requisitions +upon the soul which he has so been taught to trust. Thus, though we tell +each nothing new, though we merely demonstrate our unity of +consciousness, yet is the force of each many times multiplied,--dimless +certitude and dauntless courage being bred in hearts where before, +perhaps, were timorous hesitation and wavering. + +The third service of words may be compared to the help which the smith +renders to the fire on his forge. True it is that no blowing can +enkindle dead coals, and make a flame where was no spark. True it is +that both spark and bellows will be vain, if the fuel is stone or clay. +And so no blowing will enkindle a nature which does not bring in itself +the fire to be fanned and the substance that may support it. But in our +being, as at the forge, the flame that languishes may be taught to leap, +and the spark that was hidden may be wrought into blaze. + +Simple attraction and encouragement,--there is somewhat of the +marvellous in their effects. Physiologists tell us, that, if two liquids +in the body are separated by a moist membrane, and if one of these +fluids be in motion and the other at rest, that which rests will of its +own accord force its way through the membrane and join the one which +flows. So it is in history. Any man who represents a spiritual streaming +will command and draw into the current of his soul those whose condition +is one of stagnancy or arrest. Now courage and belief are streamings +forward; skepticism and timidity are stagnancies; panic, fear, and +destructive denial are streamings backward. True, now, it is, that any +swift flowing, forward or backward, attracts; but progressive or +affirmative currents have this vast advantage, that they are health, and +therefore the healthy humanity in every man's being believes in them and +belongs to them; and they accordingly are like rivers, which, however +choked up temporarily and made refluent, are sure in the end to force +their way; while negative and backward currents are like pestilences and +conflagrations, which of necessity limit themselves by exhaustion, if +not mastered by happier means. + +We may, indeed, note it as a nicety, that the membrane must be moist +through which this transudation is to take place; and I admit that there +are men whose enveloping sheath of individualism and egotism is so hard +and dry, so little interpenetrated by candor and the love of truth, as +to be nearly impervious to noble persuasion; and were whole Missouris of +tidings from the highest intelligence rushing past them, they would +still yawn, and say, "Do you get any news?" as innocently as ever. + +Nevertheless, history throbs with the mystery of this influence. A +little girl slumping by her mother's side awoke in a severe +thunder-storm, and, nestling in terror near to the mother, and shrinking +into the smallest possible space, said, trembling, "Mother, are you +afraid?" "No, my dear," answered the lady, calmly. "Oh, well," said the +child, assuming her full proportions, and again disposing herself for +sleep, "if you're not afraid, I'm not afraid," and was soon slumbering +quietly. What volumes of gravest human history in that little incident! +So infinitely easy are daring and magnanimity, so easy is transcendent +height of thought and will, when exalted spiritually, when imperial +valor and purpose breathe and blow upon our souls from the lips of a +living fellow! Not, it may be, that anything new is said. That is not +required. What another now thrills, inspires, transfigures us by saying, +we probably knew before, only dared not let ourselves think that we knew +it. The universe, perhaps, had not a nook so hidden that therein we +could have been solitary enough to whisper that divine suggestion to our +own hearts. But now some childlike man stands up and speaks it to the +common air, in serenest unconsciousness of doing anything singular. He +has said it,--and lo, he lives! By the help of God, then, we too, by +word and deed, will utter our souls. + +Get one hero, and you may have a thousand. Create a grand impulse in +history, and no fear but it will be reinforced. Obtain your champion in +the cause of Right, and you shall have indomitable armies that charge +for social justice. + +More of the highest life is suppressed in every one of us than ever gets +vent; and it is this inward suppression, after making due account of all +outward oppressions and injuries, which constitutes the chief tragedy of +history. Daily men cast to the ground the proffered beakers of heaven, +from mere fear to drink. Daily they rebuke the divine, inarticulate +murmur that arises from the deeps of their being,--inarticulate only +because denied and reproved. And he is greatest who can meet with a +certain pure intrepidity those suggestions which haunt forever the +hearts of men. + +No greater blunder, accordingly, was ever made than that of attempting +to render men brave and believing by addressing them as cowards and +infidels. Garibaldi stands up before his soldiers in Northern Italy, and +says to them, (though I forget the exact words,) "I do not call you to +fortune and prosperity; I call you to hardship, to suffering, to death; +I ask you to give your toil without reward, to spill your blood and lie +in unknown graves, to sacrifice all for your country and kind, and hear +no thanks but the _Well done_ of God in heaven." Did they cower and go +back? Ere the words had spent their echoes, every man's will was as the +living adamant of God's purpose, and every man's hand was as the hand of +Destiny, and from the shock of their onset the Austrians fled as from +the opening jaws of an earthquake. Demosthenes told Athens only what +Athens knew. He merely blew upon the people's hearts with their own best +thoughts; and what a blaze! True, the divine fuel was nearly gone, +Athens wellnigh burnt out, and the flame lasted not long; but that he +could produce such effects, when half he fanned was merest ashes, serves +all the more to show how great such effects may be. + +Before passing to the last and profoundest use of communication, I must +not omit to mention that which is most obvious, but not most +important,--the giving of ordinary informations and instructions. These +always consist in a suggestion to another of new combinations of his +notions, new societies in his mind. Thus, if I say, _Fire burns_, I +simply assert a connection between fire and burning,--the notion of both +these being assumed as existing in the mind of the person addressed. Or +if I say, _God is just_, I invite him to associate in his mind the +sentiment of justice and the sense of the infinite and omnipotent. Now +in respect to matters of mere external form we usually confide in the +representations of others, and picture to ourselves, so far as our +existing perceptions enable us, the combinations they affirm,--provided +always these have a certain undefined conformity with our own +experience. But in respect to association, not of mere notions, but _of +spiritual elements in the soul_,--of truths evolved by the spiritual +nature of man,--the case is quite different Thus, if the fool who once +said in his heart, "There is no God," should now say openly, (of course +by some disguising euphemism,) "God is an egotist," I may indeed shape +an opinion accordingly, and fall into great confusion in consequence; +but my spiritual nature does not consent to this representation; no +_real_ association takes place within me between the sense of the +divine and the conception of egotism. Such opinion may have immense +energy in history, but it has no efficiency in the eliciting and +outbuilding of our personal being; these representations, however we may +trust and base action upon them, serve us inwardly only to such degree +as our spiritual nature can ally itself with them and find expression in +them. It is simply impossible for any man to associate the idea of +divinity with the conception of selfishness; but he may associate the +notion of Zeus or Allah or the like with that or any other conception of +baseness, and out of the result may form a sort of crust over his +spiritual intelligence, which shall either imprison it utterly, or force +it to oblique and covert expression. And of this last, by the way,--and +we may deeply rejoice over the fact,--history is full. + +Yet in this suggestion toward new societies in the soul, in this formal +introduction to each other of kindred elements in the consciousness, +there may be eminent service. It is only formal, it does not make +friendship, it leaves our spirits to their own action; but it may +prepare the way for inward unities and communities whose blessedness +neither speech nor silence can tell. + +Finally, there is an effect of words profounder and more creative than +any of these. As a brand which burns powerfully may at last ignite even +green wood, so divine faiths, alive and awake in one soul, may appeal to +the mere elements, to mere possibilities, of such faiths in other souls, +and at length evoke them by that appeal. The process is slow; it +requires a celestial heat and persistency in the moving spirit; it is +one of the "all things" that are possible only with God: but it occurs, +and it is the most sacred and precious thing in history. + +Every human soul has the absolute soul, has the whole truth, +significance, and virtue of the universe, as its lawful and native +resource. Therefore says Jesus, "The kingdom of heaven is within you"; +therefore Antoninus, "Look inwards, within is the fountain of truth"; +therefore Eckart, "Ye have all truth potentially within you." All ideas +of truth dwell in every soul, but in every soul they are at first +wrapped in deep sleep, in an infinite depth of sleep; while the base +incense of brutish lives is like chloroform, or the fumes of some +benumbing drug, to steep them ever more and more in oblivion. But to +awaken truth thus sleeping in the soul is the highest use of discipline, +the noblest aim of culture, and the most eminent service which man can +render to man. The scheme of our life is providentially arranged with +reference to that end; and the thousand shocks, agitations, and moving +influences of our experience, the supreme invitations of love, the venom +of calumny, and all toil, trial, sudden bereavement, doubt, danger, +vicissitude, joy, are hands that shake and voices that assail the +lethargy of our deepest powers. Now it is in the power of truth divinely +awakened in one soul to assist its awakening in another. For as nothing +so quickly arouses us from slumber as hearing ourselves called upon by +name, so is it with this celestial inhabitant: whoever by virtue of +elder brotherhood can rightly name him shall cause his spirit to be +stirred and his slumber to be broken. + +Let him, therefore, in whom any great truth is alive and awake, +enunciate, proclaim it steadily, clearly, cheerily, with a serene and +cloudless passion; and wherever a soul less mature than his own lies +open to the access of his tones, there the eye-fast angels of belief and +knowledge shall hear that publication of their own hearts, and, hearing, +lift their lids, and rise into wakefulness and power. + +Seldom, indeed, is any voice, though it be in its origin a genuine voice +of the soul, pure and impartial enough, enough delivered from the masks +of egotism and accident, to be greatly competent for these effects. +Besides which, there are not a few that have closed their ears, lest +they should hear, not a few that are even filled with base astonishment +and terror, and out of this with base wrath, to find their deafness +assailed. And still further, it must be freely owned that our natures +have mysterious elections, and though one desire openness of soul as +much as folly fears it, yet may it happen that some tint of peculiarity +in the tone of a worthy voice shall render it to him opaque and +unintelligible. + +Yet let us not fear that the product of any sacred and spiritual +sincerity will fail of sufficient uses. If a deep, cordial, and +clarified nature will but give us his heart in a pure and boundless +bravery of confession,--if, like autumn plants, that cast forth their +seeds, winged with down, to the four winds of heaven, or like the +blossoms of spring and early summer, that yield up their preciousness of +pollen to the forage of bees, and even by being so robbed attain to the +hearts of neighbor-blossoms, and accomplish that mystery of +fructification which is to make glad the maturer year,--if so this +inflorescence of eternity that we name a Noble Man will yield up the +golden pollen of his soul, even to those that in visiting him seek but +their own ends, and if so he will intrust winged words, words that are +indeed spiritual _seeds_, purest, ripest, and most vital products of his +being, to the winds of time,--he will be sure to reach some, and they to +reach others, and there is no telling how far the seminal effect may go; +there is no telling what harvests may yellow in the limitless fields of +the future, what terrestrial and celestial reapers may go home +rejoicing, bearing their sheaves with them, what immortal hungers may be +fed at the feasts of earth and heaven, in final consequence of that +lonely and faithful sowing. As in the still mornings of summer the +earliest awakened bird hesitates to utter, yet utters, his solitary +pipe, timidly rippling the silence, but is not long alone, for quickly +the melodious throb begins to beat in every tree-top, and soon the whole +rapturous grove gushes and palpitates into song,--even so, thus to +appearance alone and unsupported, begins that chant of belief which is +destined to heave and roll in billows of melodious confession over a +continent, over a world. Thus does a faith that has lain long silent in +the hearts of nations suddenly answer to the note of its kind, +astonishing all bystanders, astonishing most of all the heart it +inhabits. For, lo! the tree-tops of human life are full of slumbering +melodies, and if a song-sparrow pipe sincerely on the hill-sides of +Judea, saying, after his own fashion of speech, "Behold, the divine dawn +hath visited my eyes," be sure that the forests of far-off America, then +unknown, will one day reply, and ten thousand thousand throats throbbing +with high response will make it mutually known all round the world that +this auroral beam is not for any single or private eye, but that the +broad amber beauty of spiritual morning belongs to man's being, and that +in man's heart, by virtue of its perennial nature, is prophesied the day +whose sun shall be God and its earth heaven. + + * * * * * + +HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS. + +BY CHRISTOPHER CROWFIELD. + +IX. + + +In the course of my papers various domestic revolutions have occurred. +Our Marianne has gone from us with a new name to a new life, and a +modest little establishment not many squares off claims about as much of +my wife's and Jennie's busy thoughts as those of the proper mistress. + +Marianne, as I always foresaw, is a careful and somewhat anxious +housekeeper. Her tastes are fastidious; she is made for exactitude: the +smallest departures from the straight line appear to her shocking +deviations. She had always lived in a house where everything had been +formed to quiet and order under the ever-present care and touch of her +mother; nor had she ever participated in these cares more than to do a +little dusting of the parlor-ornaments, or wash the best china, or make +sponge-cake or chocolate-caramels. Certain conditions of life had always +appeared so certain that she had never conceived of a house without +them. It never occurred to her that such bread and biscuit as she saw at +the home-table would not always and of course appear at every +table,--that the silver would not always be as bright, the glass as +clear, the salt as fine and smooth, the plates and dishes as nicely +arranged as she had always seen them, apparently without the thought or +care of any one,--for my wife is one of those housekeepers whose touch +is so fine that no one feels it. She is never heard scolding or +reproving,--never entertains her company with her recipes for cookery or +the faults of her servants. She is so unconcerned about receiving her +own personal share of credit for the good appearance of her +establishment, that even the children of the house have not supposed +that there is any particular will of hers in the matter,--it all seems +the natural consequence of having very good servants. + +One phenomenon they had never seriously reflected on,--that, under all +the changes of the domestic cabinet which are so apt to occur in +American households, the same coffee, the same bread and biscuit, the +same nicely prepared dishes and neatly laid table always gladdened their +eyes; and from this they inferred only that good servants were more +abundant than most people had supposed. They were somewhat surprised +when these marvels were wrought by professedly green hands, but were +given to suppose that these green hands must have had some remarkable +quickness or aptitude for acquiring. That sparkling jelly, well-flavored +ice-creams, clear soups, and delicate biscuits could be made by a raw +Irish girl, fresh from her native Erin, seemed to them a proof of the +genius of the race; and my wife, who never felt it important to attain +to the reputation of a cook, quietly let it pass. + +For some time, therefore, after the inauguration of the new household, +there was trouble in the camp. Sour bread had appeared on the +table,--bitter, acrid coffee had shocked and astonished the +palate,--lint had been observed on tumblers, and the spoons had +sometimes dingy streaks on the brightness of their first bridal +polish,--beds were detected made shockingly awry,--and Marianne came +burning with indignation to her mother. + +"Such a little family as we have, and two strong girls," said +she,--"everything ought to be perfect; there is really nothing to do. +Think of a whole batch of bread absolutely sour! and when I gave that +away, then this morning another exactly like it! and when I talked to +cook about it, she said she had lived in this and that family, and her +bread had always been praised as equal to the baker's!" + +"I don't doubt she is right," said I. "Many families never have anything +but sour bread from one end of the year to the other, eating it +unperceiving, and with good cheer; and they buy also sour bread of the +baker, with like approbation,--lightness being in their estimation the +only virtue necessary in the article." + +"Could you not correct her fault?" suggested my wife. + +"I have done all I can. I told her we could not have such bread, that it +was dreadful; Bob says it would give him the dyspepsia in a week; and +then she went and made exactly the same;--it seems to me mere +wilfulness." + +"But," said I, "suppose, instead of such general directions, you should +analyze her proceedings and find out just where she makes her +mistake,--is the root of the trouble in the yeast, or in the time she +begins it, letting it rise too long?--the time, you know, should vary so +much with the temperature of the weather." + +"As to that," said Marianne, "I know nothing. I never noticed; it never +was my business to make bread; it always seemed quite a simple process, +mixing yeast and flour and kneading it; and our bread at home was always +good." + +"It seems, then, my dear, that you have come to your profession without +even having studied it." + +My wife smiled, and said,-- + +"You know, Marianne, I proposed to you to be our family bread-maker for +one month of the year before you married." + +"Yes, mamma, I remember; but I was like other girls; I thought there was +no need of it. I never liked to do such things; perhaps I had better +have done it." + +"You certainly had," said I; "for the first business of a housekeeper in +America is that of a teacher. She can have a good table only by having +practical knowledge, and tact in imparting it. If she understands her +business practically and experimentally, her eye detects at once the +weak spot; it requires only a little tact, some patience, some clearness +in giving directions, and all comes right. I venture to say that your +mother would have exactly such bread as always appears on our table, and +have it by the hands of your cook, because she could detect and explain +to her exactly her error." + +"Do you know," said my wife, "what yeast she uses?" + +"I believe," said Marianne, "it's a kind she makes herself. I think I +heard her say so. I know she makes a great fuss about it, and rather +values herself upon it. She is evidently accustomed to being praised for +her bread, and feels mortified and angry, and I don't know how to manage +her." + +"Well," said I, "if you carry your watch to a watch-maker, and undertake +to show him how to regulate the machinery, he laughs and goes on his own +way; but if a brother-machinist makes suggestions, he listens +respectfully. So, when a woman who knows nothing of woman's work +undertakes to instruct one who knows more than she does, she makes no +impression; but a woman who has been trained experimentally, and shows +she understands the matter thoroughly, is listened to with respect." + +"I think," said my wife, "that your Bridget is worth teaching. She is +honest, well-principled, and tidy. She has good recommendations from +excellent families, whose ideas of good bread it appears differ from +ours; and with a little good-nature, tact, and patience, she will come +into your ways." + +"But the coffee, mamma,--you would not imagine it to be from the same +bag with your own, so dark and so bitter; what do you suppose she has +done to it?" + +"Simply this," said my wife. "She has let the berries stay a few moments +too long over the fire,--they are burnt, instead of being roasted; and +there are people who think it essential to good coffee that it should +look black, and have a strong, bitter flavor. A very little change in +the preparing will alter this." + +"Now," said I, "Marianne, if you want my advice, I'll give it to you +gratis:--Make your own bread for one month. Simple as the process seems, +I think it will take as long as that to give you a thorough knowledge of +all the possibilities in the case; but after that you will never need to +make any more,--you will be able to command good bread by the aid of all +sorts of servants; you will, in other words, be a thoroughly prepared +teacher." + +"I did not think," said Marianne, "that so simple a thing required so +much attention." + +"It is simple," said my wife, "and yet requires a delicate care and +watchfulness. There are fifty ways to spoil good bread; there are a +hundred little things to be considered and allowed for that require +accurate observation and experience. The same process that will raise +good bread in cold weather will make sour bread in the heat of summer; +different qualities of flour require variations in treatment, as also +different sorts and conditions of yeast; and when all is done, the +baking presents another series of possibilities which require exact +attention." + +"So it appears," said Marianne, gayly, "that I must begin to study my +profession at the eleventh hour." + +"Better late than never," said I. "But there is this advantage on your +side: a well-trained mind, accustomed to reflect, analyze, and +generalize, has an advantage over uncultured minds even of double +experience. Poor as your cook is, she now knows more of her business +than you do. After a very brief period of attention and experiment, you +will not only know more than she does, but you will convince her that +you do, which is quite as much to the purpose." + +"In the same manner," said my wife, "you will have to give lessons to +your other girl on the washing of silver and the making of beds. Good +servants do not often come to us; they must be made by patience and +training; and if a girl has a good disposition and a reasonable degree +of handiness, and the housekeeper understands her profession, she may +make a good servant out of an indifferent one. Some of my best girls +have been those who came to me directly from the ship, with no +preparation but docility and some natural quickness. The hardest cases +to be managed are not of those who have been taught nothing, but of +those who have been taught wrongly,--who come to you self-opinionated, +with ways that are distasteful to you, and contrary to the genius of +your housekeeping. Such require that their mistress shall understand a +least so much of the actual conduct of affairs as to prove to the +servant that there are better ways than those in which she has hitherto +been trained." + +"Don't you think, mamma," said Marianne, "that there has been a sort of +reaction against woman's work in our day? So much has been said of the +higher sphere of woman, and so much has been done to find some better +work for her, that insensibly, I think, almost everybody begins to feel +that it is rather degrading for a woman in good society to be much tied +down to family-affairs." + +"Especially," said my wife, "since in these Woman's-Rights Conventions +there is so much indignation expressed at those who would confine her +ideas to the kitchen and nursery." + +"There is reason in all things," said I. "Woman's-Rights Conventions are +a protest against many former absurd, unreasonable ideas,--the mere +physical and culinary idea of womanhood as connected only with puddings +and shirt-buttons, the unjust and unequal burdens which the laws of +harsher ages had cast upon the sex. Many of the women connected with +these movements are as superior in everything properly womanly as they +are in exceptional talent and culture. There is no manner of doubt that +the sphere of woman is properly to be enlarged, and that republican +governments in particular are to be saved from corruption and failure +only by allowing to woman this enlarged sphere. Every woman has rights +as a human being first, which belong to no sex, and ought to be as +freely conceded to her as if she were a man,--and first and foremost, +the great right of doing anything which God and Nature evidently have +fitted her to excel in. If she be made a natural orator, like Miss +Dickenson, or an astronomer, like Mrs. Somerville, or a singer, like +Grisi, let not the technical rules of womanhood be thrown in the way of +her free use of her powers. Nor can there be any reason shown why a +woman's vote in the State should not be received with as much respect as +in the family. A State is but an association of families, and laws +relate to the rights and immunities which touch woman's most private and +immediate wants and dearest hopes; and there is no reason why sister, +wife, and mother should be more powerless in the State than in the home. +Nor does it make a woman unwomanly to express an opinion by dropping a +slip of paper into a box, more than to express that same opinion by +conversation. In fact, there is no doubt, that, in all matters relating +to the interests of education, temperance, and religion, the State would +be a material gainer by receiving the votes of women. + +"But, having said all this, I must admit, _per contra_, not only a great +deal of crude, disagreeable talk in these conventions, but a too great +tendency of the age to make the education of women anti-domestic. It +seems as if the world never could advance, except like ships under a +head-wind, tacking and going too far, now in this direction, and now in +the opposite. Our common-school system now rejects sewing from the +education of girls, which very properly used to occupy many hours daily +in school a generation ago. The daughters of laborers and artisans are +put through algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and the higher mathematics, +to the entire neglect of that learning which belongs distinctively to +woman. A girl cannot keep pace with her class, if she gives any time to +domestic matters; and accordingly she is excused from them all during +the whole term of her education. The boy of a family, at an early age, +is put to a trade, or the labors of a farm; the father becomes impatient +of his support, and requires of him to care for himself. Hence an +interrupted education,--learning coming by snatches in the winter months +or in the intervals of work. As the result, the females in our +country-towns are commonly, in mental culture, vastly in advance of the +males of the same household; but with this comes a physical delicacy, +the result of an exclusive use of the brain and a neglect of the +muscular system, with great inefficiency in practical domestic duties. +The race of strong, hardy, cheerful girls, that used to grow up in +country-places, and made the bright, neat, New-England kitchens of old +times,--the girls that could wash, iron, brew, bake, tackle a horse and +drive him, no less than braid straw, embroider, draw, paint, and read +innumerable books,--this race of women, pride of olden time, is daily +lessening; and in their stead come the fragile, easily fatigued, languid +girls of a modern age, drilled in book-learning, ignorant of common +things. The great danger of all this, and of the evils that come from +it, is that society by-and-by will turn as blindly against female +intellectual culture as it now advocates it, and, having worked +disproportionately one way, will work disproportionately in the opposite +direction." + +"The fact is," said my wife, "that domestic service is the great problem +of life here in America; the happiness of families, their thrift, +well-being, and comfort, are more affected by this than by any one thing +else. Our girls, as they have been brought up, cannot perform the labor +of their own families, as in those simpler, old-fashioned days you tell +of; and what is worse, they have no practical skill with which to +instruct servants, and servants come to us, as a class, raw and +untrained; so what is to be done? In the present state of prices, the +board of a domestic costs double her wages, and the waste she makes is a +more serious matter still. Suppose you give us an article upon this +subject in your 'House and Home Papers.' You could not have a better +one." + +So I sat down, and wrote thus on + + +SERVANTS AND SERVICE. + +Many of the domestic evils in America originate in the fact, that, while +society here is professedly based on new principles, which ought to make +social life in every respect different from the life of the Old World, +yet these principles have never been so thought out and applied as to +give consistency and harmony to our daily relations. America starts with +a political organization based on a declaration of the primitive freedom +and equality of all men. Every human being, according to this principle, +stands on the same natural level with every other, and has the same +chance to rise according to the degree of power or capacity given by the +Creator. All our civil institutions are designed to preserve this +equality, as far as possible, from generation to generation: there is no +entailed property, there are no hereditary titles, no monopolies, no +privileged classes,--all are to be as free to rise and fall as the waves +of the sea. + +The condition of domestic service, however, still retains about it +something of the influences from feudal times, and from the near +presence of slavery in neighboring States. All English literature, all +the literature of the world, describes domestic service in the old +feudal spirit and with the old feudal language, which regarded the +master as belonging to a privileged class and the servant to an inferior +one. There is not a play, not a poem, not a novel, not a history, that +does not present this view. The master's rights, like the rights of +kings, were supposed to rest in his being born in a superior rank. The +good servant was one who, from childhood, had learned "to order himself +lowly and reverently to all his betters." When New England brought to +these shores the theory of democracy, she brought, in the persons of the +first pilgrims, the habits of thought and of action formed in +aristocratic communities, Winthrop's Journal, and all the old records of +the earlier colonists, show households where masters and mistresses +stood on the "right divine" of the privileged classes, howsoever they +might have risen up against authorities themselves. + +The first consequence of this state of things was a universal rejection +of domestic service in all classes of American-born society. For a +generation or two, there was, indeed, a sort of interchange of family +strength,--sons and daughters engaging in the service of neighboring +families, in default of a sufficient working-force of their own, but +always on conditions of strict equality. The assistant was to share the +table, the family sitting-room, and every honor and attention that might +be claimed by son or daughter. When families increased in refinement and +education so as to make these conditions of close intimacy with more +uncultured neighbors disagreeable, they had to choose between such +intimacies and the performance of their own domestic toil. No wages +could induce a son or daughter of New England to take the condition of a +servant on terms which they thought applicable to that of a slave. The +slightest hint of a separate table was resented as an insult; not to +enter the front-door, and not to sit in the front-parlor on +state-occasions, was bitterly commented on as a personal indignity. + +The well-taught, self-respecting daughters of farmers, the class most +valuable in domestic service, gradually retired from it. They preferred +any other employment, however laborious. Beyond all doubt, the labors of +a well-regulated family are more healthy, more cheerful, more +interesting, because less monotonous, than the mechanical tolls of a +factory; yet the girls of New England, with one consent, preferred the +factory, and left the whole business of domestic service to a foreign +population; and they did it mainly because they would not take positions +in families as an inferior laboring-class by the side of others of their +own age who assumed as their prerogative to live without labor. + +"I can't let you have one of my daughters," said an energetic matron to +her neighbor from the city, who was seeking for a servant in her summer +vacation; "if you hadn't daughters of your own, maybe I would; but my +girls a'n't going to work so that your girls may live in idleness." + +It was vain to offer money. "We don't need your money, Ma'am, we can +support ourselves in other ways; my girls can braid straw, and bind +shoes, but they a'n't going to be slaves to anybody." + +In the Irish and German servants who took the place of Americans in +families, there was, to begin with, the tradition of education in favor +of a higher class; but even the foreign population became more or less +infected with the spirit of democracy. They came to this country with +vague notions of freedom and equality, and in ignorant and uncultivated +people such ideas are often more unreasonable for being vague. They did +not, indeed, claim a seat at the table and in the parlor, but they +repudiated many of those habits of respect and courtesy which belonged +to their former condition, and asserted their own will and way in the +round, unvarnished phrase which they supposed to be their right as +republican citizens. Life became a sort of domestic wrangle and struggle +between the employers, who secretly confessed their weakness, but +endeavored openly to assume the air and bearing of authority, and the +employed, who knew their power and insisted on their privileges. From +this cause domestic service in America has had less of mutual kindliness +than in old countries. Its terms have been so ill understood and defined +that both parties have assumed the defensive; and a common topic of +conversation in American female society has often been the general +servile war which in one form or another was going on in their different +families,--a war as interminable as would be a struggle between +aristocracy and common people, undefined by any bill of rights or +constitution, and therefore opening fields for endless disputes. In +England, the class who go to service _are_ a class, and service is a +profession; the distance between them and their employers is so marked +and defined, and all the customs and requirements of the position are so +perfectly understood, that the master or mistress has no fear of being +compromised by condescension, and no need of the external voice or air +of authority. The higher up in the social scale one goes, the more +courteous seems to become the intercourse of master and servant; the +more perfect and real the power, the more is it veiled in outward +expression,--commands are phrased as requests, and gentleness of voice +and manner covers an authority which no one would think of offending +without trembling. + +But in America all is undefined. In the first place, there is no class +who mean to make domestic service a profession to live and die in. It is +universally an expedient, a stepping-stone to something higher; your +best servants always have something else in view as soon as they have +laid by a little money,--some form of independence which shall give them +a home of their own is constantly in mind. Families look forward to the +buying of landed homesteads, and the scattered brothers and sisters work +awhile in domestic service to gain the common fund for the purpose; your +seamstress intends to become a dress-maker, and take in work at her own +house; your cook is pondering a marriage with the baker, which shall +transfer her toils from your cooking-stove to her own. Young women are +eagerly rushing into every other employment, till female trades and +callings are all overstocked. We are continually harrowed with tales of +the sufferings of distressed needle-women, of the exactions and +extortions practised on the frail sex in the many branches of labor and +trade at which they try their hands; and yet women will encounter all +these chances of ruin and starvation rather than make up their minds to +permanent domestic service. Now what is the matter with domestic +service? One would think, on the face of it, that a calling which gives +a settled home, a comfortable room, rent-free, with fire and lights, +good board and lodging, and steady, well-paid wages, would certainly +offer more attractions than the making of shirts for tenpence, with all +the risks of providing one's own sustenance and shelter. + +I think it is mainly from the want of a definite idea of the true +position of a servant under our democratic institutions that domestic +service is so shunned and avoided in America, that it is the very last +thing which an intelligent young woman will look to for a living. It is +more the want of personal respect toward those in that position than the +labors incident to it which repels our people from it. Many would be +willing to perform these labors, but they are not willing to place +themselves in a situation where their self-respect is hourly wounded by +_the implication of an inferiority which does not follow any other kind +of labor or service in this country but that of the family_. + +There exists in the minds of employers an unsuspected spirit of +superiority, which is stimulated into an active form by the resistance +which democracy inspires in the working-class. Many families think of +servants only as a necessary evil, their wages as exactions, and all +that allowed them as so much taken from the family; and they seek in +every way to get from them as much and to give them as little as +possible. Their rooms are the neglected, ill-furnished, incommodious +ones,--and the kitchen is the most cheerless and comfortless place in +the house. Other families, more good-natured and liberal, provide their +domestics with more suitable accommodations, and are more indulgent; but +there is still a latent spirit of something like contempt for the +position. That they treat their servants with so much consideration +seems to them a merit entitling them to the most prostrate gratitude; +and they are constantly disappointed and shocked at that want of sense +of inferiority on the part of these people which leads them to +appropriate pleasant rooms, good furniture, and good living as mere +matters of common justice. + +It seems to be a constant surprise to some employers that servants +should insist on having the same human wants as themselves. Ladies who +yawn in their elegantly furnished parlors, among books and pictures, if +they have not company, parties, or opera to diversify the evening, seem +astonished and half indignant that cook and chambermaid are more +disposed to go out for an evening gossip than to sit on hard chairs in +the kitchen where they have been toiling all day. The pretty +chambermaid's anxieties about her dress, the time she spends at her +small and not very clear mirror, are sneeringly noticed by those whose +toilet-cares take up serious hours; and the question has never +apparently occurred to them why a serving-maid should not want to look +pretty as well as her mistress. She is a woman as well as they, with all +a woman's wants and weaknesses; and her dress is as much to her as +theirs to them. + +A vast deal of trouble among servants arises from impertinent +interferences and petty tyrannical exactions on the part of employers. +Now the authority of the master and mistress of a house in regard to +their domestics extends simply to the things they have contracted to do +and the hours during which they have contracted to serve; otherwise than +this, they have no more right to interfere with them in the disposal of +their time than with any mechanic whom they employ. They have, indeed, a +right to regulate the hours of their own household, and servants can +choose between conformity to these hours and the loss of their +situation; but, within reasonable limits, their right to come and go at +their own discretion, in their own time, should be unquestioned. + +As to the terms of social intercourse, it seems somehow to be settled in +the minds of many employers that their servants owe them and their +family more respect than they and the family owe to the servants. But do +they? What is the relation of servant to employer in a democratic +country? Precisely that of a person who for money performs any kind of +service for you. The carpenter comes into your house to put up a set of +shelves,--the cook comes into your kitchen to cook your dinner. You +never think that the carpenter owes you any more respect than you owe to +him because he is in your house doing your behests; he is your +fellow-citizen, you treat him with respect, you expect to be treated +with respect by him. You have a claim on him that he shall do your work +according to your directions,--no more. Now I apprehend that there is a +very common notion as to the position and rights of servants which is +quite different from this. Is it not a common feeling that a servant is +one who may be treated with a degree of freedom by every member of the +family which he or she may not return? Do not people feel at liberty to +question servants about their private affairs, to comment on their dress +and appearance, in a manner which they would feel to be an impertinence, +if reciprocated? Do they not feel at liberty to express dissatisfaction +with their performances in rude and unceremonious terms, to reprove them +in the presence of company, while yet they require that the +dissatisfaction of servants shall be expressed only in terms of respect? +A woman would not feel herself at liberty to talk to her milliner or her +dress-maker in language as devoid of consideration as she will employ +towards her cook or chambermaid. Yet both are rendering her a service +which she pays for in money, and one is no more made her inferior +thereby than the other. Both have an equal right to be treated with +courtesy. The master and mistress of a house have a right to require +respectful treatment from all whom their roof shelters; but they have no +more right to exact it of servants than of every guest and every child, +and they themselves owe it as much to servants as to guests. + +In order that servants may be treated with respect and courtesy, it is +not necessary, as in simpler patriarchal days, that they sit at the +family-table. Your carpenter or plumber does not feel hurt that you do +not ask him to dine with you, nor your milliner and mantua-maker that +you do not exchange ceremonious calls and invite them to your parties. +It is well understood that your relations with them are of a mere +business character. They never take it as an assumption of superiority +on your part that you do not admit them to relations of private +intimacy. There may be the most perfect respect and esteem and even +friendship between them and you, notwithstanding. So it may be in the +case of servants. It is easy to make any person understand that there +are quite other reasons than the assumption of personal superiority for +not wishing to admit servants to the family-privacy. It was not, in +fact, to sit in the parlor or at the table, in themselves considered, +that was the thing aimed at by New-England girls,--these were valued +only as signs that they were deemed worthy of respect and consideration, +and, where freely conceded, were often in point of fact declined. + +Let servants feel, in their treatment by their employers, and in the +atmosphere of the family, that their position is held to be a +respectable one, let them feel in the mistress of the family the charm +of unvarying consideration and good manners, let their work-rooms be +made convenient and comfortable, and their private apartments bear some +reasonable comparison in point of agreeableness to those of other +members of the family, and domestic service will be more frequently +sought by a superior and self-respecting class. There are families in +which such a state of things prevails; and such families, amid the many +causes which unite to make the tenure of service uncertain, have +generally been able to keep good permanent servants. + +There is an extreme into which kindly disposed people often run with +regard to servants, which may be mentioned here. They make pets of them. +They give extravagant wages and indiscreet indulgences, and, through +indolence and easiness of temper, tolerate negligence and neglect of +duty. Many of the complaints of the ingratitude of servants come from +those who have spoiled them in this way; while many of the longest and +most harmonious domestic unions have sprung from a simple, quiet course +of Christian justice and benevolence, a recognition of servants as +fellow-beings and fellow-Christians, and a doing to them as we would in +like circumstances that they should do to us. + +The mistresses of American families, whether they like it or not, have +the duties of missionaries imposed upon them by that class from which +our supply of domestic servants is drawn. They may as well accept the +position cheerfully, and, as one raw, untrained hand after another +passes through their family, and is instructed by them in the mysteries +of good housekeeping, comfort themselves with the reflection that they +are doing something to form good wives and mothers for the Republic. + +The complaints made of Irish girls are numerous and loud; the failings +of green Erin, alas! are but too open and manifest; yet, in arrest of +judgment, let us move this consideration: let us imagine our own +daughters between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, untaught and +inexperienced in domestic affairs as they commonly are, shipped to a +foreign shore to seek service in families. It may be questioned whether +as a whole they would do much better. The girls that fill our families +and do our house-work are often of the age of our own daughters, +standing for themselves, without mothers to guide them, in a foreign +country, not only bravely supporting themselves, but sending home in +every ship remittances to impoverished friends left behind. If our +daughters did as much for us, should we not be proud of their energy and +heroism? + +When we go into the houses of our country, we find a majority of +well-kept, well-ordered, and even elegant establishments where the only +hands employed are those of the daughters of Erin. True, American women +have been their instructors, and many a weary hour of care have they had +in the discharge of this office; but the result on the whole is +beautiful and good, and the end of it, doubtless, will be peace. + +In speaking of the office of the American mistress as being a missionary +one, we are far from recommending any controversial interference with +the religious faith of our servants. It is far better to incite them to +be good Christians in their own way than to run the risk of shaking +their faith in all religion by pointing out to them the errors of that +in which they have been educated. The general purity of life and +propriety of demeanor of so many thousands of undefended young girls +cast yearly upon our shores, with no home but their church, and no +shield but their religion, are a sufficient proof that this religion +exerts an influence over them not to be lightly trifled with. But there +is a real unity even in opposite Christian forms; and the Roman Catholic +servant and the Protestant mistress, if alike possessed by the spirit of +Christ, and striving to conform to the Golden Rule, cannot help being +one in heart, though one go to mass and the other to meeting. + +Finally, the bitter baptism through which we are passing, the life-blood +dearer than our own which is drenching distant fields, should remind us +of the preciousness of distinctive American ideas. They who would seek +in their foolish pride to establish the pomp of liveried servants in +America are doing that which is simply absurd. A servant can never in +our country be the mere appendage to another man, to be marked like a +sheep with the color of his owner; he must be a fellow-citizen, with an +established position of his own, free to make contracts, free to come +and go, and having in his sphere titles to consideration and respect +just as definite as those of any trade or profession whatever. + +Moreover, we cannot in this country maintain to any great extent large +retinues of servants. Even with ample fortunes they are forbidden by the +general character of society here, which makes them cumbrous and +difficult to manage. Every mistress of a family knows that her cares +increase with every additional servant. Two keep the peace with each +other and their employer; three begin a possible discord, which +possibility increases with four, and becomes certain with five or six. +Trained housekeepers, such as regulate the complicated establishments of +the Old World, form a class that are not, and from the nature of the +case never will be, found in any great numbers in this country. All such +women, as a general thing, are keeping, and prefer to keep, houses of +their own. + +A moderate style of housekeeping, small, compact, and simple domestic +establishments, must necessarily be the general order of life in +America. So many openings of profit are to be found in this country, +that domestic service necessarily wants the permanence which forms so +agreeable a feature of it in the Old World. + +American women must not try with three servants to carry on life +in the style which in the Old World requires sixteen,--they must +thoroughly understand, and be prepared _to teach_, every branch of +housekeeping,--they must study to make domestic service desirable, by +treating their servants in a way to lead them to respect themselves and +to feel themselves respected,--and there will gradually be evolved from +the present confusion a solution of the domestic problem which shall be +adapted to the life of a new and growing world. + + * * * * * + +SERVICE. + + + When I beheld a lover woo + A maid unwilling, + And saw what lavish deeds men do, + Hope's flagon filling,-- + What vines are tilled, what wines are spilled, + And madly wasted, + To fill the flask that's never filled, + And rarely tasted: + + Devouring all life's heritage, + And inly starving; + Dulling the spirit's mystic edge, + The banquet carving; + Feasting with Pride, that Barmecide + Of unreal dishes; + And wandering ever in a wide, + Wide world of wishes: + + For gain or glory lands and seas + Endlessly ranging, + Safety and years and health and ease + Freely exchanging; + Chiselling Humanity to dust + Of glittering riches, + God's blood-veined marble to a bust + For Fame's cold niches: + + Desire's loose reins, and steed that stains + The rider's raiment; + Sorrow and sacrifice and pains + For worthless payment:-- + When, ever as I moved, I saw + The world's contagion, + Then turned, O Love! to thy sweet law + And compensation,-- + + Well might red shame my cheek consume! + O service slighted! + O Bride of Paradise, to whom + I long was plighted! + Do I with burning lips profess + To serve thee wholly, + Yet labor less for blessedness + Than fools for folly? + + The wary worldling spread his toils + Whilst I was sleeping; + The wakeful miser locked his spoils, + Keen vigils keeping: + I loosed the latches of my soul + To pleading Pleasure, + Who stayed one little hour, and stole + My heavenly treasure. + + A friend for friend's sake will endure + Sharp provocations; + And knaves are cunning to secure, + By cringing patience, + And smiles upon a smarting cheek, + Some dear advantage,-- + Swathing their grievances in meek + Submission's bandage. + + Yet for thy sake I will not take + One drop of trial, + But raise rebellious hands to break + The bitter vial. + At hardship's surly-visaged churl + My spirit sallies; + And melts, O Peace! thy priceless pearl + In passion's chalice. + + Yet never quite, in darkest night, + Was I forsaken: + Down trickles still some starry rill + My heart to waken. + O Love Divine! could I resign + This changeful spirit + To walk thy ways, what wealth of grace + Might I inherit! + + If one poor flower of thanks to thee + Be truly given, + All night thou snowest down to me + Lilies of heaven! + One task of human love fulfilled, + Thy glimpses tender + My days of lonely labor gild + With gleams of splendor! + + One prayer,--"Thy will, not mine!"--and bright, + O'er all my being, + Breaks blissful light, that gives to sight + A subtler seeing; + Straightway mine ear is tuned to hear + Ethereal numbers, + Whose secret symphonies insphere + The dull earth's slumbers. + + "Thy will!"--and I am armed to meet + Misfortune's volleys; + For every sorrow I have sweet, + Oh, sweetest solace! + "Thy will!"--no more I hunger sore, + For angels feed me; + Henceforth for days, by peaceful ways, + They gently lead me. + + For me the diamond dawns are set + In rings of beauty, + And all my paths are dewy wet + With pleasant duty; + Beneath the boughs of calm content + My hammock swinging, + In this green tent my eves are spent, + Feasting and singing. + + * * * * * + +MADAME RÉCAMIER. + +HER LOVERS, AND HER FRIENDS. + + +As the most beautiful woman of her day, Madame Récamier is widely known; +as the friend of Chāteaubriand and De Staėl, she is scarcely less so. An +historic as well as literary interest is attached to her name; for she +lived throughout the most momentous and exciting period of modern times. +Her relations with influential and illustrious men of successive +revolutions were intimate and confidential; and though the _rōle_ she +played was but negative, the influence she exerted has closely connected +her with the political history of her country. + +But interesting as her life is from this point of view, in its social +aspect it has a deeper significance. It is the life of a beautiful +woman,--and so varied and romantic, so fruitful in incident and rich in +experience, that it excites curiosity and invites speculation. It is a +life difficult, if not impossible, to understand. Herein lies its +peculiar and engrossing fascination. It is a curious web to unravel, a +riddle to solve, a problem at once stimulating and baffling. Like the +history of the times, it is full of puzzling contradictions and striking +contrasts. The daughter of a provincial notary, Madame Récamier was the +honored associate of princes. A married woman, she was a wife only in +name. A beauty and a belle, she was as much admired by her own as by the +other sex. A coquette, she changed passionate lovers into lifelong +friends. Accepting the open and exclusive homage of married men, she +continued on the best of terms with their wives. One day the mistress of +every luxury that wealth can command,--the next a bankrupt's wife. One +year the reigning "Queen of Society,"--the next a suspected exile. As +much flattered and courted when she was poor as while she was rich. Just +as fascinating when old and blind as while young and beautiful. Loss of +fortune brought no loss of power,--decline of beauty, no decrease of +admiration. Modelled by artists, flattered by princes, adored by women, +eulogized by men of genius, courted by men of letters,--the beloved of +the chivalric Augustus of Prussia, and the selfish, dreamy +Chāteaubriand,--with the high-toned Montmorencys for her friends, and +the simple-minded Ballanche for her slave. Such were some of the +triumphs, such some of the contrasts in the life of this remarkable +woman. + +It is hard to conceive of a more brilliant career, or of one more +calculated from its singularity to give rise to contradictory +impressions. This natural perplexity is much increased by the character +of Madame Récamier's memoirs, published in 1859, ten years after her +death. They are from the pen of Madame Lenormant, the niece of Monsieur +Récamier, and the adopted daughter of his wife. To her Madame Récamier +bequeathed her papers, with the request that she should write the +narrative of her life. Madame Lenormant had a delicate and difficult +task to execute. The life she was to portray was strictly a social one. +It was closely interwoven with the lives of other persons still living +or lately dead. She owed heavy obligations to both. It is, therefore, +not surprising, if her narrative is at times broken and obscure, and she +a too partial biographer. Not that Madame Lenormant can be called +untrustworthy. She cannot be accused of misrepresenting facts, but she +does what is almost as bad,--she partially states them. Her vague +allusions and half-and-half statements excite curiosity without +gratifying it. We also crave to know more than she tells us of the +heart-history of this woman who so captivated the world,--to see her +sometimes in the silence of solitude, alone with her own thoughts,--to +gain an insight into the inner, that we may more perfectly comprehend +the outward life which so perplexes and confounds. Instead of all this, +we have drawing-room interviews with the object of our interest. We see +her chiefly as she appeared in society. We have to be content with what +others say of her, in lieu of what she might say for herself. We hear of +her conquests, her social triumphs, we listen to panegyrics, but are +seldom admitted behind the scenes to judge for ourselves of what is gold +and what is tinsel. We, moreover, seek in vain for those unconscious +revelations so precious in divining character. The few letters of Madame +Récamier that are published have little or no significance. She was not +fond of writing, still she corresponded regularly with several of her +friends; but her correspondence, it seems, has not been obtained by her +biographer. The best insight we get, therefore, into the emotional part +of her nature is from indirect allusions in letters addressed to her, +and from conclusions drawn from her course of conduct in particular +cases. Some of the incidents of her life are so dramatic, that, if fully +and faithfully told, they would of themselves reveal the true character +of the woman, but as it is we have but little help from them. It is +impossible to resist the conviction that Madame Lenormant would not +hesitate to suppress any circumstances that might cast a shadow on the +memory of her aunt. It is true that she occasionally relates facts +tending to injure Madame Récamier, but it is plain to be seen that she +herself is totally unconscious of the nature and tendency of these +disclosures. Upon the publication of her book, these indiscretions +excited the displeasure of Madame Récamier's warm personal friends. One +of them, Madame Möhl, by birth an Englishwoman, undertook her defence. +This lady corrects a few slight inaccuracies of the "Souvenirs," and +since she cannot controvert its more important facts, she attempts to +explain them. Her sketch[A] of Madame Récamier is pleasant, from its +personal recollections, but far inferior to one by Sainte-Beuve,[B] +which is eminently significant. Neither, as sources of information, can +supply the place of the more voluminous and explicit "Souvenirs." It is +a little singular that this work has not been translated into English, +for, in spite of its lack of method, its diffuseness and +disproportionate developments, it is very attractive and interesting. It +is also highly valuable for its large collection of letters from +distinguished people. In the sketch we propose to make of Madame +Récamier's life, we shall rely mainly upon it for our facts, giving in +connection our own view of her character and career. + +The beauty which first won celebrity for Madame Récamier was hers by +inheritance. Her father was a remarkably handsome man, but a person of +narrow capacity, who owed his advancement in life solely to the +exertions of his more capable wife. Madame Bernard was a beautiful +blonde. She was lively and _spirituelle_, coquettish and designing. +Through her influence with Calonne, minister under Louis XVI., Monsieur +Bernard was made _Receveur des Finances_. Upon this appointment, in +1784, they came to Paris, leaving their only child, Juliette, then seven +years old, at Lyons, in the care of an aunt, though she was soon +afterward placed in a convent, where she remained three years. Monsieur +and Madame Bernard's style of living in Paris was both elegant and +generous. Their house became the resort of the Lyonnese, and also of +literary men,--the latter being especially courted by Madame Bernard. +But, though seemingly given up to a life of gayety and pleasure, she did +not neglect her own interests. Her cleverness was of the Becky-Sharp +order. She knew how to turn the admiration she excited to her own +advantage. Having a faculty for business, she engaged in successful +speculations and amassed a fortune, which she carried safely through the +Reign of Terror. This is the more remarkable as Monsieur Bernard was a +known Royalist. He and his family and his wife's friends escaped not +only death, but also persecution; and Madame Lenormant attributes this +rare good-fortune to the agency of the infamous Barrčre. Barrčre's +cruelty was equalled only by his profligacy, his cunning by his +selfishness. Macaulay said of him, that "he approached nearer than any +person mentioned in history or fiction, whether man or devil, to the +idea of consummate and total depravity"; and everybody must remember the +famous comparison by which he illustrated Barrčre's faculty of lying. +But even taking a much milder view of Barrčre's character, it is a +matter of history by what terms the unfortunate victims of the +Revolution purchased of him their own lives and those of their friends, +and it is certain that his friendship and protection were no honor to +any woman. This view of their intimacy is confirmed by Madame Möhl. In +speaking of a rumor current in Madame Récamier's lifetime, which +reflected severely upon her mother, she says that Madame Bernard's +reputation had nothing to lose by this story, and mentions the favors +she received at the hands both of Calonne and Barrčre. + +Juliette Bernard was ten years old when she joined her parents in Paris, +where she was placed under the care of masters. She played with skill on +the harp and piano, and being passionately fond of music, it became her +solace and amusement at an advanced age. In her youth dancing was +equally a passion with her. The grace with which she executed the +shawl-dance suggested to Madame de Staėl the dance-scene in "Corinne." +It is said that great care was bestowed upon her education; but as it is +also stated that long hours were passed at the toilette, that she was +the pet of all her mother's friends, who, as proud of her daughter's +beauty as she was of her own, took her constantly to the theatre and +public assemblies, little time could have been devoted to systematic +instruction. There is no mention made throughout her life of any +favorite studies or favorite books, and she was, moreover, married at +fifteen. + +Monsieur Récamier was forty-four years old when he proposed for the hand +of Juliette Bernard. She accepted him without either reluctance or +distrust. Much sympathy has been lavished upon Madame Récamier on +account of this marriage, and her extreme youth is urged as an excuse +for this false step of her life. Still she did not take it blindly. Her +mother thought it her duty to lay before her all the objections to a +union where there existed such a disparity of age. No undue influence +was exerted, therefore, in favor of the marriage. Nor was Mademoiselle +Bernard as unsophisticated as French girls usually are at that age. Her +childhood had not been passed in seclusion. Since she was ten years old +she had been constantly in the society of men of letters and men of the +world. Under such influences girls ripen early, and in marrying Monsieur +Récamier she at least realized all her expectations. She did not look +for mutual affection; she expected to find in him a generous and +indulgent protector, and this anticipation was not disappointed. If she +discovered too late that she had other and greater needs, she was deeply +to be pitied, but the responsibility of the step must remain with her. +Madame Lenormant says of the union,--"It was simply an apparent one. +Madame Récamier was a wife only in name. This fact is astonishing. But I +am not bound to explain it, only to attest its truth, which all of +Madame Récamier's friends can confirm. Monsieur Récamier's relations to +his wife were strictly of a paternal character. He treated the young and +innocent child who bore his name as a daughter whose beauty charmed him +and whose celebrity flattered his vanity." + +As an explanation of these singular relations, Madame Möhl states that +it was the general belief of Madame Récamier's contemporaries that she +was the own daughter of Monsieur Récamier, whom the unsettled state of +the times had induced him to marry; but there is not a shadow of +evidence in support of this hypothesis,--though, to make it more +probable, Madame Möhl adds, that "Madame Lenormant rather confirms than +contradicts this rumor." In this she is strangely mistaken. Madame +Lenormant does not allude to the report at all. Still she tacitly +contradicts it. Her account of Monsieur Récamier's course with regard to +the divorce proposed between him and his wife is of itself a sufficient +refutation of this idle story. + +Monsieur Récamier was a tall, vigorous, handsome man, of easy, agreeable +manners. Perfectly polite, he was deficient in dignity, and preferred +the society of his inferiors to that of his equals. He wrote and spoke +Spanish with fluency, had some knowledge of Latin, and was fond of +quoting Horace and Virgil. "It would be difficult to find," says his +niece, "a heart more generous than his, more easily moved, and yet more +volatile. Let a friend need his time, his money, his advice, it was +immediately at his service; but let that same friend be taken away by +death, he would scarcely give two days to regret: '_Encore un tiroir +fermé'_, he would say, and there would end his sensibility. Always ready +to give and willing to serve, he was a good companion, and benevolent +and gay in his temper. He carried his optimism to excess, and was always +content with everybody and everything. He had fine natural abilities, +and the gift of expression, being a good story-teller." He was married +in 1793, the most gloomy period of the Reign of Terror, and went every +day to see the executions, wishing, he said, to familiarize himself with +the fate he had every reason to fear would be his own. + +The first four years of her marriage were passed by Madame Récamier in +retirement, but when the government was settled under the Consulate she +mingled freely and gayly in society. This was probably the happiest +period of her life. Her husband was at the height of financial +prosperity, and lavished every luxury upon his beautiful wife. Both +their country-seat at Clichy and their town-house in the Rue Mont Blanc +were models of elegant taste. Large dinner-parties and balls were given +at the latter, but all the intimate friends went to Clichy, where Madame +Récamier chiefly resided with her mother. Her husband only dined there, +driving in to Paris every night. She was very fond of flowers, and +filled her rooms with them. At that time floral decorations were a +novelty, and another attraction was added to the charms of Clichy. Not +only there, but in society, Madame Récamier reigned a queen. She had +been pronounced by acclamation "the most beautiful," and she enjoyed her +triumphs with all the gayety and freshness of youth. Madame Lenormant +asserts that she was unconscious of her beauty, and yet, with an amusing +inconsistency, she adds that Madame Récamier always dressed in white and +wore pearls in preference to other jewels, that the dazzling whiteness +of her skin might eclipse their softness and purity. It was, in fact, +impossible to be unconscious of a beauty so ravishing that it +intoxicated all beholders. At the theatre, at the promenade, at public +assemblies, she was followed by admiring throngs. + +"She was sensible," writes one who knew her well, "of every look, every +word of admiration,--the exclamation of a child or a woman of the +people, equally with the declaration of a prince. In crowds from the +side of her elegant carriage, which advanced slowly, she thanked each +for his admiration by a motion of the head and a smile." + +As an instance of the effect she produced, Madame Lenormant gives the +testimony of a contemporary, Madame Regnauld de Saint-Jean d'Angely, +who, talking over her own beauty and that of other women of her youth, +named Madame Récamier. "Others," she said, "were more truly beautiful, +but none produced so much effect. I was in a drawing-room where I +charmed and captivated all eyes. Madame Récamier entered. The brilliancy +of her eyes, which were not, however, very large, the inconceivable +whiteness of her shoulders, crushed and eclipsed everybody. She was +resplendent. At the end of a moment, however, the true amateurs returned +to me." + +It was not her own countrymen alone who raved about her beauty. The +sober-minded English people were quite as much impressed. When she +visited England during the short peace of Amiens, she created intense +excitement. The journals recorded her movements, and on one occasion in +Kensington Gardens the crowd was so great that she narrowly escaped +being crushed. At the Opera she was obliged to steal away early to avoid +a similar annoyance, and then barely succeeded in reaching her carriage. +Chāteaubriand tells us that her portrait, engraved by Bartolozzi, and +spread throughout England, was carried thence to the isles of Greece. +Ballanche, remarking on this circumstance, said that it was "beauty +returning to the land of its birth." + +Years after, when the allied sovereigns were in Paris, and Madame +Récamier thirty-eight years old, the effect of her beauty was just as +striking. Madame de Krüdener, celebrated for her mysticism and the power +she exerted over the Emperor Alexander, then held nightly reunions, +beginning with prayer and ending in a more worldly fashion. Madame +Récamier's entrance always caused distraction, and Madame de Krüdener +commissioned Benjamin Constant to write and beseech her to be less +charming. As this piquant note will lose its flavor by translation, we +give it in the original. + +"Je m'acquitte avec un peu d'embarras d'une commission que Mme. de +Krüdener vient de me donner. Elle vous supplie de venir la moins belle +que vous pourrez. Elle dit que vous éblouissez tout le monde, et que par +lą toutes les āmes sont troublées, et toutes les attentions impossibles. +Vous ne pouvez pas déposer votre charme, mais ne le rehaussez pas." + +Madame Récamier's personal appearance at eighteen is thus described by +her niece:-- + +"A figure flexible and elegant; neck and shoulders admirably formed and +proportioned; a well-poised head; a small, rosy mouth, pearly teeth, +charming arms, though a little small, and black hair that curled +naturally. A nose delicate and regular, but _bien franēais_, and an +incomparable brilliancy of complexion. A countenance full of candor, and +sometimes beaming with mischief, which the expression of goodness +rendered irresistibly lovely. There was a shade of indolence and pride +in her gestures, and what Saint Simon said of the Duchess of Burgundy is +equally applicable to her: 'Her step was that of a goddess on the +clouds.'" + +Madame Récamier retained her beauty longer than is usual even with +Frenchwomen, nor did she seek to repair it by any artificial means. "She +did not struggle," says Sainte-Beuve, "she resigned herself gracefully +to the first touch of Time. She understood, that, for one who had +enjoyed such success as a beauty, to seem yet beautiful was to make no +pretensions. A friend who had not seen her for many years complimented +her upon her looks. 'Ah, my dear friend,' she replied, 'it is useless +for me to deceive myself. From the moment I noticed that the little +Savoyards in the street no longer turned to look at me, I comprehended +that all was over.'" There is pathos in this simple acknowledgment, this +quiet renunciation. Was it the result of secret struggles which taught +her that all regret was vain, and that to contrast the present with the +past was but a useless and torturing thing for a woman? + +But at the time of which we write Madame Récamier had no sad realities +to ponder. She was surrounded by admirers, with the liberty which French +society accords to married women, and the freedom of heart of a young +girl. She was still content to be simply admired. She understood neither +the world nor her own heart. Her life was too gay for reflection, nor +had the time arrived for it: "all analysis comes late." It is not until +we have in a measure ceased to be actors, and have accepted the more +passive _rōle_ of spectators, that we begin to reflect upon ourselves +and upon life. And Madame Récamier had not tired of herself, or of the +world. She was too young to be heart-weary, and she knew nothing yet of +the burdens and perplexities of life. All her wishes were gratified +before they were fairly expressed, and she had neither anxieties nor +cares. + +Her first vexation came with her first lover. It was in the spring of +1799 that Madame Récamier met Lucien Bonaparte at a dinner. He was then +twenty-four, and she twenty-two. He asked permission to visit her at +Clichy, and made his appearance there the next day. He first wrote to +her, declaring his love, under the name of Romeo, and she, taking +advantage of the subterfuge, returned his letter in the presence of +other friends, with a compliment on its cleverness, while she advised +him not to waste his ability on works of imagination, when it could be +so much better employed in politics. Lucien was not thus to be repulsed. +He then addressed her in his own name, and she showed the letters to her +husband, and asked his advice. Monsieur Récamier was more politic than +indignant. His wife wished to forbid Lucien the house, but he feared +that such extreme measures toward the brother of the First Consul might +compromise, if not ruin, his bank. He therefore advised her neither to +encourage nor repulse him. Lucien continued his attentions for a +year,--the absurd emphasis of his manners at times amusing Madame +Récamier, while at others his violence excited her fears. At last, +becoming conscious that he was making himself ridiculous, he gave up the +pursuit in despair. Some time after he had discontinued his visits he +sent a friend to demand his letters; but Madame Récamier refused to give +them up. He sent a second time, adding menace to persuasion; but she was +firm in her refusal. It was rumored that Lucien was a favored lover, and +he was anxious to be so considered. His own letters were the strongest +proof to the contrary, and as such they were kept and guarded by Madame +Récamier. But the unpleasant gossip to which his attentions gave rise +was a source of great annoyance to her. If it was her first vexation, it +was not the only one of the same kind. Madame Lenormant makes no +allusion, to any other, but in the lately published correspondence of +Madame de Staėl[C] we find among the letters to Madame Récamier one +which consoles her under what was probably a somewhat similar trouble. +"I hear from Monsieur Hochet that you have a chagrin. I hope by the time +you have read this letter it will have passed away.... There is nothing +to dread but truth and material persecution; beyond these two things +enemies can do absolutely nothing. And what an enemy! only a +contemptible woman who is jealous of your beauty and purity united." + +It was at a _fźte_ given by Lucien that Madame Récamier had her first +and only interview with the First Consul. On entering the drawing-room, +she mistook him for his brother Joseph, and bowed to him. He returned +her salutation with _empressement_ mingled with surprise. Looking at her +closely, he spoke to Fouché, who leaned over her chair and whispered, +"The First Consul finds you charming." When Lucien approached, Napoleon, +who was no stranger to his brother's passion, said aloud, "And I, too, +would like to go to Clichy!" When dinner was announced, he rose and left +the room alone, without offering his arm to any lady. As Madame Récamier +passed out, Eliza (Madame Bacciocchi), who did the honors in the absence +of Madame Lucien, who was indisposed, requested her to take the seat +next to the First Consul. Madame Récamier did not understand her, and +seated herself at a little distance, and on Cambacčres, the Second +Consul, occupying the seat by her side, Napoleon exclaimed, "_Ah, ah, +citoyen consul, auprčs de la plus belle_!" He ate very little and very +fast, and at the end of half an hour left the table abruptly, and +returned to the drawing-room. He afterward asked Madame Récamier why she +had not sat next to him at dinner. "I should not have presumed," she +said. "It was your place," he replied; and his sister added, "That was +what I said to you before dinner." A concert following, Napoleon stood +alone by the piano, but, not fancying the instrumental part of the +performance, at the end of a piece by Jadin, he struck on the piano and +cried, "Garat! Garat!" who then sang a scene from "Orpheus." Music +always profoundly moved Madame Récamier, but whenever she raised her +eyes she found those of the Consul fixed upon her with so much intensity +that she became uncomfortable. After the concert, he came to her and +said, "You are very fond of music, Madame," and would probably have +continued the conversation, had not Lucien interrupted. Madame Récamier +confessed that she was prepossessed by Napoleon at this interview. She +was evidently gratified by his attentions, scanty and slight as they +seem to us. Indeed, his whole conduct during the dinner and concert was +decidedly discourteous, if not positively rude. Madame Lenormant +attributes Napoleon's subsequent attempt to attach Madame Récamier to +his court to the strong impression she made upon him at this interview, +and gives Fouché as her authority. Still, if this were the case, it is +rather strange that Napoleon did not follow up the acquaintance more +speedily. It was not until five years afterwards that he made the +overtures to which Madame Lenormant refers,--and then Madame Récamier +had long been in the ranks of the Opposition. It was Napoleon's policy +to conciliate, if possible, his political opponents. He had succeeded in +gaining over Bernadotte, of whose intrigues against him Madame Récamier +had been the _confidante_, and he concluded that she also could be as +easily won. He accordingly sent Fouché to her, who, after several +preliminary visits, proposed that she should apply for a position at +court. As Madame Récamier did not heed his suggestions, he spoke more +openly. "He protested that the place would give her entire liberty, and +then, seizing with finesse upon the inducements most powerful with a +generous spirit, he dwelt upon the eminent services she might render to +the oppressed of all classes, and also the good influence so attractive +a woman would exert over the mind of the Emperor. 'He has not yet,' he +added, 'found a woman worthy of him, and no one knows what the love of +Napoleon would be, if he attached himself to a pure person,--assuredly +she would obtain a power over him which would be entirely beneficent.'" +If Madame Récamier listened with politic calmness to these disgraceful +overtures, she gave Fouché no encouragement. But he was not easily +discouraged. He planned another interview with her at the house of the +Princess Caroline, who added her persuasions to his. The conversation +turning on Talma, who was then performing at the French theatre, the +Princess put her box, which was opposite the Emperor's, at Madame +Récamier's disposal; she used it twice, and each time the Emperor was +present, and kept his glass so constantly in her direction that it was +generally remarked, and it was reported that she was on the eve of high +favor. Upon further persistence on the part of Fouché, Madame Récamier +gave him a decided refusal. He was vehemently indignant, and left Clichy +never to return thither. In the St. Helena Memorial, Napoleon attributes +Madame Récamier's rejection of his overtures to personal resentment on +account of her father. In 1800 Monsieur Bernard had been appointed +_Administrateur des Postes_; being implicated in a Royalist conspiracy, +he was imprisoned, but finally set at liberty through the intercession +of Bernadotte. Napoleon believed that Madame Récamier resented her +father's removal from office, but she was too thankful at his release +from prison to expect any further favors. Her dislike of the Emperor +was caused by his treatment of her friends, more particularly of the one +dearest to her, Madame de Staėl. + +The friendship between these women was highly honorable to both, though +the sacrifices were chiefly on Madame Récamier's side. She espoused +Madame de Staėl's cause with zeal and earnestness; and when the latter +was banished forty leagues from Paris, she found an asylum with her. +Among the few fragments of autobiography preserved by Madame Lenormant +is this account of the first interview between the friends. + +"One day, which I count an epoch in my life, Monsieur Récamier arrived +at Clichy with a lady whom he did not introduce, but whom he left alone +with me while he joined some other persons in the park. This lady came +about the sale and purchase of a house. Her dress was peculiar. She wore +a morning-robe, and a little dress-hat decorated with flowers. I took +her for a foreigner, and was struck with the beauty of her eyes and of +her expression. I cannot analyze my sensations, but it is certain I was +more occupied in divining who she was than in paying her the usual +courtesies, when she said to me, with a lively and penetrating grace, +that she was truly enchanted to know me; that her father, Monsieur +Necker.... At these words, I recognized Madame de Staėl! I did not hear +the rest of her sentence. I blushed. My embarrassment was extreme. I had +just read with enthusiasm her letters on Rousseau, and I expressed what +I felt more by my looks than by my words. She intimidated and attracted +me at the same time. I saw at once that she was a perfectly natural +person, of a superior nature. She, on her side, fixed upon me her great +black eyes, but with a curiosity full of benevolence, and paid me +compliments which would have seemed too exaggerated, had they not +appeared to escape her, thus giving to her words an irresistible +seduction. My embarrassment did me no injury. She understood it, and +expressed a wish to see more of me on her return to Paris, as she was +then on the eve of starting for Coppet. She was at that time only an +apparition in my life, but the impression was a lively one. I thought +only of Madame de Staėl, I was so much affected by her strong and ardent +nature." + +The sweet serenity of Madame Récamier's nature soothed the more restless +and tumultuous spirit of her friend. The unaffected veneration, too, of +one so beautiful touched and gratified the woman of genius. Still, this +intimacy was not unmixed with bitterness for Madame de Staėl. But it +troubled only her own heart, not the common friendship. She continually +contrasted Madame Récamier's beauty with her own plain appearance, her +friend's power of fascination with her own lesser faculty of +interesting, and she repeatedly declared that Madame Récamier was the +most enviable of human beings. But in comparing the lives of the two, as +they now appear to us, Madame de Staėl seems the more fortunate. If her +married life was uncongenial, she had children to love and cherish, to +whom she was fondly attached. Madame Récamier was far more isolated. +Years had made her entirely independent of her husband, and she had no +children upon whom to lavish the wealth of her affection. Her mother's +death left her comparatively alone in the world, for she had neither +brother nor sister, and her father seems to have had but little hold on +her heart, all her love being lavished on her mother. She had a host of +friends, it is true, but the closest friendship is but a poor substitute +for the natural ties of affection. Both these women sighed for what they +had not. The one yearned for love, the other for the liberty of loving. +Madame Récamier was dependent for her enjoyments on society, while +Madame de Staėl had rich and manifold resources within herself, which no +caprice of friends could materially affect, and no reverse of fortune +impair. Her poetic imagination and creative thought were inexhaustible +treasures. Solitude could never be irksome to her. Her genius brought +with it an inestimable blessing. It gave her a purpose in +life,--consequently she was never in want of occupation; and if at +intervals she bitterly felt that heart-loneliness which Mrs. Browning +has so touchingly expressed in verse,-- + + "'My father!'--thou hast knowledge, only thou! + How dreary 't is for women to sit still + On winter nights by solitary fires, + And hear the nations praising them far off, + Too far! ay, praising our quick sense of love, + Our very heart of passionate womanhood, + Which could not beat so in the verse without + Being present also in the unkissed lips, + And eyes undried because there's none to ask + The reason they grew moist,"-- + +in the excitement and ardor of composition such feelings slumbered, +while in the honest and pure satisfaction of work well done they were +for the time extinguished. Madame Récamier, though beautiful and +beloved, had no such precious compensations. She depended for her +happiness upon her friends, and they who rely upon others for their +chief enjoyments must meet with bitter and deep disappointments. Madame +Récamier had great triumphs which secured to her moments of rapture. +When the crowd worshipped her beauty, she probably experienced the same +delirium of joy, the same momentary exultation, that a _prima donna_ +feels when called before an excited and enthusiastic audience. But +satiety and chagrin surely follow such triumphs, and she lived to feel +their hollowness. + +In a letter to her adopted daughter, she says,--"I hope you will be more +happy than I have been"; and she confessed to Sainte-Beuve, that more +than once in her most brilliant days, in the midst of _fźtes_ where she +reigned a queen, she disengaged herself from the crowd surrounding her +and retired to weep in solitude. Surely so sad a woman was not to be +envied. + +Another friend of Madame Récamier's youth, whose friendship in a marked +degree influenced her life, was Matthieu de Montmorency. He was +seventeen years older than she, and may with emphasis be termed her best +friend. A devout Roman Catholic, he awakened and strengthened her +religious convictions, and constantly warned her of the perils +surrounding her. Much as he evidently admired and loved her, he did not +hesitate to utter unwelcome truths. Vicomte, afterward Duc de +Montmorency, belonged to one of the oldest families of France, but, +espousing the Revolutionary cause, he was the first to propose the +abolition of the privileges of the nobility. He was married early in +life to a woman without beauty, to whom he was profoundly indifferent, +and soon separated from her, though from family motives the tie was +renewed in after-years. In his youth he had been gay and dissipated; but +the death of a favorite brother, who fell a victim to the Revolution, +changed and sobered him. From an over-sensibility, he believed himself +to be the cause of his brother's death on account of the part he had +taken in hastening the Revolution, and he strove to atone for this +mistake, as well as for his youthful follies, by a life of austerity and +piety. While his letters testify his great affection for Madame +Récamier, they are entirely free from those lover-like protestations and +declarations of eternal fidelity so characterise of her other masculine +correspondents. He always addressed her as "_amiable amis_", and his +nearest approach to gallantry is the expression of a hope that "in +prayer their thoughts had often mingled, and might continue so to do." +He ends a long letter of religious counsel with this grave warning:--"Do +what is good and amiable, what will not rend the heart or leave any +regrets behind. But in the name of God renounce all that is unworthy of +you, and which under no circumstances can ever render you happy." + +Adrien de Montmorency, Duke of Laval, if not so near and dear a friend, +was quite as devoted an admirer of Madame Récamier as his cousin +Matthieu. His son also wore her chains, and frequently marred the +pleasure of his father's visits by his presence. In reference to the +family's devotion, Adrien wrote to her,--"My son is fascinated by you, +and you know that I am so also. It is the fate of the Montmorencys,-- + + "'Ils ne mouraient pas tous, mais tout étaient frappés.'" + +Adrien was a man of wit, and he had more ability than Matthieu. "Of all +your admirers," writes Madame de Staėl, in a letter given in +Chāteaubriand's Memoirs, "you know that I prefer Adrien de Montmorency. +I have just received one of his letters, which is remarkable for wit and +grace, and I believe in the durability of his affections, +notwithstanding the charm of his manners. Besides, this word durability +is becoming in me, who have but a secondary place in his heart. But you +are the heroine of all those sentiments out of which grow tragedies and +romances." + +Other admirers succeeded the Montmorencys. The masked balls, fashionable +under the Empire, were occasions for fresh conquests. Madame Récamier +attended them regularly under the protection of an elder brother of her +husband, and had many piquant adventures. Prince Metternich was devoted +to her one season, and when Lent put an end to festivity, he visited her +privately in the morning, that he might not incur the Emperor's +displeasure. Napoleon's animosity had now become marked and positive. On +one occasion, when three of his ministers met accidentally at her house, +he heard of it, and asked petulantly how long since had the council been +held at Madame Récamier's? He was especially jealous of foreign +ministers, and treated with so much haughtiness any who frequented her +_salon_, that, as a matter of prudence, they saw her only in society or +visited her by stealth. The Duke of Mecklenburg, whom she met at one of +the masked balls, was extremely anxious to keep up her acquaintance. She +declined the honor, alleging the Emperor's jealousy as reason for her +refusal. He persuaded her, however, to grant him an interview, and she +appointed an evening when she did not generally receive visitors. +Stealing into the house in an undignified manner, the Duke was collared +by the _concierge_, who mistook him for a thief. This ill-fortune did +not deter him, however, from visiting her frequently. Years after, he +wrote,--"Among the precious souvenirs which I owe to you is one I +particularly cherish. It is the eminently noble and generous course you +pursued toward me, when Napoleon had said openly, in the _salon_ of the +Empress Josephine, that he 'should regard as his personal enemy any +foreigner who frequented the _salon_ of Madame Récamier.'" + +Madame Récamier was to feel yet more severely the effects of the +Emperor's displeasure. In the autumn of 1806 the banking-house of +Monsieur Récamier became embarrassed, through financial disorders in +Spain. Their difficulties would have been temporary, had the Bank of +France granted them a loan on good security. This favor was refused, and +the house failed. While the decision of the bank was yet uncertain, +Monsieur Récamier confided to his wife the desperate state of his +affairs, and deputed her to do, the next day, the honors of a large +dinner-party, which could not be postponed, lest suspicion should be +excited. He went into the country, completely overwhelmed, and awaited +there the result of his application. Madame Récamier forced herself to +appear as usual. No one suspected the agony of her mind. She afterwards +said that she felt the whole evening as though she were a prey to some +horrible nightmare. In contrasting the conduct of the husband and wife, +Madame Lenormant is scarcely just to the former. Acutely as Madame +Récamier dreaded the impending ruin, it could not be to her what it was +to her husband. A fearful responsibility rested upon him. The failure of +his house was not only disaster and possible dishonor, but the ruin of +thousands who had confided in him. A strong intellect might well be +bowed down under the apprehension of such a catastrophe. Women, too, are +proverbially calmer in such emergencies than men. To them it simply +means sacrifice, but to men it is infinitely more than that. + +When the blow fell, Monsieur Récamier met it manfully. He gave up +everything to his creditors, who had so much confidence in his integrity +that they put him at the head of the settlement of liquidation. Madame +Récamier was equally honorable. She sold all her jewels. They disposed +of their plate, and offered the house in the Rue Mont Blanc for sale. As +a purchaser could not immediately be found, they removed to the +ground-floor and let the other stories. This reverse of fortune involved +more than personal sacrifices. Madame Récamier was both generous and +charitable, and had dispensed her benefits with an open hand. She had, +with the aid of friends, founded a school for orphans, and had numerous +claims upon her bounty. To be restricted in her charities must have been +a sore trial. Further mortifications she was spared, for she was treated +with greater deference than ever. Her friends redoubled their +attentions, her door was besieged by callers, who vied with each other +in showing sympathy and respect. Junot was one of her firmest friends at +this crisis. Witnessing, in Paris, the attentions she received, he spoke +of them to the Emperor, when he rejoined him in Germany. He was checked +by Napoleon, who pettishly remarked that they could not have paid more +homage to the widow of a marshal of France fallen on the field of +battle. + +Junot was not the only general of the Emperor who was concerned at her +reverse of fortune. Bernadotte, whom Sainte-Beuve numbers among her +lovers, and whose letters confirm this idea, wrote to her from Germany, +expressing his sympathy. Madame de Staėl was sensibly afflicted. "Dear +Juliette," she writes, "we have enjoyed the luxury which surrounded you. +Your fortune has been ours, and I feel ruined because you are no longer +rich." + +Another anxiety now weighed heavily upon Madame Récamier. Her mother's +health had long been failing, and the misfortunes of her son-in-law were +more than her shattered constitution could bear. She died six months +after the failure, leaving her fortune to her daughter, though her +husband was still living. To the last she was devoted to dress and +society. Throughout her illness she insisted upon being becomingly +dressed every day, and supported to a couch, where she received her +friends for several hours. + +After Madame Bernard's death, her daughter passed six months in +retirement, but, her grief affecting her health, she was induced by +Madame de Staėl to visit her at Coppet. Here she met the exiled Prince +Augustus of Prussia, nephew of Frederick the Great. We find in the +"Seaforth Papers," lately published in England, an allusion to this +Prince, who visited London in the train of the allied sovereigns in +1814. A lady writes, "All the ladies are desperately in love with +him,--his eyes are so fine, his moustaches so black, and his teeth so +white." Madame Lenormant describes him as extremely handsome, brave, +chivalric, and loyal. He was twenty-four when he fell passionately in +love with Madame de Staėl's beautiful guest, to whom he at once proposed +a divorce and marriage. We give Madame Lenormant's account of his +attachment. + +"Three months passed in the enchantments of a passion by which Madame +Récamier was profoundly touched, if she did not share it. Everything +conspired to favor Prince Augustus. The imagination of Madame de Staėl, +easily seduced by anything poetical and singular, made her an eloquent +auxiliary of the Prince. The place itself, those beautiful shores of +Lake Geneva, peopled by romantic phantoms, had a tendency to bewilder +the judgment. Madame Récamier was moved. For a moment she welcomed an +offer of marriage which was not only a proof of the passion, but of the +esteem of a prince of a royal house, deeply impressed by the weight of +its own prerogatives and the greatness of its rank. Vows were exchanged. +The tie which united the beautiful Juliette to Monsieur Récamier was one +which the Catholic Church itself proclaimed null. Yielding to the +sentiment with which she inspired the Prince, Juliette wrote to Monsieur +Récamier, requesting the rupture of their union. He replied that he +would consent to a divorce, if it was her wish, but he made an appeal to +her feelings. He recalled the affection he had shown her from childhood. +He even expressed regret at having respected her susceptibilities and +repugnances, thus preventing a closer bond of union, which would have +made all thoughts of a separation impossible. Finally he requested, +that, if Madame Récamier persisted in her project, the divorce should +not take place in Paris, but out of France, where he would join her to +arrange matters." + +This letter had the desired effect. Madame Récamier concluded not to +abandon her husband, and returned to Paris, but without undeceiving the +Prince, who started for Berlin. According to her biographer, Madame +Récamier trusted that absence would soften the disappointment she had in +store for him; but, if this was the case, the means she took to +accomplish it were very inadequate. She sent him her portrait soon after +her return to Paris, which the Prince acknowledged in a letter, of which +the following is an extract:-- + + "_April 24th_, 1808. + + "I hope that my letter of the 31st has already been received. I + could only very feebly express to you the happiness I felt on the + receipt of your last, but it will give you some idea of my + sensations when reading it, and in receiving your portrait. For + whole hours I looked at this enchanting picture, dreaming of a + happiness which must surpass the most delicious reveries of + imagination. What fate can be compared to that of the man whom you + love?" + +When Madame Récamier subsequently wrote to him more candidly, the Prince +was astonished. "Your letter was a thunderbolt," he replied; but he +would not accept her decision, and claimed the right of seeing her +again. Three years passed in uncertainty, and in 1811 Madame Récamier +consented to meet him at Schaffhausen; but she did not fulfil her +engagement, giving the sentence of exile which had just been passed upon +her as an excuse. The Prince, after waiting in vain, wrote indignantly +to Madame de Staėl, "I hope I am now cured of a foolish love, which I +have nourished for four years." But when the news of her exile reached +him, he wrote to her expressing his sympathy, but at the same time +reproaching her for her breach of faith. "After four years of absence I +hoped to see you again, and this exile seemed to furnish you with a +pretext for coming to Switzerland. But you have cruelly deceived me. I +cannot conceive, if you could not or would not see me, why you did not +condescend to tell me so, and I might have been spared a useless journey +of three hundred leagues." + +Madame Récamier's conduct to the Prince, even viewed in the light of her +biographer's representations, is scarcely justifiable. Madame Möhl +attempts to defend her. She alleges, that, at the time Prince Augustus +was paying his addresses to her, he had contracted a left-handed +marriage at Berlin. Even if this story be true, there is no evidence +that Madame Récamier was then acquainted with the fact, and if she had +been, there was only the more reason for breaking with the Prince at +once, instead of keeping him so long alternating between hope and +despair. In speaking of him to Madame Möhl, Madame Récamier said that he +was desperately in love, but he was very gallant and had many other +fancies. The impression she made upon him, however, seems to have been +lasting. Three months before his death, in 1845, he wrote to her that +the ring she had given him should follow him to the tomb, and her +portrait, painted by Gérard, was, at his death, returned to her by his +orders. Either the Prince had two portraits of Madame Récamier, or else +Madame Lenormant's statements are contradictory. She says that her aunt +sent him her portrait soon after her return to Paris, and the date of +the Prince's letter acknowledging the favor confirms this statement. It +is afterward asserted that Madame Récamier gave him her portrait in +exchange for one of Madame de Staėl, painted by Gérard, as Corinne. + +The next important event in Madame Récamier's life is her exile, caused +by a visit she paid Madame de Staėl when the surveillance exercised over +the latter by the government had become more rigorous. Montmorency had +been already exiled for the same offence. But, disregarding this +warning, Madame Récamier persisted in going to Coppet, and though she +only remained one night there, she was exiled forty leagues from Paris. + +She bore her exile with dignity. She would not solicit a recall, and she +forbade those of her friends, who, like Junot, were on familiar terms +with the Emperor, to mention her name in his presence. She doubtless +felt all its deprivations, even more keenly than Madame de Staėl, though +she made no complaints. Her means were narrow, as she does not appear to +have been in the full possession of her mother's fortune until after the +Restoration. She had lived, with scarcely an interruption, a life of +society; now she was thrown on her own resources, with little except +music to cheer and enliven her. It was not only the loss of Paris that +exiles under the Empire had to endure. They were subjected to an +annoying surveillance by the police, and even the friends who paid them +any attention became objects of suspicion. + +The first eight months of her exile Madame Récamier passed at Chalons. +She had for companionship a little niece of her husband's, whom she had +previously adopted. At the suggestion of Madame de Staėl, she removed to +Lyons, where Monsieur Récamier had many influential relatives. Here she +formed an intimacy with a companion in misfortune, the high-spirited +Duchess of Chevreuse, whose proud refusal to enter into the service of +the captive Spanish Queen was the cause of her exile. "I can be a +prisoner," she replied, when the offer was made to her, "but I will +never be a jailer." + +Though the society of friends offered Madame Récamier many diversions, +she was often a prey to melancholy. The Duchess D'Abrantes, who saw her +here, casually mentions her dejection in her Memoirs, and Chāteaubriand +says that the separation from Madame de Staėl weighed heavily upon her +spirits. He also alludes to a coolness between the friends, caused by +Madame de Staėl's marriage with Monsieur de Rocca. The desire to keep +this connection secret induced Madame de Staėl to write to her friend, +declining a proposed visit from her, on the plea that she was about to +leave Switzerland. Chāteaubriand asserts that Madame Récamier felt this +slight severely, but Madame Lenormant makes no allusion to the +circumstance. + +At Lyons Madame Récamier met the author, Monsieur Ballanche. He was +presented to her by Camille Jordan, and, in the words of her biographer, +"from that moment Monsieur Ballanche belonged to Madame Récamier." He +was the least exacting of any of her friends. All he asked was to devote +his life to her, and to be allowed to worship her. His friends called +her his Beatrice. As he was an extremely awkward and ugly man, the two +might have been termed with equal propriety "Beauty and the Beast." +Monsieur Ballanche's face had been frightfully disfigured by an +operation, and though his friends thought that his fine eyes and +expression redeemed his appearance, he was, to strangers, particularly +unprepossessing. He was, moreover, very absent-minded. When he joined +Madame Récamier at Rome, she noticed, during an evening walk with him, +that he had no hat. In reply to her questions, he quietly said, "Oh, +yes, he had left it at Alexandria." He had, in fact, forgotten it; and +it never occurred to him to replace it by another. Madame Lenormant +relates an anecdote of his second interview with Madame Récamier, which +is illustrative of his simplicity. + +"He found her alone, working on embroidery. The conversation at first +languished, but soon became interesting,--for, though Monsieur Ballanche +had no chit-chat, he talked extremely well on subjects which interested +him, such as philosophy, morals, politics, and literature. +Unfortunately, his shoes had an odor about them which was very +disagreeable to Madame Récamier. It finally made her faint, and, +overcoming with difficulty the embarrassment she felt in speaking of so +prosaic an annoyance, she timidly avowed to him that the smell of his +shoes was unpleasant. Monsieur Ballanche apologized, humbly regretting +that she had not spoken before, and then went out of the room. He +returned in a few moments without his shoes, resumed his seat, and +continued the conversation. Other persons came in, and noticing him in +this situation, he said, by way of explanation, 'The smell of my shoes +annoyed Madame Récamier, so I left them in the antechamber.'" + +After the death of his father, Monsieur Ballanche left Lyons, and passed +the rest of his life in the society of her whom he worshipped with so +single-minded a devotion. + +Madame Récamier subsequently left Lyons for Italy, and the next new +admirer whose attentions we have to chronicle is Canova. During her stay +in Rome he wrote a note to her every morning, and the heat of the city +growing excessive, he invited her to share his lodgings at Albano. +Taking with her her niece and waiting-maid, she became his guest for two +months. A Roman artist painted a picture of this retreat, with Madame +Récamier sitting near a window, reading. Canova sent the picture to her +in 1816. When she left Rome for a short absence, Canova modelled two +busts of her from memory, in the hope of giving her a pleasant +surprise,--one with the hair simply arranged, the other with a veil. +Madame Récamier was not pleased, and her annoyance did not escape the +penetrating eye of the artist. She tried in vain to efface the +unfavorable impression he had received, but he only half forgave her. He +added a crown of olives to the one with the veil, and when she asked him +about it, he replied, "It did not please you, so I made a Beatrice of +it." + +Madame Récamier left Rome for Naples when Napoleon's power was on the +decline. The sovereigns Murat and Caroline Bonaparte treated her with +marked distinction, especially the Queen, who was not only gracious, but +confidential. Madame Récamier was with Caroline the day that Murat +pledged himself to the allied cause. He returned to the palace in great +agitation, and, stating the case to her without telling her that he had +already made his decision, asked what course he ought to pursue. She +replied, "You are a Frenchman, Sire. It is to France that you owe +allegiance." Murat turned pale, and, throwing open the window, showed +her the English fleet entering the harbor, and exclaimed, "I am, then, a +traitor!" He threw himself on a couch, burst into tears, covering his +face with his hands. Madame Récamier's candor did not affect their +friendly relations. When the Queen acted as Regent in the absence of her +husband, she signed the pardon of a condemned criminal at her request, +and, upon her return to Rome, wrote, begging her to come back to Naples. +She did so, though her stay was necessarily short. Paris was again open +to her by the overthrow of Napoleon, and she hastened to rejoin her +friends. Still she was not unmindful of the princess who had shown her +such marks of friendship. She did many kind services for her in Paris, +and after the execution of Murat, when Caroline lived in obscurity as +the Countess of Lipona, she paid her a visit, which cheered the +neglected woman whose prosperity had been of such short duration. + +The Restoration was the beginning of a new era in the life of Madame +Récamier, one even more brilliant and animated, if not so thoughtlessly +gay as that of her youth. Her husband had, in a measure, retrieved his +fallen fortunes. She was in possession of her mother's property, able to +have a box at the Opera, and to keep her carriage, which was a +necessity, as she never walked in the street. Her exile had made her +more famous, while her joy at being restored to Paris and her friends +lent another charm to the seduction of her manners. Her association with +the Montmorencys, who were in high favor with the new court, increased +her political influence. She held nightly receptions after the Opera, +and her _salon_ was neutral ground, the resort of persons of all +parties. Paris was full of foreigners of distinction, who were curious +to know a person of so much celebrity, and they swelled the ranks of her +admirers. Among them was the Duke of Wellington, who, if Madame +Récamier's vanity did not mislead her, was willing and anxious to wear +her chains. But she never forgave his boastful speech after the Battle +of Waterloo. Remembering her personal dislike of the Emperor, and +forgetting that she was a Frenchwoman, he said to her, on his return to +Paris, "_Je l'ai bien battu_." The next time he called he was not +admitted. The Duke complained to Madame de Staėl, and when he next met +Madame Récamier in society treated her with coldness, and devoted +himself to a young English lady. They rarely met afterward, though the +Duke came once to the Abbaye-aux-Bois. + +Madame Récamier had at this time a much more earnest admirer in Benjamin +Constant. As common friends of Madame de Staėl, they had been acquainted +for years, and had played together in private theatricals at Coppet. +Still it was not until 1814, when Madame Récamier had an interview with +him in regard to the affairs of the King and Queen of Naples, that the +relations between them assumed a serious aspect. He left her at the end +of this interview violently enamored. According to Madame Lenormant, +Benjamin Constant had not the slightest encouragement to justify his +madness, but it is clear from other testimony that Madame Récamier was +not free from blame in respect to him. Sainte-Beuve hints that the +subject is unpleasant, and summarily dismisses it; and Madame Möhl, ever +ready to defend Madame Récamier, acknowledges that in this case she was +to blame, and that Madame Récamier thought so herself, and wished +Constant's letters to be published after her death, in order to justify +him. She adds, that it was a mistake not to publish them, as their +suppression has given occasion for surmises utterly false. There is +nothing in the "Souvenirs" to explain either the vague hints of +Sainte-Beuve or the obscure allusions of Madame Möhl; and the +biographical sketches of Constant throw no light upon the subject: they +are chiefly narratives of his political career. + +If we except Chāteaubriand, who was more loved than loving, Benjamin +Constant stands last on the list of Madame Récamier's conquests; for, +after the author of "Atala" and of the "Genius of Christianity" crossed +her path, we hear of no more flirtations, no more despairing lovers. +Chāteaubriand and Madame Récamier first met, familiarly, at the +death-bed of Madame de Staėl, whose loss they mutually deplored. It was +not, however, until the next year, 1818, when Madame Récamier had +retired to the Abbaye-aux-Bois, that the acquaintance ripened into +intimacy. A second reverse of fortune was the cause of this retirement, +to which we shall briefly refer before entering upon the more +complicated subject of this friendship. + +New and unfortunate speculations on the part of Monsieur Récamier had +not only left him penniless, but had to some extent involved his wife's +fortune, which she had confided to him. In this emergency, Madame +Récamier acted with her usual promptitude and decision. She had two +objects in view in her plans for the future,--economy, and a separation +from her husband. An asylum in the Abbaye-aux-Bois secured to her both +advantages. She established her husband and father in the vicinity of +the Convent, and they with Ballanche dined with her every day. From +Monsieur Récamier she exacted a promise to engage in no more +speculations, while she supplied his wants. "She anticipated his needs +with a filial affection, and until the last studied to make his life +mild and pleasant,--a singularly easy task on account of his optimism." +Monsieur Récamier had need to be a philosopher. The nominal husband of a +beautiful woman, with whom he had shared his prosperity, he had not only +to bear her indifference, but to see her form friendships and make plans +from which he was excluded. When his misfortunes left him a dependent +upon her bounty, he was a mere cipher in her household,--kindly treated, +but with a kindness that savored more of toleration than affection. +Monsieur Récamier died at the advanced age of eighty. Shortly before his +death, his wife obtained permission from the Convent to remove him to +the Abbaye, where he was tenderly cared for by her in his last moments. + +The retirement forced upon Madame Récamier by her husband's reverses was +far from being seclusion. "_La petite cellule_" as Chāteaubriand called +her retreat, was as much frequented as her brilliant _salons_ in Paris +had been, and she was even more highly considered. Chāteaubriand visited +her regularly at three o'clock; they passed an hour alone, when other +persons favored by him were admitted. In the evening her door was open +to all. She no longer mingled in society, people came to her, and +nothing could be more delightful than her receptions. All parties and +all ranks met there, and her _salon_ gradually became a literary centre +and focus. Delphine Gay (Madame Émile de Girardin) recited her first +verses there, Rachel declaimed there, and Lamartine's "Méditations" were +read and applauded there before publication. Among distinguished +strangers who sought admittance to the Abbaye, we notice the names of +Humboldt, Sir Humphry Davy, and Maria Edgeworth. De Tocqueville, +Monsieur Ampére, and Sainte-Beuve were frequent visitors. Peace and +serenity reigned there, for Madame Récamier softened asperities and +healed dissensions by the mere magnetism of her presence. "It was +Eurydice," said Sainte-Beuve, "playing the part of Orpheus." But while +she was the presiding genius of this varied and brilliant society, +Chāteaubriand was the controlling spirit. Everybody deferred to him, if +not for his sake, then for the sake of her whose greatest happiness was +to see him pleased and amused. + +Madame Récamier has frequently been called cold and heartless. English +reviewers have doubted whether she was capable of any warm, deep +attachment. Sainte-Beuve even, with all his insight, believed that the +desire to be loved had satisfied her heart, and that she herself had +never loved. But he formed this opinion before the publication of Madame +Récamier's memoirs. Chāteaubriand's letters, together with other +corroborating facts, warrant a totally different conclusion. It is very +evident that Madame Récamier loved Chāteaubriand with all the strength +of a reticent and constant nature. That he was the only man she did +love, we think is also clear. Prince Augustus captivated her for a time, +but her conduct toward him, in contrast with that toward Chāteaubriand, +proves that her heart had not then been touched. The one she treated +with caprice and coldness, the other with unvarying consideration and +tenderness. There is no reason to conclude that the Prince ever made her +unhappy, while it is certain that Chāteaubriand made her miserable, and +a mere friendship, however deep, does not render a woman wretched. This +attachment not only shaped and colored the remainder of Madame +Récamier's life, but it threatened at one time to completely subvert all +other interests. She who was so equable, such a perfect mistress of +herself, so careful to give every one due meed of attention, became +fitful and indifferent. Her friends saw the change with alarm, and +Montmorency remonstrated bitterly with her. "I was extremely troubled +and ashamed," he writes, "at the sudden change in your manner toward +others and myself. Ah, Madame, the evil that your best friends have been +dreading has made rapid progress in a few weeks! Does not this thought +make you tremble? Ah, turn, while yet there is time, to Him who gives +strength to them who pray for it! He can cure all, repair all. God and a +generous heart are all-sufficient. I implore Him, from the bottom of my +heart, to sustain and enlighten you." + +Ballanche, equally concerned and jealous, strove to interest her in +literature, and urged her to translate Petrarch. Madame Récamier +speedily recovered herself. She listened graciously to the admonitions +of Montmorency, and she consented to undertake Petrarch, but made little +progress in the work. Still, as far as her feelings for Chāteaubriand +were concerned, the efforts of her friends were in vain. He occupied the +first place in her affections, and she regulated her time and pursuits +to please and accommodate him, though for a long time he but poorly +repaid her devotion. He admired and perhaps loved her, as well as he was +capable of loving anybody but himself, but it was not until +disappointments had sobered him that he fully appreciated her worth. At +the time their intimacy commenced he was the pet and favorite of the +whole French nation. "The Genius of Christianity" had been received with +acclamations by a people just recovering from the wild skepticism of the +Revolution. The reaction had taken place, the Goddess of Reason was +dethroned, and the burning words and vivid eloquence of Chāteaubriand +appealed at once to the heart and the imagination of his countrymen. +They did not criticise, they only admired. Politically he was also a +rising man. The world, or at least the French world, expected great +things from the writer of the pamphlet, "De Buonaparte et des Bourbons." +His manners were courtly and distinguished, and women especially +flattered and courted him. Their attentions fostered his natural vanity, +and his fancy, if not his heart, wandered from Madame Récamier, and she +knew it. The tables were turned: she who had been so passionately +beloved was now to feel some of the pangs she had all her life been +unconsciously inflicting. Wounded and jealous, she stooped to +reproaches. The following extracts from letters addressed to her by +Chāteaubriand while he was ambassador at London clearly betray the state +of her mind. + + "I will not ask you again for an explanation, since you will not + give it. I have written you by the last courier a letter which + ought to content you, if you still love me." + + * * * * * + + "Do not delude yourself with the idea that you can fly from me. I + will seek you everywhere. But if I go to the Congress, it will be + an occasion to put you to the proof. I shall see then if you keep + your promises." + + * * * * * + + "_Allons_,--I much prefer to understand your folly than to read + mysterious and angry notes. I comprehend now, or at least I think + I do. It is apparently that woman of whom the friend of the Queen + of Sweden has spoken to you. But, tell me, have I the means to + prevent Vernet, Mademoiselle Levert, who writes me declarations, + and thirty _artistes_, men and women, from coming to England in + order to get money? And if I have been culpable, do you think that + such fancies can do you the least injury, or take from you + anything which I have given you? You have been told a thousand + falsehoods. Herein I recognize my friends. But tranquillize + yourself: the lady leaves, and will never return to England. But + perhaps you would like me to remain here on that account: a very + useless precaution; for, whatever happens, Congress or no + Congress, I cannot live so long separated from you, and am + determined to see you at any cost." + +The letters from which we quote are very characteristic of their author. +While protesting eternal fidelity, and declaring his intention to +renounce the world and live but for Madame Récamier, he begs her at the +same time to use all her influence to get him sent to the approaching +Congress at Vienna as one of the French representatives,--an appointment +which would necessarily separate him still longer from her. "_Songez au +Congrčs_" is the refrain to all his poetical expressions of attachment. + +It is to be hoped that Madame Récamier did not perceive the +inconsistency of which he was totally unconscious. Though Chāteaubriand +was perpetually analyzing himself and his emotions, no man had less +self-knowledge. He was too much absorbed by his "self-study, +self-wonder, and self-worship," as one of his critics styles his +egotism, to be clear-sighted. He had generous impulses, but no uniform +generosity of heart; and while glorying in the few ostentatious +sacrifices he made to pet ideas, he had no perception of the nature of +self-sacrifice. Much, therefore, as he was gratified at the devotion of +a woman of Madame Récamier's position and influence, he did not value it +sufficiently to make any sacrifices to secure it, and consequently she +was continually annoyed and distressed. Her life was also embittered by +his political differences with Mathieu de Montmorency, to whom, by means +which can scarcely be deemed honorable, he had succeeded as Minister of +Foreign Affairs. The confidential friend of both parties, her position +was a very difficult one; but she was equal to the emergency. She +satisfied each, without being false to, or unmindful of, the interests +of either. + +But her relations to Chāteaubriand were fast becoming intolerable, and +she resolved to break her chains and leave Paris. He regarded this +resolution as a mere threat. "No," he wrote, "you have not bid farewell +to all earthly joys. If you go, you will return." She did go, however, +taking with her Ballanche and her adopted daughter, whose delicate +health was the ostensible cause of her departure. What it cost her to +leave Paris may well be conjectured, and nothing is more indicative of +her power of self-control than this voluntary withdrawal from a +companionship which fascinated while it tortured her. Chāteaubriand sent +letters after her full of protestations and upbraidings; but after a +while he wrote less frequently, and for a year they ceased to +correspond. To a friend who urged her to return Madame Récamier +wrote,--"If I return at present to Paris, I shall again meet with the +agitations that induced me to leave it. If Monsieur Chāteaubriand were +unhappy on my account, I should be grieved; if he were not, I should +have another trouble, which I am determined henceforth to avoid. I find +here diversion in art, and a support in religion which shall shelter me +from all these storms. It is painful to me to remain absent six months +longer from my friends; but it is better to make this sacrifice, and I +confess to you that I feel it to be necessary." + +There was much to make a stay in Italy attractive to Madame Récamier, if +she could have forgotten Chāteaubriand, Her old admirer, the Duc de +Laval, was ambassador at Rome, and put his horses and servants at her +disposal. She renewed her acquaintance with the celebrated Duchess of +Devonshire, (Lady Elizabeth Foster,) whose career was quite as singular +as her own, while it was more open to reproach. The Duchess was a +liberal patron of the fine arts, and the devoted friend of Cardinal +Gonsalvi, from the shock of whose death she never recovered. Madame +Récamier also found at Rome the Duchess of Saint-Leu, whom she had +slightly known when she was Queen of Holland. For political reasons it +was unwise for them to visit openly, so they contrived private and +romantic interviews. Their friendship seems to have been close and +sincere. Subsequently, Madame Récamier was able, through her political +influence, to serve Hortense in many ways. She also took an interest in +her son Louis Napoleon, and visited him in prison after his +unsuccessful attempt at Strasbourg, which kindness he afterwards +acknowledged in several notes preserved by Madame Lenormant. + +But while accepting all the diversions offered her by the pleasant +society at, Rome, Madame Récamier was not unmindful of Chāteaubriand. +She ordered from the artist Tenerani a bas-relief, the subject to be +taken from Chāteaubriand's poem of "The Martyrs." She wrote constantly +to her friends in Paris for intelligence respecting him, and watched his +course from afar with interest and anxiety. It was not one to +tranquillize her. He had quarrelled with the President of the Council, +Villčle; and being also personally disliked by the King, he was +peremptorily dismissed, and he bore this disgrace with neither dignity +nor composure. Turning his pen against the government, he did as much by +his persistent savage opposition, clothed as it was in the language of +superb invective, to bring about the final overthrow of the elder +Bourbon dynasty, as either the stupid arrogance of Charles X. or the +dogged tyranny of Polignac. Yet no man was more concerned and disgusted +than he was at the result of the Revolution of 1830. So far true to his +convictions, he refused office under Louis Philippe, priding himself +greatly on his allegiance to the exiled princes, when neither his +loyalty nor his services could be of any use. The truth is, that, though +Chāteaubriand was fond of meddling and making a noise, he had none of +the fundamental qualities of a statesman. By the inspiration of his +genius, he could seize the right moment for making a telling speech, or +he could promulgate in a pamphlet a striking truth, calculated to +electrify and convince. But he could not be calmly deliberate. Always +enthusiastic, he was never temperate. He was the slave of his +partialities and prejudices. Harriet Martineau, who for keen analysis +and nice discrimination of character has few equals among historians, +characterizes him as "the wordy Chāteaubriand," and Guizot says of him, +"It was his illusion to think himself the equal of the most consummate +statesmen, and his soul was filled with bitterness because men would not +admit him to be the rival of Napoleon as well as of Milton." It was this +bitterness with which Madame Récamier had to contend, for his literary +successes did not console him for his political disappointments, and his +temper, never very equable, was now more variable and uncertain. + +After an absence of eighteen months she returned to Paris. She apprised +Chāteaubriand of her arrival by a note. He came immediately to see her, +and was rapturous with delight. No word of reproach passed between them, +and he fell at once into his old habits. From this time his behavior was +respectful and devoted. Absence and his disappointments had taught him +the inestimable value of such a friend. She daily became more and more +necessary to him. After his resignation of the Roman embassy in 1829, +which had been secured to him through her instrumentality, he no longer +engaged actively in politics, and, deprived of the stimulus of ambition, +he looked to her for excitement. She encouraged his literary exertions, +drew him out from his fits of depression, and soothed his wounded +self-love. This was no light task; for Chāteaubriand's self-complacency +was not of that imperturbable sort which, however intolerable to others, +has at least the merit of keeping its possessor content and tranquil. +With him it partook more of the nature of egotism than of self-conceit, +and it therefore made him always restless and continually dissatisfied. +But no effort was too great for Madame Récamier's devotion. Her friends +looked upon her sacrifices with feelings of mingled regret and +admiration, but she herself was unconscious of them. They were simply a +labor of love; and much as her tranquillity must have been disturbed at +times by the caprices and exactions of this moody, melancholy man, she +was probably happy in being allowed to sacrifice herself. Of the +success of her efforts Sainte-Beuve thus gracefully speaks:--"Madame de +Maintenon was never more ingenious in amusing Louis XIV. than Madame +Récamier in interesting Chāteaubriand. 'I have always remarked,' said +Boileau, on returning from Versailles, 'that, when the conversation does +not turn on himself, the King directly gets tired, and is either ready +to yawn or to go away.' Every great poet, when he is growing old, is a +little like Louis XIV. in this respect. Madame Récamier had each day a +thousand pleasant contrivances to excite and flatter him. She assembled +from all quarters friends for him,--new admirers. She chained us all to +the feet of her idol with links of gold." + +One of her most successful efforts in amusing him was the reading of +"Les Mémoires d'Outre-Tombe" to a select and admiring audience at the +Abbaye. He first read them in private to Madame Récamier, who passed +judgment upon them, and they were then read aloud by M. Charles +Lenormant. This device worked like a charm; everybody applauded, and the +author was content. The personal interest attached to the chief parties +concerned, no doubt, made these readings very delightful. But it would +now be impossible for any reader to be enthusiastic about the Memoirs +themselves. Out of France it would be difficult to find a more +egotistical piece of self-portraiture. Chāteaubriand is not quite so +ostentatious in his egotism as the Prince de Ligne, who headed the +chapters in his "Mémoires et Mélanges," "De moi pendant le jour," "De +moi pendant la nuit," "De moi encore," "Mémoirs pour mon coeur"; still +he parades himself on every possible occasion, and not always to his own +advantage. His conduct in passing himself off as a single man in an +English family who were kind to him during his exile, thereby engaging +the daughter's affections, is entirely inexcusable. That a person of +Madame Récamier's good judgment did not perceive the discredit that must +attach to such revelations is only to be accounted for by supposing her +blind to Chāteaubriand's follies. But with all her partiality, it is +still surprising that she should have given her sanction to his +deliberate and cold analysis of the character of his parents, and his +equally heartless and selfish reflections on his marriage. + +Chāteaubriand married simply to please his sisters, feeling that he "had +none of the qualifications of a husband," and for years he seemed +entirely oblivious of his wife's existence. After he gave up his +wandering life, and became distinguished, he treated her with more +consideration. Madame de Chāteaubriand was a pretty, delicate woman, of +quick natural intelligence. M. Danielo, Chāteaubriand's secretary, has +written an interesting sketch of her, which is affixed to her husband's +memoirs. She was a person of eccentric habits, but of a warm heart and +lively sensibilities, and was devoted to her religious duties and the +Infirmary of Maria Theresa. She professed a great contempt for +literature, and asserted that she had never read a line of her husband's +works; but this was regarded as an affectation. Madame de Chāteaubriand +was not an amiable person, but very frank and sincere. She often +reproached herself for her faults and love of contradiction. Though she +appears to have loved her husband, she was not blind to his weaknesses, +and he was afraid of her sallies. So vain and sensitive a man could not +feel comfortable in the society of a woman of her keen penetration, and +her wit was not always tempered by discretion. Madame Récamier gained by +the contrast. She believed in him, and "there are few things so +pleasant," says a writer in Fraser, "as to have a woman at hand that +believes in you." Madame Récamier's insight never disturbed +Chāteaubriand, for it was of the heart, not of the intellect. It was not +a critical analysis that probes and dissects, but a sympathy that +cheered and tranquillized. There could be but little in common between +two such women, though they were on friendly terms; and when +Chāteaubriand left his wife in Paris, he always commended her to Madame +Récamier's care. On one occasion he writes,--"I must again request you +to go and see Madame de Chāteaubriand, who complains that she has not +seen you. What would you have? Since you have become associated in my +life, it is necessary to share it fully." + +There is nothing to indicate Madame Récamier's sentiments toward the +wife of her friend, except a significant passage in one of +Chāteaubriand's letters:--"Your judgments are very severe on the Rue du +Bac.[D] But think of the difference of habit. If you look upon her +occupations as trifles, she may on her side think the same with regard +to yours. It is only necessary to change the point of view." + +Madame de Chāteaubriand died in February, 1847, from the effects of +dieting. A few months after her death her husband offered himself in +marriage to Madame Récamier, who rejected him. "Why should we marry?" +she said. "There can be no impropriety in my taking care of you at our +age. If you find solitude oppressive, I am willing to live with you. The +world, I am confident, will do justice to the purity of our friendship, +and sanction all my efforts to render your old age comfortable and +happy. If we were younger, I would not hesitate,--I would accept with +joy the right to consecrate my life to you. Tears and blindness have +given me that right. Let us change nothing." + +We have heard this refusal of Madame Récamier's urged as a proof that +she did not love Chāteaubriand; but when we consider their respective +ages at the time, this objection has little weight. Chāteaubriand was +seventy-nine; Madame Récamier seventy. The former was tottering on the +brink of the grave. He had lost the use of his limbs, and his mind was +visibly failing. Madame Récamier was keenly sensible of the decay of his +faculties, though she succeeded so well in concealing the fact from +others that few of the habitual visitors at the Abbaye recognized its +extent. The reason she gave to her friends for refusing him was +undoubtedly the true one. She said that his daily visit to her was his +only diversion, and he would lose that, if she married him. + +The record of these last years of Madame Récamier's life is +inexpressibly touching, telling as it does of self-denial, patient +suffering, and silent devotion. To avert the blindness which was +gradually stealing upon her, she submitted to an operation, which might +have been successful, had she obeyed the injunctions of her physicians. +But Ballanche lay dying in the opposite house, and, true to the noble +instincts of her heart, she could not let the friend who had loved her +so long and well die alone. She crossed the street, and took her place +by his bedside, thus sealing her own fate, for all hopes of recovering +her sight were lost. Her health also was extremely delicate; but, much +as she needed quiet and repose, she kept up her relations with society +and held her receptions for Chāteaubriand's sake. But both their lives +were fast approaching to a close. Chāteaubriand died on the 4th of July, +1848. For some time before his death he was speechless, but kept his +dying eyes fixed upon Madame Récamier. She could not see him, and this +dark, dreary silence filled her soul with despair. + +Madame Récamier shed no tears over her loss, and uttered no +lamentations. She received the condolences of her friends with +gratitude, and strove to interest herself in their pursuits. But a +deadly paleness, which never left her, spread over her face, and "the +sad smile on her lips was heart-breaking." Sightless and sad, it was +time for her to die. Madame de Staėl and Montmorency, the friends of her +youth, had long since departed. Ballanche was gone, and now +Chāteaubriand. She survived the latter only eleven months. Stricken with +cholera the following summer, her illness was short, but severe, and her +last words to Madame Lenormant, who bent over her, were, "_Nous nous +reverrons,--nous nous reverrons_." + +So impalpable was the attraction that brought the world to the feet of +Madame Récamier that it is interesting to analyze it. It did not lie in +her beauty and wealth alone; for she lost the one, while time blighted +the other. Nor was it due to power of will; for she was not great +intellectually. And had she been a person of strong convictions, she +would never have been so universally popular. As it was, she pleased +equally persons of every shade of opinion and principle. Her instinctive +coquetry can partly account for her sway over men, but not over women. +What, then, was the secret of her influence? It lay in the subtile power +of a marvellous tact. This tact had its roots deep in her nature. It was +part and parcel of herself, the distinguishing trait in a rare +combination of qualities. Though nurtured and ripened by experience, it +was not the offspring of art. It was an effect, not a cause,--not simply +the result of an intense desire to please, regulated by a fine intuitive +perception, but of higher, finer characteristics, such as natural +sweetness of temper, kindness of heart, and forgetfulness of self. Her +successes were the triumph of impulse rather than of design. In order to +please she did not study character, she divined it. Keenly alive to +outward influences, and losing in part her own personality when coming +in contact with that of others, she readily adapted herself to their +moods,--and her apprehension was quick, if not profound. It is always +gratifying to feel one's self understood, and every person who talked +with Madame Récamier enjoyed this pleasant consciousness. No one felt a +humiliating sense of inferiority in her presence, and this was owing as +much to the character of her intellect as to her tact. Partial friends +detected genius in her conversation and letters, and tried to excite her +to literary effort; but other and stronger evidence forces us to look +upon such praise as mere delicate flattery. A woman more beautiful than +gifted was far more likely to be gratified by a compliment to her +intellect than to her personal charms, as Madame de Staėl was more +delighted at an allusion to the beauty of her neck and arms than to the +merits of "L'Allemagne" or "Corinne." But if Madame Récamier did not +possess genius, she had unerring instincts which stood her in lieu of +it, and her mind, if not original, was appreciative. The genuine +admiration she felt for her literary friends stimulated as well as +gratified them. She drew them out, and, dazzled by their own brilliancy, +they gave her credit for thoughts which were in reality their own. To +this faculty of intelligent appreciation was joined another still more +captivating. She was a good listener. "_Bien écouter c'est presque +répondre_," quotes Jean Paul from Marivaux, and Sainte-Beuve said of +Madame Récamier that she listened "_avec séduction_." She was also an +extremely indulgent and charitable person, and was severe neither on the +faults nor on the foibles of others. "No one knew so well as she how to +spread balm on the wounds that are never acknowledged, how to calm and +exorcise the bitterness of rivalry or literary animosity. For moral +chagrins and imaginary sorrows, which are so intense in some natures, +she was, _par excellence_, the Sister of Charity." The repose of her +manner made this sympathy more effective. Hers was not a stormy nature, +but calm and equable. If she had emotion to master, it was mastered in +secret, and not a ripple on the surface betrayed the agitation beneath. +She had no nervous likes or dislikes, no changeful humors, few unequal +moods. She did not sparkle and then die out. The fire was always kindled +on the hearth, the lamp serenely burning. Some women charm by their +mutability; she attracted by her uniformity. But in her uniformity there +was no monotony. Like the continuous murmur of a brook, it gladdened as +well as soothed. + +It was probably these sweet womanly qualities, together with the +meekness with which she bore her honors, that endeared her to her +feminine friends. All her life had been a series of triumphs, which were +not won by any conscious effort on her part, but were spontaneous gifts +of fortune,-- + + "As though a shower of fairy wreaths + Had fallen upon her from the sky." + +Yet her manner was entirely free from pretension or self-assertion. + +It is not one of the least remarkable things about Madame Récamier, that +one who had been so petted from childhood, so exposed to pernicious +influences, should have continued unspoiled by adulation, uncorrupted by +example. The gay life she led was calculated to make her selfish and +arrogant, yet she was to an eminent degree self-sacrificing and gentle. +Constant in her affections, she never lost a friend through waywardness, +or alienated any by indifference. It has been prettily said of her, that +she brought the art of friendship to perfection. Coquettish she +was,--seldom capricious. Her coquetry was owing more to an instinctive +desire to please than to any systematic attempt to swell the list of her +conquests. She had received the gift of fascination at her birth: and +can a woman be fascinating who has not a touch of coquetry? It was as +natural in Madame Récamier to charm as it was to breathe. It was a +necessity of her nature, which her unnatural position developed and +fostered to a reprehensible extent. But while she permitted herself to +be loved, and rejoiced in the consciousness of this power, she never +carried her flirtations so far as to lose her own self-respect or the +respect of her admirers. She was ever dignified and circumspect, though +gracious and captivating. To most of her lovers, therefore, she was more +a goddess whom they worshipped than a woman whom they loved. Ballanche +compared her to the solitary phoenix, nourished by perfumes, and +living in the purest regions of the air,-- + + "Who sings to the last his own death-lay, + And in music and perfume dies away." + +It is a singular fact, that the men who began by loving her passionately +usually ended by becoming her true friends. Still there were exceptions +to this rule, exceptions which her biographer does not care to dwell +upon, but which the more candid Sainte-Beuve acknowledges, giving as his +authority Madame Récamier, who was fond of talking over the past with +her new friends. "'_C'est une maničre_,' disait-elle, '_de mettre du +passé devant l'amitié_.'" The subtile and piquant critic cannot resist +saying, in regard to these reminiscences, that "_elle se souvenait avec +goūt_." Still, pleasant as her recollections were, she often looked back +self-reproachfully upon passages of her youth; and Sainte-Beuve, though +he calls her coquetry "_une coquetterie angelique_," recognizes it as a +blemish. "She, who was so good, brought sorrow to many hearts, not only +to indignant and soured men, but to poor feminine rivals, whom she +sacrificed and wounded without knowing it. It is the dark side of her +life, which she lived to comprehend." + +This "dark side" suggests itself. It is impossible to read the record of +Madame Récamier's conquests without thinking of women slighted and +neglected for her sake. The greater number of her admirers were married +men. That their wives did not hate this all-conquering woman is strange +indeed; that they witnessed her triumphs unmoved is scarcely credible. +For, while French society allows great laxity in such matters, and a +domestic husband, as we understand the term, is a rarity, still French +wives, we imagine, differ very little from other women in wishing to be +considered a first object. Public desertion is rarely relished even +where there is no affection to be wounded, for it is not necessary to +love to be jealous. But whatever heart-aches and jealousies were caused +by Madame Récamier's conquests, they do not appear on the surface. In +her voluminous correspondence we find tender letters from husbands side +by side with friendly notes from their wives. Her biographer parades the +latter with some ostentation, as a proof of the friendship these women +entertained for Madame Récamier. That they respected her is evident; +that they loved her is not so apparent. Mere complimentary notes prove +but little. He must be but a superficial judge of life who draws decided +conclusions simply from appearances. Madame Lucien Bonaparte might +invite Madame Récamier to her _fźtes_; but the consciousness that all +her world knew that her husband was _épris_ with her beautiful guest did +not tend to make her cordial at heart. Madame Moreau, young and lovely, +might visit her intimately, and even cherish friendship for her; but she +could scarcely be an indifferent spectator, when the great General +demanded a white ribbon from her friend's dress as a favor, and +afterward wrote to her that he had worn it in every battle, and that it +had been the talisman that led him on to victory. Nor is it probable +that Madame de Montmorency and Madame de Chāteaubriand, unloved wives, +saw without a pang another woman possess the influence which they +exerted in vain. But, if they suffered, it was in secret; and, moreover, +they did justice to the character of their rival. Madame Récamier's +reputation was compromised neither in their eyes nor in the eyes of the +world. Society is seldom just to any woman whose career in life is +exceptional; but to her it was not only just, but indulgent. When we +reflect upon her peculiar position, so exposed to injurious suspicions, +the doubtful reputation of some of her associates, the character for +gallantry possessed by many of her avowed admirers, it seems scarcely +possible that she should have escaped calumny. The few scandals caused +by some of her early indiscretions were soon dissipated, and she lived +down all unpleasant rumors. She, indeed, seemed to possess some +talisman, as potent as the magic ring that bewitched King Charlemagne, +by whose spell she disarmed envy and silenced detraction. This attaching +power she exercised on every person who came within the sphere of her +influence. Even the gossiping Duchess D'Abrantes has only words of +respectful admiration for her. The preconceived prejudices of Madame +Swetchine, whom Miss Muloch numbers among her "Good Women," vanished at +a first interview. She wrote to her,--"I found myself a captive before I +dreamt of defending myself. I yielded at once to that penetrating and +undefinable charm which you exert even over those persons to whom you +are indifferent." Madame de Genlis, equally prejudiced, was alike +subdued. She made Madame Récamier the heroine of a novel, and addressed +letters to her full of affectionate admiration and extravagant flattery. +"You are one of the phenomena of the age," she writes, "and certainly +the most amiable.... You can look back upon the past without remorse. At +any age this is the most beautiful of privileges, but at our time of +life it is invaluable." Madame Lenormant, even more enthusiastic, calls +her a saint, which she certainly was not, but a gracious woman of the +world. Some acts of her life it is impossible to defend. They tarnish +the lustre of an otherwise irreproachable career. Still, when we think +of the low tone of morals prevalent in her youth, together with her many +and great temptations, it is surprising that she should have preserved +her purity of heart, and earned the respect and love of the best and +wisest of her contemporaries. No woman has ever received more universal +and uniform homage, or has been more deeply lamented. Her death left a +void in French society that has never been filled. The _salon_, which, +from its origin in the seventeenth century, was so vital an element in +Paris life, no longer exists. That of the Hōtel de Rambouillet was the +first; that of the Abbaye-aux-Bois the last. "_On se réunit encore, on +donne des fźtes splendides, on ne cause plus_." + + * * * * * + +THE WELLFLEET OYSTERMAN. + + +Having walked about eight miles since we struck the beach, and passed +the boundary between Wellfleet and Truro, a stone post in the sand,--for +even this sand comes under the jurisdiction of one town or another,--we +turned inland over barren hills and valleys, whither the sea, for some +reason, did not follow us, and, tracing up a hollow, discovered two or +three sober-looking houses within half a mile, uncommonly near the +eastern coast. Their garrets were apparently so full of chambers that +their roofs could hardly lie down straight, and we did not doubt that +there was room for us there. Houses near the sea are generally low and +broad. These were a story and a half high; but if you merely counted the +windows in their gable-ends, you would think that there were many +stories more, or, at any rate, that the half-story was the only one +thought worthy of being illustrated. The great number of windows in the +ends of the houses, and their irregularity in size and position, here +and elsewhere on the Cape, struck us agreeably,--as if each of the +various occupants who had their _cunabula_ behind had punched a hole +where his necessities required it, and according to his size and +stature, without regard to outside effect. There were windows for the +grown folks, and windows for the children,--three or four apiece: as a +certain man had a large hole cut in his barn-door for the cat, and +another smaller one for the kitten. Sometimes they were so low under the +eaves that I thought they must have perforated the plate-beam for +another apartment, and I noticed some which were triangular, to fit that +part more exactly. The ends of the houses had thus as many muzzles as a +revolver; and if the inhabitants have the same habit of staring out of +the windows that some of our neighbors have, a traveller must stand a +small chance with them. + +Generally, the old-fashioned and unpainted houses on the Cape looked +more comfortable, as well as picturesque, than the modern and more +pretending ones, which were less in harmony with the scenery, and less +firmly planted. + +These houses were on the shores of a chain of ponds, seven in number, +the source of a small stream called Herring River, which empties into +the Bay. There are many Herring Rivers on the Cape: they will, perhaps, +be more numerous than herrings soon. We knocked at the door of the first +house, but its inhabitants were all gone away. In the mean while we saw +the occupants of the next one looking out of the window at us, and +before we reached it an old woman came out and fastened the door of her +bulkhead, and went in again. Nevertheless, we did not hesitate to knock +at her door, when a grizzly-looking man appeared, whom we took to be +sixty or seventy years old. He asked us, at first, suspiciously, where +we were from, and what our business was; to which we returned plain +answers. + +"How far is Concord from Boston?" he inquired. + +"Twenty miles by railroad." + +"Twenty miles by railroad," he repeated. + +"Didn't you ever hear of Concord of Revolutionary fame?" + +"Didn't I ever hear of Concord? Why, I heard the guns fire at the Battle +of Bunker Hill." (They hear the sound of heavy cannon across the Bay.) +"I am almost ninety: I am eighty-eight year old. I was fourteen year old +at the time of Concord Fight,--and where were you then?" + +We were obliged to confess that we were not in the fight. + +"Well, walk in, we'll leave it to the women," said he. + +So we walked in, surprised, and sat down, an old woman taking our hats +and bundles, and the old man continued, drawing up to the large, +old-fashioned fireplace,-- + +"I am a poor good-for-nothing crittur, as Isaiah says; I am all broken +down this year. I am under petticoat-government here." + +The family consisted of the old man, his wife, and his daughter, who +appeared nearly as old as her mother,--a fool, her son, (a +brutish-looking, middle-aged man, with a prominent lower face, who was +standing by the hearth when we entered, but immediately went out,) and a +little boy of ten. + +While my companion talked with the women, I talked to the old man. They +said that he was old and foolish, but he was evidently too knowing for +them. + +"These women," said he to me, "are both of them poor good-for-nothing +critturs. This one is my wife. I married her sixty-four years ago. She +is eighty-four years old, and as deaf as an adder, and the other is not +much better." + +He thought well of the Bible,--or at least he _spoke_ well, and did not +_think_ ill, of it, for that would not have been prudent for a man of +his age. He said that he had read it attentively for many years, and he +had much of it at his tongue's end. He seemed deeply impressed with a +sense of his own nothingness, and would repeatedly exclaim,-- + +"I am a nothing. What I gather from my Bible is just this: that man is a +poor good-for-nothing crittur, and everything is just as God sees fit +and disposes." + +"May I ask your name?" I said. + +"Yes," he answered,--"I am not ashamed to tell my name. My name is ----. +My great-grandfather came over from England and settled here." + +He was an old Wellfleet oysterman, who had acquired a competency in that +business, and had sons still engaged in it. + +Nearly all the oyster-shops and stands in Massachusetts, I am told, are +supplied and kept by natives of Wellfleet, and a part of this town is +still called Billingsgate, from the oysters having been formerly planted +there; but the native oysters are said to have died in 1770. Various +causes are assigned for this, such as a ground frost, the carcasses of +black-fish kept to rot in the harbor, and the like; but the most common +account of the matter is,--and I find that a similar superstition with +regard to the disappearance of fishes exists almost everywhere,--that, +when Wellfleet began to quarrel with the neighboring towns about the +right to gather them, yellow specks appeared in them, and Providence +caused them to disappear. A few years ago sixty thousand bushels were +annually brought from the South and planted in the harbor of Wellfleet +till they attained "the proper relish of Billingsgate"; but now they are +imported commonly full-grown, and laid down near their markets, at +Boston and elsewhere, where the water, being a mixture of salt and +fresh, suits them better. The business was said to be still good and +improving. + +The old man said that the oysters were liable to freeze in the winter, +if planted too high; but if it were not "so cold as to strain their +eyes," they were not injured. The inhabitants of New Brunswick have +noticed that "ice will not form over an oyster-bed, unless the cold is +very intense indeed; and when the bays are frozen over, the oyster-beds +are easily discovered by the water above them remaining unfrozen, or, as +the French residents say, _degčle_." Our host said that they kept them +in cellars all winter. + +"Without anything to eat or drink?" I asked. + +"Without anything to eat or drink," he answered. + +"Can the oysters move?" + +"Just as much as my shoe." + +But when I caught him saying that they "bedded themselves down in the +sand, flat side up, round side down," I told him that my shoe could not +do that, without the aid of my foot in it; at which he said that they +merely settled down as they grew; if put down in a square, they would be +found so; but the clam could move quite fast. I have since been told by +oystermen of Long Island, where the oyster is still indigenous and +abundant, that they are found in large masses attached to the parent in +their midst, and are so taken up with their tongs; in which case, they +say, the age of the young proves that there could have been no motion +for five or six years at least. And Buckland, in his "Curiosities of +Natural History," (page 50,) says,--"An oyster, who has once taken up +his position and fixed himself when quite young, can never make a +change. Oysters, nevertheless, that have not fixed themselves, but +remain loose at the bottom of the sea, have the power of locomotion; +they open their shells to their fullest extent, and then suddenly +contracting them, the expulsion of the water forwards gives a motion +backwards. A fisherman at Guernsey told me that he had frequently seen +oysters moving in this way." + +Some still entertain the question whether the oyster was indigenous in +Massachusetts Bay, and whether Wellfleet Harbor was a natural habitat of +this fish; but, to say nothing of the testimony of old oystermen, which, +I think, is quite conclusive, though the native oyster may now be +extinct there, I saw that their shells, opened by the Indians, were +strewn all over the Cape. Indeed, the Cape was at first thickly settled +by Indians on account of the abundance of these and other fish. We saw +many traces of their occupancy, after this, in Truro, near Great Hollow, +and at High-Head, near East-Harbor River,--oysters, clams, cockles, and +other shells, mingled with ashes and the bones of deer and other +quadrupeds. I picked up half a dozen arrow-heads, and in an hour or two +could have filled my pockets with them. The Indians lived about the +edges of the swamps, then probably in some instances ponds, for shelter +and water. Moreover, Champlain, in the edition of his "Voyages" printed +in 1613, says that in the year 1606 he and Poitrincourt explored a +harbor (Barnstable Harbor?) in the southerly part of what is now called +Massachusetts Bay, in latitude 42°, about five leagues south, one point +west of _Cap Blanc_, (Cape Cod,) and there they found many good oysters, +and they named it _Le Port aux Huistres_ (Oyster-Harbor). In one edition +of his map, (1632,) the "_R. aux Escailles_" is drawn emptying into the +same part of the Bay, and on the map "_Novi Belgii_" in Ogilby's +"America," (1670,) the words "_Port aux Huistres_" are set against the +same place. Also William Wood, who left New England in 1633, speaks, in +his "New England's Prospect," published in 1634, of "a great +oyster-bank" in Charles River, and of another in the Mystic, each of +which obstructed the navigation. "The oysters," he says, "be great ones, +in form of a shoe-horn; some be a foot long; these breed on certain +banks that are bare every spring-tide. This fish without the shell is so +big that it must admit of a division before you can well get it into +your mouth." Oysters are still found there. (See, also, Thomas Morton's +"New English Canaan," page 90.) + +Our host told us that the sea-clam, or hen, was not easily obtained; it +was raked up, but never on the Atlantic side, only cast ashore there in +small quantities in storms. The fisherman sometimes wades in water +several feet deep, and thrusts a pointed stick into the sand before him. +When this enters between the valves of a clam, he closes them on it, and +is drawn out. The clam has been known to catch and hold coot and teal +which were preying on it. I chanced to be on the bank of the Acushnet at +New Bedford one day, watching some ducks, when a man informed me, that, +having let out his young ducks to seek their food amid the samphire +(_Salicornia_) and other weeds along the river-side at low tide that +morning, at length he noticed that one remained stationary amid the +weeds, something preventing it from following the others, and on going +to it he found its foot tightly shut in a quahaug'a shell. He took up +both together, carried them home, and his wife, opening the shell with +a knife, released the duck and cooked the quahaug. The old man said that +the great clams were good to eat, but that they always took out a +certain part, which was poisonous, before cooking them. "People said it +would kill a cat." I did not tell him that I had eaten a large one +entire that afternoon, but began to think that I was tougher than a cat. +He stated that peddlers came round there, and sometimes tried to sell +the women-folks a skimmer, but he told them that their women had got a +better skimmer than _they_ could make, in the shell of their clams; it +was shaped just right for this purpose. They call them "skim-alls" in +some places. He also said that the sun-squawl was poisonous to handle, +and when the sailors came across it, they did not meddle with it, but +hove it out of their way. I told him that I had handled it that +afternoon, and had felt no ill effects as yet. But he said it made the +hands itch, especially if they had previously been scratched,--or if I +put it into my bosom, I should find out what it was. + +He informed us that ice never formed on the back side of the Cape, or +not more than once in a century, and but little snow lay there, it being +either absorbed or blown or washed away. Sometimes in winter, when the +tide was down, the beach was frozen, and afforded a hard road up the +back side for some thirty miles, as smooth as a floor. One winter, when +he was a boy, he and his father "took right out into the back side +before daylight, and walked to Provincetown and back to dinner." + +When I asked what they did with all that barren-looking land, where I +saw so few cultivated fields,-- + +"Nothing," he said. + +"Then why fence your fields?" + +"To keep the sand from blowing and covering up the whole." + +"The yellow sand," said he, "has some life in it, but the white little +or none." + +When, in answer to his questions, I told him that I was a surveyor, he +said that those who surveyed his farm were accustomed, where the ground +was uneven, to loop up each chain as high as their elbows; that was the +allowance they made, and he wished to know if I could tell him why they +did not come out according to his deed, or twice alike. He seemed to +have more respect for surveyors of the old school, which I did not +wonder at. "King George the Third," said he, "laid out a road four rods +wide and straight the whole length of the Cape"; but where it was now he +could not tell. + +This story of the surveyors reminded me of a Long-Islander, who once, +when I had made ready to jump from the bow of his boat to the shore, and +he thought that I underrated the distance and would fall short,--though +I found afterward that he judged of the elasticity of my joints by his +own,--told me, that, when he came to a brook which he wanted to get +over, he held up one leg, and then, if his foot appeared to cover any +part of the opposite bank, he knew that he could jump it. "Why," I told +him, "to say nothing of the Mississippi, and other small watery streams, +I could blot out a star with my foot, but I would not engage to jump +that distance," and asked how he knew when he had got his leg at the +right elevation. But he regarded his legs as no less accurate than a +pair of screw-dividers or an ordinary quadrant, and appeared to have a +painful recollection of every degree and minute in the arc which they +described; and he would have had me believe that there was a kind of +hitch in his hip-joint which answered the purpose. I suggested that he +should connect his two ankles by a string of the proper length, which +should be the chord of an arc measuring his jumping ability on +horizontal surfaces,--assuming one leg to be a perpendicular to the +plane of the horizon, which, however, may have been too bold an +assumption in this case. Nevertheless, this was a kind of geometry in +the legs which it interested me to hear of. + +Our host took pleasure in telling us the names of the ponds, most of +which we could see from his windows, and making us repeat them after +him, to see if we had got them right. They were Gull Pond, (the largest +and a very handsome one, clear and deep, and more than a mile in +circumference,) Newcomb's, Swett's, Slough, Horse-Leech, Round, and +Herring Ponds,--all connected at high-water, if I do not mistake. The +coast-surveyors had come to him for their names, and he told them of one +which they had not detected. He said that they were not so high as +formerly. There was an earthquake about four years before he was born, +which cracked the pans of the ponds, which were of iron, and caused them +to settle. I did not remember to have read of this. Innumerable gulls +used to resort to them; but the large gulls were now very scarce, for, +as he said, the English robbed their nests far in the North, where they +breed. He remembered well when gulls were taken in the gull-house, and +when small birds were killed by means of a frying-pan and fire at night. +His father once lost a valuable horse from this cause. A party from +Wellfleet having lighted their fire for this purpose, one dark night, on +Billingsgate Island, twenty horses which were pastured there, and this +colt among them, being frightened by it, and endeavoring in the dark to +cross the passage which separated them from the neighboring beach, and +which was then fordable at low tide, were all swept out to sea and +drowned. I observed that many horses were still turned out to pasture +all summer on the islands and beaches in Wellfleet, Eastham, and +Orleans, as a kind of common. He also described the killing of what he +called "wild hens" here, after they had gone to roost in the woods, when +he was a boy. Perhaps they were "Prairie hens" (pinnated grouse). + +He liked the beach pea, (_Lathyrus maritimus_,) cooked green, as well as +the cultivated. He had seen them growing very abundantly in +Newfoundland, where also the inhabitants ate them, but he had never been +able to obtain any ripe for seed. We read, under the head of Chatham, +that, "in 1555, during a time of great scarcity, the people about +Orford, in Sussex (England) were preserved from perishing by eating the +seeds of this plant, which grew there in great abundance on the +sea-coast. Cows, horses, sheep, and goats eat it." But the writer who +quoted this could not learn that they had ever been used in Barnstable +County. + +He had been a voyager, then? + +Oh, he had been about the world in his day. He once considered himself a +pilot for all our coast; but now, they had changed the names so, he +might be bothered. + +He gave us to taste what he called the Summer Sweeting, a pleasant apple +which he raised, and frequently grafted from, but had never seen growing +elsewhere, except once,--three trees on Newfoundland, or at the Bay of +Chaleur, I forget which, as he was sailing by. He was sure that he could +tell the tree at a distance. + +At length the fool, whom my companion called the wizard, came in, +muttering between his teeth, "Damn book-peddlers,--all the time talking +about books. Better do something. Damn 'em, I'll shoot 'em. Got a doctor +down here. Damn him, I'll get a gun and shoot him"; never once holding +up his head. Whereat the old man stood up and said in a loud voice, as +if he were accustomed to command, and this was not the first time he had +been obliged to exert his authority there,--"John, go sit down, mind +your business,--we've heard you talk before,--precious little you'll +do,--your bark is worse than your bite." But, without minding, John +muttered the same gibberish over again, and then sat down at the table +which the old folks had left. He ate all there was on it, and then +turned to the apples which his aged mother was paring, that she might +give her guests some apple-sauce for breakfast; but she drew them away, +and sent him off. + +When I approached this house the next summer, over the desolate hills +between it and the shore, which are worthy to have been the birthplace +of Ossian, I saw the wizard in the midst of a cornfield on the +hillside, but, as usual, he loomed so strangely that I mistook him for a +scarecrow. + +This was the merriest old man that we had ever seen, and one of the +best-preserved. His style of conversation was coarse and plain enough to +have suited Rabelais. He would have made a good Panurge. Or rather he +was a sober Silenus, and we were the boys Chromis and Mnasilus who +listened to his story. + + "Not by Hęmonian hills the Thracian bard, + Nor awful Phoebus was on Pindus heard + With deeper silence or with more regard." + +There was a strange mingling of past and present in his conversation, +for he had lived under King George, and might have remembered when +Napoleon and the moderns generally were born. He said that one day, when +the troubles between the Colonies and the mother-country first broke +out, as he, a boy of fifteen, was pitching hay out of a cart, one Doane, +an old Tory, who was talking with his father, a good Whig, said to him, +"Why, Uncle Bill, you might as well undertake to pitch that pond into +the ocean with a pitchfork as for the Colonies to undertake to gain +their independence." He remembered well General Washington, and how he +rode his horse along the streets of Boston, and he stood up to show us +how he looked. + +"He was a r-a-ther large and portly-looking man, a manly and +resolute-looking officer, with a pretty good leg, as he sat on his +horse.--There, I'll tell you, this was the way with Washington." Then he +jumped up again, and bowed gracefully to right and left, making show as +if he were waving his hat. Said he, "_That_ was Washington." + +He told us many anecdotes of the Revolution, and was much pleased when +we told him that we had read the same in history, and that his account +agreed with the written. + +"Oh," he said, "I know, I know! I was a young fellow of sixteen, with my +ears wide open; and a fellow of that age, you know, is pretty wide +awake, and likes to know everything that's going on. Oh, I know!" + +He told us the story of the wreck of the Franklin, which took place +there the previous spring: how a boy came to his house early in the +morning to know whose boat that was by the shore, for there was a vessel +in distress; and he, being an old man, first ate his breakfast, and then +walked over to the top of the hill by the shore, and sat down there, +having found a comfortable seat, to see the ship wrecked. She was on the +bar, only a quarter of a mile from him, and still nearer to the men on +the beach, who had got a boat ready, but could render no assistance on +account of the breakers, for there was a pretty high sea running. There +were the passengers all crowded together in the forward part of the +ship, and some were getting out of the cabin-windows and were drawn on +deck by the others. + +"I saw the captain get out his boat," said he; "he had one little one; +and then they jumped into it, one after another, down as straight as an +arrow. I counted them. There were nine. One was a woman, and she jumped +as straight as any of them. Then they shoved off. The sea took them +back, one wave went over them, and when they came up there were six +still clinging to the boat: I counted them. The next wave turned the +boat bottom upward, and emptied them all out. None of them ever came +ashore alive. There were the rest of them all crowded together on the +forecastle, the other parts of the ship being under water. They had seen +all that happened to the boat. At length a heavy sea separated the +forecastle from the rest of the wreck, and set it inside of the worst +breaker, and the boat was able to reach them, and it saved all that were +left, but one woman." + +He also told us of the steamer Cambria's getting aground on his shore a +few months before we were there, and of her English passengers who +roamed over his grounds, and who, he said, thought the prospect from the +high hill by the shore "the most delightsome they had ever seen," and +also of the pranks which the ladies played with his scoop-net in the +ponds. He spoke of these travellers, with their purses full of guineas, +just as our Provincial fathers used to speak of British bloods in the +time of King George III. + +_Quid loquar?_ Why repeat what he told us? + + "Aut Scyllam Nisi, quam fama secuta est, + Candida succinctam latrantibus inguina monstris, + Dulichias vexāsse rates, et gurgite in alto + Ah timidos nautas canibus lacerāsse marinis?" + +In the course of the evening I began to feel the potency of the clam +which I had eaten, and I was obliged to confess to our host that I was +no tougher than the cat he told of; but he answered, that he was a +plain-spoken man, and he could tell me that it was all imagination. At +any rate, it proved an emetic in my case, and I was made quite sick by +it for a short time, while he laughed at my expense. I was pleased to +read afterward, in Mourt's Relation of the Landing of the Pilgrims in +Provincetown Harbor, these words:--"We found great muscles," (the old +editor says that they were undoubtedly sea-clams,) "and very fat and +full of sea-pearl; but we could not eat them, for they made us all sick +that did eat, as well sailors as passengers, ... but they were soon well +again." It brought me nearer to the Pilgrims to be thus reminded by a +similar experience that I was so like them. Moreover, it was a valuable +confirmation of their story, and I am prepared now to believe every word +of Mourt's "Relation." I was also pleased to find that man and the clam +lay still at the same angle to one another. But I did not notice +sea-pearl. Like Cleopatra, I must have swallowed it. I have since dug +these clams on a flat in the Bay, and observed them. They could squirt +full ten feet before the wind, as appeared by the marks of the drops on +the sand. + +"Now I am going to ask you a question," said the old man, "and I don't +know as you can tell me; but you are a learned man, and I never had any +learning, only what I got by natur."--It was in vain that we reminded +him that he could quote Josephus to our confusion.--"I've thought, if I +ever met a learned man, I should like to ask him this question. Can you +tell me how _Axy_ is spelt, and what it means? _Axy_," says he; "there's +a girl over here is named _Axy_. Now what is it? What does it mean? Is +it Scriptur? I've read my Bible twenty-five years over and over, and I +never came across it." + +"Did you read it twenty-five years for this object?" I asked. + +"Well, _how_ is it spelt? Wife, how is it spelt?" + +She said,--"It is in the Bible; I've seen it." + +"Well, how do you spell it?" + +"I don't know. A c h, ach, s e h, seh,--Achseh." + +"Does that spell Axy? Well, do _you_ know what it means?" asked he, +turning to me. + +"No," I replied,--"I never heard the sound before." + +"There was a schoolmaster down here once, and they asked him what it +meant, and he said it had no more meaning than a bean-pole." + +I told him that I held the same opinion with the schoolmaster. I had +been a schoolmaster myself, and had had strange names to deal with. I +also heard of such names as Zoheth, Beriah, Amaziah, Bethuel, and +Shearjashub, hereabouts. + +At length the little boy, who had a seat quite in the chimney-corner, +took off his stockings and shoes, warmed his feet, and went off to bed; +then the fool followed him; and finally the old man. He proceeded to +make preparations for retiring, discoursing meanwhile with Panurgic +plainness of speech on the ills to which old humanity is subject. We +were a rare haul for him. He could commonly get none but ministers to +talk to, though sometimes ten of them at once, and he was glad to meet +some of the laity at leisure. The evening was not long enough for him. +As I had been sick, the old lady asked if I would not go to bed,--it was +getting late for old people; but the old man, who had not yet done his +stories, said,-- + +"You a'n't particular, are you?" + +"Oh, no," said I,--"I am in no hurry. I believe I have weathered the +Clam cape." + +"They are good," said he; "I wish I had some of them now." + +"They never hurt me," said the old lady. + +"But then you took out the part that killed a cat," said I. + +At last we cut him short in the midst of his stories, which he promised +to resume in the morning. Yet, after all, one of the old ladies who came +into our room in the night to fasten the fire-board, which rattled, as +she went out took the precaution to fasten us in. Old women are by +nature more suspicious than old men. However, the winds howled around +the house, and made the fire-boards as well as the casements rattle well +that night. It was probably a windy night for any locality, but we could +not distinguish the roar which was proper to the ocean from that which +was due to the wind alone. + +The sounds which the ocean makes must be very significant and +interesting to those who live near it. When I was leaving the shore at +this place the next summer, and had got a quarter of a mile distant, +ascending a hill, I was startled by a sudden, loud sound from the sea, +as if a large steamer were letting off steam by the shore, so that I +caught my breath and felt my blood run cold for an instant, and I turned +about, expecting to see one of the Atlantic steamers thus far out of her +course; but there was nothing unusual to be seen. There was a low bank +at the entrance of the Hollow, between me and the ocean, and suspecting +that I might have risen into another stratum of air in ascending the +hill, which had wafted to me only the ordinary roar of the sea, I +immediately descended again, to see if I lost the sound; but, without +regard to my ascending or descending, it died away in a minute or two, +and yet there was scarcely any wind all the while. The old man said that +this was what they called the "rut," a peculiar roar of the sea before +the wind changes, which, however, he could, not account for. He thought +that he could tell all about the weather from the sounds which the sea +made. + +Old Josselyn, who came to New England in 1638, has it among his +weather-signs, that "the resounding of the sea from the shore, and +murmuring of the winds in the woods, without apparent wind, sheweth wind +to follow." + +Being on another part of the coast one night afterwards, I heard the +roar of the surf a mile distant, and the inhabitants said it was a sign +that the wind would work round east, and we should have rainy weather. +The ocean was heaped up somewhere at the eastward, and this roar was +occasioned by its effort to preserve its equilibrium, the wave reaching +the shore before the wind. Also the captain of a packet between this +country and England told me that he sometimes met with a wave on the +Atlantic coming against the wind, perhaps in a calm sea, which indicated +that at a distance the wind was blowing from an opposite quarter, but +the undulation had travelled faster than it. Sailors tell of "tide-rips" +and "ground-swells," which they suppose to have been occasioned by +hurricanes and earthquakes, and to have travelled many hundred, and +sometimes even two or three thousand miles. + +Before sunrise the next morning they let us out again, and I ran over to +the beach to see the sun come out of the ocean. The old woman of +eighty-four winters was already out in the cold morning wind, +bare-headed, tripping about like a young girl, and driving up the cow to +milk. She got the breakfast with despatch, and without noise or bustle; +and meanwhile the old man resumed his stories. + +After breakfast we looked at his clock, which was out of order, and +oiled it with some "hen's grease," for want of sweet oil, for he +scarcely could believe that we were not tinkers or peddlers; meanwhile +he told a story about visions, which had reference to a crack in the +clock-case made by frost one night. He was curious to know to what +religious sect we belonged. He said that he had been to hear thirteen +kinds of preaching in one month, when he was young, but he did not join +any of them,--he stuck to his Bible: there was nothing like any of them +in his Bible. While I was shaving in the next room, I heard him ask my +companion to what sect he belonged, to which he answered,-- + +"Oh, I belong to the Universal Brotherhood." + +"What's that?" he asked,--"Sons o' Temperance?" + +Finally, filling our pockets with doughnuts, which he was pleased to +find that we called by the same name that he did, and paying for our +entertainment, we took our departure; but he followed us out of doors, +and made us tell him the names of the vegetables which he had raised +from seeds that came out of the Franklin. They were cabbage, broccoli, +and parsley. As I had asked him the names of so many things, he tried me +in turn with all the plants which grew in his garden, both wild and +cultivated. It was about half an acre, which he cultivated wholly +himself. Besides the common garden-vegetables, there were Yellow-Dock, +Lemon-Balm, Hyssop, Gill-go-over-the-ground, Mouse-ear, Chickweed, Roman +Wormwood, Elecampane, and other plants. As we stood there, I saw a +fish-hawk stoop to pick a fish out of his pond. + +"There," said I, "he has got a fish." + +"Well," said the old man, who was looking all the while, but could see +nothing, "he didn't dive, he just wet his claws." + +And, sure enough, he did not this time, though it is said that they +often do, but he merely stooped low enough to pick him out with his +talons; but as he bore his shining prey over the bushes, it fell to the +ground, and we did not see that he recovered it. That is not their +practice. + +Thus, having had another crack with the old man, he standing bareheaded +under the eaves, he directed us "athwart the fields," and we took to the +beach again for another day, it being now late in the morning. + +It was but a day or two after this that the safe of the Provincetown +Bank was broken open and robbed by two men from the interior, and we +learned that our hospitable entertainers did at least transiently harbor +the suspicion that we were the men. + + * * * * * + +CHARLES LAMB'S UNCOLLECTED WRITINGS. + +THIRD PAPER. + + +"I remember," says "The Spectator," "upon Mr. Baxter's death, there was +published a sheet of very good sayings, inscribed, 'The Last Words of +Mr. Baxter.' The title sold so great a number of these papers that about +a week after there came out a second sheet, inscribed, 'More Last Words +of Mr. Baxter.'" And so kindly and gladly did the public--or at least +that portion of the public that read the "Atlantic Monthly"--receive the +specimens of Charles Lamb's uncollected writings, published somewhile +since in these pages, that I am induced to print another paper on the +same pleasant and entertaining subject. + +The success of that piece of "ingenious nonsense," that gem of +biographical literature, the unique and veracious "Memoir of Liston," +over which the lovers of wit and the lovers of Charles Lamb have had +many a good laugh, was so great that Lamb was encouraged to try his hand +at another theatrical memoir, and produced a mock and mirthful +autobiography of his old friend and favorite comedian, Munden, whom he +had previously immortalized in one of the best and most admired of the +"Essays of Elia." + +Those who enjoyed the biography of Liston will chuckle over the +autobiography of Munden. It was certainly a happy idea to represent +Munden as writing a sketch of his life,--not to gratify his own vanity, +or for the pleasure and entertainment of the public, but solely and +purposely to prevent the truthful and matter-of-fact biographer of +Liston from making the old player the subject of a biographical work. +The veteran actor's vehement protests against being represented as a +Presbyterian or Anabaptist, and his brief, but pungent comments on +certain passages in the Liston biography, are delightful. Methinks I see +the old man,-- + + "The gray-haired man of glee,"-- + +the great and wonderful impersonator of the "Cobbler of Preston" and +"Old Dozey,"--methinks I see this fine actor, this genial and jovial +comedian, and his son, gravely and carefully examining the great map of +Kent in search of Lupton Magna! + +Leigh Hunt, in his Autobiography, speaking of some of Elia's +contributions to the "London Magazine," thus mentions these two +"he-children" of Lamb's:-- + +"He wrote in the same magazine two lives of Liston and Munden, which the +public took for serious, and which exhibit an extraordinary jumble of +imaginary facts and truth of by-painting. Munden he made born at "Stoke +Pogis"; the very sound of which was like the actor speaking and digging +his words." + + * * * * * + +THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MR. MUNDEN. + +_In a Letter to the Editor of the "London Magazine."_ + +Hark'ee, Mr. Editor. A word in your ear. They tell me you are going to +put me in print,--in print, Sir; to publish my life. What is my life to +you, Sir? What is it to you whether I ever lived at all? My life is a +very good life, Sir. I am insured at the Pelican, Sir. I am threescore +years and six,--six; mark me, Sir: but I can play Polonius, which, I +believe, few of your corre--correspondents can do, Sir. I suspect +tricks, Sir; I smell a rat: I do, I do. You would cog the die upon us: +you would, you would, Sir. But I will forestall you, Sir. You would be +deriving me from William the Conqueror, with a murrain to you. It is no +such thing, Sir. The town shall know better, Sir. They begin to smoke +your flams, Sir. Mr. Liston may be born where he pleases, Sir; but I +will not be born at Lup--Lupton Magna for anybody's pleasure, Sir. My +son and I have looked over the great map of Kent together, and we can +find no such place as you would palm upon us, Sir,--palm upon us, I say. +Neither Magna nor Parva, as my son says; and he knows Latin, +Sir,--Latin. If you write my life true, Sir, you must set down, that I, +Joseph Munden, comedian, came into the world upon Allhallows Day, Anno +Domini 1759,--1759; no sooner nor later, Sir: and I saw the first +light--the first light, remember, Sir--at Stoke Pogis,--Stoke Pogis, +_comitatu_ Bucks, and not at Lup--Lup Magna, which I believe to be no +better than moonshine,--moonshine; do you mark me, Sir? I wonder you can +put such flim-flams upon us, Sir: I do, I do. It does not become you, +Sir: I say it,--I say it. And my father was an honest tradesman, Sir: he +dealt in malt and hops, Sir; and was a Corporation-man, Sir; and of the +Church of England, Sir; and no Presbyterian, nor Ana--Anabaptist, Sir; +however you may be disposed to make honest people believe to the +contrary, Sir. Your bams are found out, Sir. The town will be your +stale puts no longer, Sir; and you must not send us jolly fellows, +Sir,--we that are comedians, Sir,--you must not send us into groves and +Charn--Charnwoods a-moping, Sir. Neither Charns, nor charnel-houses, +Sir. It is not our constitutions, Sir: I tell it you,--I tell it you. I +was a droll dog from my cradle. I came into the world tittering, and the +midwife tittered, and the gossips spilt their caudle with tittering; and +when I was brought to the font, the parson could not christen me for +tittering. So I was never more than half baptized. And when I was little +Joey, I made 'em all titter; there was not a melancholy face to be seen +in Pogis. Pure nature, Sir. I was born a comedian. Old Screwup, the +undertaker, could tell you, Sir, if he were living. Why, I was obliged +to be locked up every time there was to be a funeral at Pogis. I was, I +was, Sir. I used to _grimace_ at the mutes, as he called it, and put 'em +out with my mops and my mows, till they couldn't stand at a door for me. +And when I was locked up, with nothing but a cat in my company, I +followed my bent with trying to make her laugh; and sometimes she would, +and sometimes she would not. And my schoolmaster could make nothing of +me: I had only to thrust my tongue in my cheek,--in my cheek, Sir,--and +the rod dropped from his fingers; and so my education was limited, Sir. +And I grew up a young fellow, and it was thought convenient to enter me +upon some course of life that should make me serious; but it wouldn't +do, Sir. And I articled to a dry-salter. My father gave forty pounds +premium with me, Sir. I can show the indent--dent--dentures, Sir. But I +was born to be a comedian, Sir: so I ran away, and listed with the +players, Sir; and I topt my parts at Amersham and Gerrard's Cross, and +played my own father to his face, in his own town of Pogis, in the part +of Gripe, when I was not full seventeen years of age; and he did not +know me again, but he knew me afterwards; and then he laughed, and I +laughed, and, what is better, the dry-salter laughed, and gave me up my +articles for the joke's sake: so that I came into court afterwards with +clean hands,--with clean hands; do you see, Sir? + +[Here the manuscript becomes illegible for two or three sheets onwards, +which we presume to be occasioned by the absence of Mr. Munden, jun., +who clearly transcribed it for the press thus far. The rest (with the +exception of the concluding paragraph, which seemingly is resumed in the +first handwriting) appears to contain a confused account of some lawsuit +in which the elder Munden was engaged; with a circumstantial history of +the proceedings on a case of breach of promise of marriage, made to or +by (we cannot pick out which) Jemima Munden, spinster, probably the +comedian's cousin, for it does not appear he had any sister; with a few +dates, rather better preserved, of this great actor's engagements,--as +"Cheltenham, [spelt Cheltnam,] 1776," "Bath, 1779," "London, +1789,"--together with stage-anecdotes of Messrs. Edwin, Wilson, Lee, +Lewis, etc.; over which we have strained our eyes to no purpose, in the +hope of presenting something amusing to the public. Towards the end, the +manuscript brightens up a little, as we have said, and concludes in the +following manner.] + +---- stood before them for six-and-thirty years, [we suspect that Mr. +Munden is here speaking of his final leave-taking of the stage,] and to +be dismissed at last. But I was heart-whole,--heart-whole to the last, +Sir. What though a few drops did course themselves down the old +veteran's cheeks? who could help it, Sir? I was a giant that night, Sir, +and could have played fifty parts, each as arduous as Dozey. My +faculties were never better, Sir. But I was to be laid upon the shelf. +It did not suit the public to laugh with their old servant any longer, +Sir. [Here some moisture has blotted a sentence or two.] But I can play +Polonius still, Sir: I can, I can. + + Your servant, Sir, + JOSEPH MUNDEN. + + * * * * * + +In the "Reflector," a short-lived periodical set up by Leigh Hunt, and +in which Lamb's quaint and beautiful poem, "A Farewell to Tobacco," and +his masterly critical essays on "The Tragedies of Shakspeare," and on +"The Genius of Hogarth," and other of his early writings, appeared, I +find the following characteristic article from Elia's pen. + +The reader will observe (and smile as he observes) that there is a great +difference between the "good clerk" of fifty years ago and the "good +clerk" of to-day. He of yesterday is a wonderfully simple, humble, +automaton-like person, in comparison with the brisk, dashing, +independent "votaries of the desk" of the year eighteen hundred and +sixty-four. + + * * * * * + +THE GOOD CLERK: A CHARACTER. + +THE GOOD CLERK.--He writeth a fair and swift hand, and is +competently versed in the four first rules of arithmetic, in the Rule of +Three, (which is sometimes called the Golden Rule,) and in Practice. We +mention these things that we may leave no room for cavillers to say that +anything essential hath been omitted in our definition; else, to speak +the truth, these are but ordinary accomplishments, and such as every +understrapper at a desk is commonly furnished with. The character we +treat of soareth higher. + +He is clean and neat in his person, not from a vainglorious desire of +setting himself forth to advantage in the eyes of the other sex,--with +which vanity too many of our young sparks nowadays are infected,--but to +do credit, as we say, to the office. For this reason, he evermore taketh +care that his desk or his books receive no soil; the which things he is +commonly as solicitous to have fair and unblemished as the owner of a +fine horse is to have him appear in good keep. + +He riseth early in the morning,--not because early rising conduceth to +health, (though he doth not altogether despise that consideration,) but +chiefly to the intent that he may be first at the desk. There is his +post, there he delighteth to be, unless when his meals or necessity +calleth him away; which time he alway esteemeth as lost, and maketh as +short as possible. + +He is temperate in eating and drinking, that he may preserve a clear +head and steady hand for his master's service. He is also partly induced +to this observation of the rules of temperance by his respect for +religion and the laws of his country; which things, it may once for all +be noted, do add especial assistances to his actions, but do not and +cannot furnish the main spring or motive thereto. His first ambition, as +appeareth all along, is to be a good clerk; his next, a good Christian, +a good patriot, etc. + +Correspondent to this, he keepeth himself honest, not for fear of the +laws, but because he hath observed how unseemly an article it maketh in +the day-book or ledger when a sum is set down lost or missing; it being +his pride to make these books to agree and to tally, the one side with +the other, with a sort of architectural symmetry and correspondence. + +He marrieth, or marrieth not, as best suiteth with his employer's views. +Some merchants do the rather desire to have married men in their +counting-houses, because they think the married state a pledge for their +servants' integrity, and an incitement to them to be industrious; and it +was an observation of a late Lord-Mayor of London, that the sons of +clerks do generally prove clerks themselves, and that merchants +encouraging persons in their employ to marry, and to have families, was +the best method of securing a breed of sober, industrious young men +attached to the mercantile interest. Be this as it may, such a character +as we have been describing will wait till the pleasure of his employer +is known on this point, and regulateth his desires by the custom of the +house or firm to which he belongeth. + +He avoideth profane oaths and jesting, as so much time lost from his +employ. What spare time he hath for conversation, which in a +counting-house such as we have been supposing can be but small, he +spendeth in putting seasonable questions to such of his fellows (and +sometimes _respectfully_ to the master himself) who can give him +information respecting the price and quality of goods, the state of +exchange, or the latest improvements in book-keeping; thus making the +motion of his lips, as well as of his fingers, subservient to his +master's interest. Not that be refuseth a brisk saying, or a cheerful +sally of wit, when it comes unforced, is free of offence, and hath a +convenient brevity. For this reason, he hath commonly some such phrase +as this in his mouth,-- + + "It's a slovenly look + To blot your book." + +Or, + + "Red ink for ornament, black for use: + The best of things are open to abuse." + +So upon the eve of any great holiday, of which he keepeth one or two at +least every year, he will merrily say, in the hearing of a confidential +friend, but to none other,-- + + "All work and no play' + Makes Jack a dull boy." + +Or, + + "A bow always bent must crack at last." + +But then this must always be understood to be spoken confidentially, +and, as we say, _under the rose_. + +Lastly, his dress is plain, without singularity,--with no other ornament +than the quill, which is the badge of his function, stuck behind the +dexter ear, and this rather for convenience of having it at hand, when +he hath been called away from his desk, and expecteth to resume his seat +there again shortly, than from any delight which he taketh in foppery or +ostentation. The color of his clothes is generally noted to be black +rather than brown, brown rather than blue or green. His whole deportment +is staid, modest, and civil. His motto is "Regularity." + + * * * * * + +This character was sketched in an interval of business, to divert some +of the melancholy hours of a counting-house. It is so little a creature +of fancy, that it is scarce anything more than a recollection of some of +those frugal and economical maxims which about the beginning of the last +century (England's meanest period) were endeavored to be inculcated and +instilled into the breasts of the London apprentices[E] by a class of +instructors who might not inaptly be termed "The Masters of Mean +Morals." The astonishing narrowness and illiberality of the lessons +contained in some of those books is inconceivable by those whose studies +have not led them that way, and would almost induce one to subscribe to +the hard censure which Drayton has passed upon the mercantile spirit,-- + + "The gripple merchant, born to be the curse + Of this brave isle." + +In the laudable endeavor to eke out "a something contracted income," +Lamb, in his younger days, essayed to write lottery-puffs,--(Byron, we +know, was accused of writing lottery-puffs,)--but he did not succeed +very well in the task. His samples were returned on his hands, as "done +in too severe and terse a style." Some Grub-Street hack--a +nineteenth-century Tom Brown or Mr. Dash--succeeded in composing these +popular and ingenious productions; but the man who wrote the Essays of +Elia could not write a successful lottery-puff. At this exult, O +mediocrity! and take courage, man of genius! + +Although Elia was an unsuccessful lottery-puffer, he always took special +interest in lotteries, and was present at the drawing of many of them. + +Mr. Bickerstaff, we remember,--though I fear that in these days the +pleasant and profitable pages of "The Father" are hardly more known to +the generality of readers than the lost books of Livy or the missing +cantos of the "Faėrie Queene,"--possibly we may remember, I say, that +the wise, witty, learned, eloquent, delightful Mr. Bickerstaff, in order +to raise the requisite sum to purchase a ticket in the (then) newly +erected lottery, sold off a couple of globes and a telescope (the +venerable Isaac was a Professor of Palmistry and Astrology, as well as +Censor of Great Britain); and finding by a learned calculation that it +was but a hundred and fifty thousand to one against his being worth one +thousand pounds for thirty-two years, he spent many days and nights in +preparing his mind for this change of fortune. + +And albeit I do not believe that Lamb, in his poorest and most needy +days, was ever tempted by any Alnaschar-dreams of wealth to exchange the +raggedest and least valuable of his "midnight darlings" for the +wherewithal to purchase lottery-tickets, I dare say the money which Elia +had saved for the purchase of some choice and long-coveted old folio or +other went into the coffers of the lottery-dealers. Though Lamb drew +nothing but blanks, "or those more vexatious tantalizers of the spirit, +denominated small prizes," yet he held himself largely indebted to the +Lottery, and, upon its abolition in England in 1825, he wrote a long, +eloquent, pathetic discourse on the great departed. It appeared in +Colburn's "New Monthly Magazine," and is, I think, a very pleasant, +entertaining paper, worthy of its subject, and not unworthy of the pen +of Charles Lamb. I take great pleasure in introducing the article to the +readers of the "Atlantic." + + * * * * * + +THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEFUNCT.[F] + + "Nought but a blank remains, a dead void space, + A step of life that promised such a race." + + --Dryden. + +Napoleon has now sent us back from the grave sufficient echoes of his +living renown: the twilight of posthumous fame has lingered long enough +over the spot where the sun of his glory set; and his name must at +length repose in the silence, if not in the darkness of night. In this +busy and evanescent scene, other spirits of the age are rapidly snatched +away, claiming our undivided sympathies and regrets, until in turn they +yield to some newer and more absorbing grief. Another name is now added +to the list of the mighty departed,--a name whose influence upon the +hopes and fears, the fates and fortunes of our countrymen, has rivalled, +and perhaps eclipsed, that of the defunct "child and champion of +Jacobinism," while it is associated with all the sanctions of legitimate +government, all the sacred authorities of social order and our most holy +religion. We speak of one, indeed, under whose warrant heavy and +incessant contributions were imposed upon our fellow-citizens, but who +exacted nothing without the signet and the sign-manual of most devout +Chancellors of the Exchequer. Not to dally longer with the sympathies of +our readers, we think it right to premonish them that we are composing +an epicedium upon no less distinguished a personage than the Lottery, +whose last breath, after many penultimate puffs, has been sobbed forth +by sorrowing contractors, as if the world itself were about to be +converted into a blank. There is a fashion of eulogy, as well as of +vituperation, and, though the Lottery stood for some time in the latter +predicament, we hesitate not to assert that "_multis ille bonis flebilis +occidit_." Never have we joined in the senseless clamor which condemned +the only tax whereto we became voluntary contributors, the only +resource which gave the stimulus without the danger or infatuation of +gambling, the only alembic which in these plodding days sublimized our +imaginations, and filled them with more delicious dreams than ever +flitted athwart the sensorium of Alnaschar. + +Never can the writer forget, when, as a child, he was hoisted upon a +servant's shoulder in Guildhall, and looked down upon the installed and +solemn pomp of the then drawing Lottery. The two awful cabinets of iron, +upon whose massy and mysterious portals the royal initials were +gorgeously emblazoned, as if, after having deposited the unfulfilled +prophecies within, the King himself had turned the lock, and still +retained the key in his pocket,--the blue-coat boy, with his naked arm, +first converting the invisible wheel, and then diving into the dark +recess for a ticket,--the grave and reverend faces of the commissioners +eying the announced number,--the scribes below calmly committing it to +their huge books,--the anxious countenances of the surrounding +populace,--while the giant figures of Gog and Magog, like presiding +deities, looked down with a grim silence upon the whole +proceeding,--constituted altogether a scene which, combined with the +sudden wealth supposed to be lavished from those inscrutable wheels, was +well calculated to impress the imagination of a boy with reverence and +amazement. Jupiter, seated between the two fatal urns of good and evil, +the blind goddess with her cornucopia, the Parcę wielding the distaff, +the thread of life, and the abhorred shears, seemed but dim and shadowy +abstractions of mythology, when I had gazed upon an assemblage +exercising, as I dreamt, a not less eventful power, and all presented to +me in palpable and living operation. Reason and experience, ever at +their old spiteful work of catching and destroying the bubbles which +youth delighted to follow, have indeed dissipated much of this illusion; +but my mind so far retained the influence of that early impression, that +I have ever since continued to deposit my humble offerings at its +shrine, whenever the ministers of the Lottery went forth with type and +trumpet to announce its periodical dispensations; and though nothing has +been doled out to me from its uudiscerning coffers but blanks, or those +more vexatious tantalizers of the spirit denominated small prizes, yet +do I hold myself largely indebted to this most generous diffuser of +universal happiness. Ingrates that we are, are we to be thankful for no +benefits that are not palpable to sense, to recognize no favors that are +not of marketable value, to acknowledge no wealth unless it can be +counted with the five fingers? If we admit the mind to be the sole +depositary of genuine joy, where is the bosom that has not been elevated +into a temporary Elysium by the magic of the Lottery? Which of us has +not converted his ticket, or even his sixteenth share of one, into a +nest-egg of Hope, upon which he has sat brooding in the secret +roosting-places of his heart, and hatched it into a thousand fantastical +apparitions? + +What a startling revelation of the passions, if all the aspirations +engendered by the Lottery could be made manifest! Many an impecuniary +epicure has gloated over his locked-up warrant for future wealth, as a +means of realizing the dream of his namesake in the "Alchemist":-- + + "My meat shall all come in in Indian shells,-- + Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded + With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies; + The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels, + Boiled i' the spirit of Sol, and dissolved in pearl + (Apicius' diet 'gainst the epilepsy); + And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber + Headed with diamant and carbuncle. + My footboy shall eat pheasants, calvered salmons, + Knots, goodwits, lampreys. I myself will have + The beards of barbels served; instead of salads, + Oiled mushrooms, and the swelling unctuous paps + Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off, + Dressed with an exquisite and poignant sauce, + For which I'll say unto my cook, 'There's gold: + Go forth, and he a knight.'" + +Many a doting lover has kissed the scrap of paper whose promissory +shower of gold was to give up to him his otherwise unattainable Danaė; +Nimrods have transformed the same narrow symbol into a saddle by which +they have been enabled to bestride the backs of peerless hunters; while +nymphs have metamorphosed its Protean form into + + "Rings, gauds, conceits, + Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats," + +and all the braveries of dress, to say nothing of the obsequious +husband, the two-footmaned carriage, and the opera-box. By the simple +charm of this numbered and printed rag, gamesters have, for a time at +least, recovered their losses, spendthrifts have cleared off mortgages +from their estates, the imprisoned debtor has leaped over his lofty +boundary of circumscription and restraint and revelled in all the joys +of liberty and fortune, the cottage-walls have swelled out into more +goodly proportion than those of Baucis and Philemon, poverty has tasted +the luxuries of competence, labor has lolled at ease in a perpetual +armchair of idleness, sickness has been bribed into banishment, life has +been invested with new charms, and death deprived of its former terrors. +Nor have the affections been less gratified than the wants, appetites, +and ambitions of mankind. By the conjurations of the same potent spell, +kindred have lavished anticipated benefits upon one another, and charity +upon all. Let it be termed a delusion,--a fool's Paradise is better than +the wise man's Tartarus; be it branded as an _ignis-fatuus_,--it was at +least a benevolent one, which, instead of beguiling its followers into +swamps, caverns, and pitfalls, allured them on with all the +blandishments of enchantment to a garden of Eden, an ever-blooming +Elysium of delight. True, the pleasures it bestowed were evanescent: but +which of our joys are permanent? and who so inexperienced as not to know +that anticipation is always of higher relish than reality, which strikes +a balance both in our sufferings and enjoyments? "The fear of ill +exceeds the ill we fear"; and fruition, in the same proportion, +invariably falls short of hope. "Men are but children of a larger +growth," who may amuse themselves for a long time in gazing at the +reflection of the moon in the water; but, if they jump in to grasp it, +they may grope forever, and only get the farther from their object. He +is the wisest who keeps feeding upon the future, and refrains as long as +possible from undeceiving himself by converting his pleasant +speculations into disagreeable certainties. + +The true mental epicure always purchased his ticket early, and postponed +inquiry into its fate to the last possible moment, during the whole of +which intervening period he had an imaginary twenty thousand locked up +in his desk: and was not this well worth all the money? Who would +scruple to give twenty pounds interest for even the ideal enjoyment of +as many thousands during two or three months? "_Crede quod habes, et +habes_"; and the usufruct of such a capital is sorely not dear at such a +price. Some years ago, a gentleman, in passing along Cheapside, saw the +figures 1,069, of which number he was the sole proprietor, flaming on +the window of a lottery-office as a capital prize. Somewhat flurried by +this discovery, not less welcome than unexpected, he resolved to walk +round St. Paul's that he might consider in what way to communicate the +happy tidings to his wife and family; but, upon repassing the shop, he +observed that the number was altered to 10,069, and, upon inquiry, had +the mortification to learn that his ticket was a blank, and had only +been stuck up in the window by a mistake of the clerk. This effectually +calmed his agitation; but he always speaks of himself as having once +possessed twenty thousand pounds, and maintains that his ten-minutes' +walk round St. Paul's was worth ten times the purchase-money of the +ticket. A prize thus obtained has, moreover, this special advantage: it +is beyond the reach of fate; it cannot be squandered; bankruptcy cannot +lay siege to it; friends cannot pull it down, nor enemies blow it up; it +bears a charmed life, and none of woman born can break its integrity, +even by the dissipation of a single fraction. Show me the property in +these perilous times that is equally compact and impregnable. We can no +longer become enriched for a quarter of an hour; we can no longer +succeed in such splendid failures: all our chances of making such a miss +have vanished with the last of the Lotteries. + +Life will now become a flat, prosaic routine of matter-of-fact; and +sleep itself, erst so prolific of numerical configurations and +mysterious stimulants to lottery-adventure, will be disfurnished of its +figures and figments. People will cease to harp upon the one lucky +number suggested in a dream, and which forms the exception, while they +are scrupulously silent upon the ten thousand falsified dreams which +constitute the rule. Morpheus will stifle Cocker with a handful of +poppies, and our pillows will be no longer haunted by the book of +numbers. + +And who, too, shall maintain the art and mystery of puffing in all its +pristine glory, when the lottery-professors shall have abandoned its +cultivation? They were the first, as they will assuredly be the last, +who fully developed the resources of that ingenious art,--who cajoled +and decoyed the most suspicious and wary reader into a perusal of their +advertisements by devices of endless variety and cunning,--who baited +their lurking schemes with midnight murders, ghost-stories, crim-cons, +bon-mots, balloons, dreadful catastrophes, and every diversity of joy +and sorrow, to catch newspaper-gudgeons. Ought not such talents to be +encouraged? Verily the abolitionists have much to answer for! + +And now, having established the felicity of all those who gained +imaginary prizes, let us proceed to show that the equally numerous class +who were presented with real blanks have not less reason to consider +themselves happy. Most of us have cause to be thankful for that which is +bestowed; but we have all, probably, reason to be still more grateful +for that which is withheld, and more especially for our being denied the +sudden possession of riches. In the Litany, indeed, we Call upon the +Lord to deliver us "in all time of our wealth"; but how few of us are +sincere in deprecating such a calamity! Massinger's _Luke_, and Ben +Jonson's _Sir Epicure Mammon_, and Pope's _Sir Balaam_, and our own +daily observation, might convince us that the Devil "now tempts by +making rich, not making poor." We may read in the "Guardian" a +circumstantial account of a man who was utterly ruined by gaining a +capital prize; we may recollect what Dr. Johnson said to Garrick, when +the latter was making a display of his wealth at Hampton Court,--"Ah, +David! David! these are the things that make a death-bed terrible"; we +may recall the Scripture declaration as to the difficulty a rich man +finds in entering into the kingdom of heaven; and, combining all these +denunciations against opulence, let us heartily congratulate one another +upon our lucky escape from the calamity of a twenty or thirty thousand +pound prize! The fox in the fable, who accused the unattainable grapes +of sourness, was more of a philosopher than we are generally willing to +allow. He was an adept in that species of moral alchemy which turns +everything to gold, and converts disappointment itself into a ground of +resignation and content. Such we have shown to be the great lesson +inculcated by the Lottery, when rightly contemplated; and if we might +parody M. de Chāteaubriand's jingling expression, "_Le Roi est mort: +vive le Roi_!" we should be tempted to exclaim, "The Lottery is no more: +long live the Lottery!" + + * * * * * + +The foregoing article, as the reader may possibly remember, was not +Lamb's only contribution to the "New Monthly Magazine." Indeed, it was +in that pleasant and popular periodical,--then at the height of its +popularity, with many of the most admired writers in Great Britain among +its contributors, and edited by the elegant and polished poet who sang +the "Pleasures of Hope,"--it was in this magazine that Elia's admirable +"Popular Fallacies" were first given to the world. (I fear, however, +that the exquisite grace, beauty, and polish of these delightful papers +were hardly appreciated by the readers of the "New Monthly.") And it was +for this publication that he undertook to write a novel. Although Elia +had but little fancy for novels himself, and in the writing of them +would not have done justice, perhaps, to his rare genius, yet, +nevertheless, I suspect that all admirers of "Rosamund Gray," if not all +readers of novels, regret that he did not complete the work of fiction +he began for the "New Monthly Magazine." Judging from the specimen that +was published, it would have been, had the author seen fit to finish it, +quite an original and very characteristic production. Here is the first +chapter of the story. Though advertised to be continued, this is all of +it that ever appeared. + + * * * * * + +REMINISCENCES OF JUKE JUDKINS, ESQ., OF BIRMINGHAM + +I am the only son of a considerable brazier in Birmingham, who, dying in +1803, left me successor to the business, with no other incumbrance than +a sort of rent-charge, which I am enjoined to pay out of it, of +ninety-three pounds sterling _per annum_, to his widow, my mother, and +which the improving state of the concern, I bless God, has hitherto +enabled me to discharge with punctuality. (I say, I am enjoined to pay +the said sum, but not strictly obligated: that is to say, as the will is +worded, I believe the law would relieve me from the payment of it; but +the wishes of a dying parent should in some sort have the effect of +law.) So that, though the annual profits of my business, on an average +of the last three or four years, would appear to an indifferent +observer, who should inspect my shop-books, to amount to the sum of one +thousand three hundred and three pounds, odd shillings, the real +proceeds in that time have fallen short of that sum to the amount of the +aforesaid payment of ninety-three pounds sterling annually. + +I was always my father's favorite. He took a delight, to the very last, +in recounting the little sagacious tricks and innocent artifices of my +childhood. One manifestation thereof I never heard him repeat without +tears of joy trickling down his cheeks. It seems, that, when I quitted +the parental roof, (August 27th, 1788,) being then six years and not +quite a month old, to proceed to the Free School at Warwick, where my +father was a sort of trustee, my mother--as mothers are usually +provident on these occasions--had stuffed the pockets of the coach, +which was to convey me and six more children of my own growth that were +going to be entered along with me at the same seminary, with a +prodigious quantity of gingerbread, which I remember my father said was +more than was needed: and so, indeed, it was; for, if I had been to eat +it all myself, it would have got stale and mouldly before it had been +half spent. The consideration whereof set me upon my contrivances how I +might secure to myself as much of the gingerbread as would keep good for +the next two or three days, and yet none of the rest in a manner be +wasted. I had a little pair of pocket-compasses, which I usually carried +about me for the purpose of making draughts and measurements, at which I +was always very ingenious, of the various engines and mechanical +inventions in which such a town as Birmingham abounded. By the means of +these, and a small penknife which my father had given me, I cut out the +one half of the cake, calculating that the remainder would reasonably +serve my turn; and subdividing it into many little slices, which were +curious to see for the neatness and niceness of their proportion, I sold +it out in so many pennyworths to my young companions as served us all +the way to Warwick, which is a distance of some twenty miles from this, +town: and very merry, I assure you, we made ourselves with it, feasting +all the way. By this honest stratagem, I put double the prime cost of +the gingerbread into my purse, and secured as much as I thought would +keep good and moist for my next two or three days' eating. When I told +this to my parents, on their first visit to me at Warwick, my father +(good man) patted me on the cheek, and stroked my head, and seemed as if +he could never make enough of me; but my mother unaccountably burst into +tears, and said "it was a very niggardly action," or some such +expression, and that "she would rather it would please God to take +me"--meaning, God help me, that I should die--"than that she should live +to see me grow up a _mean man_": which shows the difference of parent +from parent, and how some mothers are more harsh and intolerant to their +children than some fathers,--when we might expect quite the contrary. My +father, however, loaded me with presents from that time, which made me +the envy of my school-fellows. As I felt this growing disposition in +them, I naturally sought to avert it by all the means in my power; and +from that time I used to eat my little packages of fruit and other nice +things in a corner, so privately that I was never found out. Once, I +remember, I had a huge apple sent me, of that sort which they call +_cats'-heads_. I concealed this all day under my pillow; and at night, +but not before I had ascertained that my bed-fellow was sound +asleep,--which I did by pinching him rather smartly two or three times, +which he seemed to perceive no more than a dead person, though once or +twice he made a motion as if he would turn, which frightened me,--I say, +when I had made all sure, I fell to work upon my apple; and though it +was as big as an ordinary man's two fists, I made shift to get through +it before it was time to get up. And a more delicious feast I never +made,--thinking all night what a good parent I had (I mean my father) to +send me so many nice things, when the poor lad that lay by me had no +parent or friend in the world to send him anything nice; and thinking of +his desolate condition, I munched and munched as silently as I could, +that I might not set him a-longing, if he overheard me. And yet, for all +this considerateness and attention to other people's feelings; I was +never much a favorite with my school-fellows; which I have often +wondered at, seeing that I never defrauded any one of them of the value +of a halfpenny, or told stories of them to their master, as some little +lying boys would do, but was ready to do any of them all the services in +my power that were consistent with my own well-doing. I think nobody can +be expected to go further than that.--But I am detaining my reader too +long in the recording of my juvenile days. It is time that I should go +forward to a season when it became natural that I should have some +thoughts of marrying, and, as they say, settling in the world. +Nevertheless, my reflections on what I may call the boyish period of my +life may have their use to some readers. It is pleasant to trace the man +in the boy, to observe shoots of generosity in those young years, and to +watch the progress of liberal sentiments, and what I may call a genteel +way of thinking, which is discernible in some children at a very early +age, and usually lays the foundation of all that is praiseworthy in the +manly character afterwards. + +With the warmest inclinations towards that way of life, and a serious +conviction of its superior advantages over a single one, it has been the +strange infelicity of my lot never to have entered into the respectable +estate of matrimony. Yet I was once very near it. I courted a young +woman in my twenty-seventh year,--for so early I began to feel symptoms +of the tender passion! She was well to do in the world, as they call +it, but yet not such a fortune as, all things considered, perhaps I +might have pretended to. It was not my own choice altogether; but my +mother very strongly pressed me to it. She was always putting it to me, +that I "had comings-in sufficient,--that I need not stand upon a +portion"; though the young woman, to do her justice, had considerable +expectations, which yet did not quite come up to my mark, as I told you +before. She had this saying always in her mouth: that I "had money +enough; that it was time I enlarged my housekeeping, and to show a +spirit befitting my circumstances." In short, what with her +importunities, and my own desires _in part_ coöperating,--for, as I +said, I was not yet quite twenty-seven, a time when the youthful +feelings may be pardoned, if they show a little impetuosity,--I +resolved, I say, upon all these considerations, to set about the +business of courting in right earnest. I was a young man then, and +having a spice of romance in my character, (as the reader doubtless has +observed long ago,) such as that sex is apt to be taken with, I had +reason in no long time to think my addresses were anything but +disagreeable. + +Certainly the happiest part of a young man's life is the time when he is +going a-courting. All the generous impulses are then awake, and he feels +a double existence in participating his hopes and wishes with another +being. Return yet again for a brief moment, ye visionary views, +transient enchantments! ye moonlight rambles with Cleora in the Silent +Walk at Vauxhall,--(N.B.--About a mile from Birmingham, and resembling +the gardens of that name near London, only that the price of admission +is lower,)--when the nightingale has suspended her notes in June to +listen to our loving discourses, while the moon was overhead! (for we +generally used to take our tea at Cleora's mother's before we set out, +not so much to save expenses as to avoid the publicity of a repast in +the gardens,--coming in much about the time of half-price, as they call +it)--ye soft intercommunions of soul, when, exchanging mutual vows, we +prattled of coming felicities! The loving disputes we have had under +those trees, when this house (planning our future settlement) was +rejected, because, though cheap, it was dull, and the other house was +given up, because, though agreeably situated, it was too +high-rented,--one was too much in the heart of the town, another was too +far from business. These minutię will seem impertinent to the aged and +the prudent. I write them only to the young. Young lovers, and +passionate as being young, (such were Cleora and I then,) alone can +understand me. After some weeks wasted, as I may now call it, in this +sort of amorous colloquy, we at length fixed upon the house in the High +Street, No. 203, just vacated by the death of Mr. Hutton of this town, +for our future residence. I had till that time lived in lodgings (only +renting a shop for business) to be near to my mother,--near, I say: not +in the same house with her, for that would have been to introduce +confusion into our housekeeping, which it was desirable to keep +separate. Oh, the loving wrangles, the endearing differences I had with +Cleora, before we could quite make up our minds to the house that was to +receive us!--I pretending, for argument's sake, that the rent was too +high, and she insisting that the taxes were moderate in proportion, and +love at last reconciling us in the same choice. I think at that time, +moderately speaking, she might have had anything out of me for asking. I +do not, nor shall ever, regret that my character at that time was marked +with a tinge of prodigality. Age comes fast enough upon us, and, in its +good time, will prune away all that is inconvenient in these excesses. +Perhaps it is right that it should do so. Matters, as I said, were +ripening to a conclusion between us, only the house was yet not +absolutely taken. Some necessary arrangements, which the ardor of my +youthful impetuosity could hardly brook at that time (love and youth +will be precipitate)--some preliminary arrangements, I say, with the +landlord, respecting fixtures,--very necessary things to be considered +in a young man about to settle in the world, though not very accordant +with the impatient state of my then passions,--some obstacles about the +valuation of the fixtures,--had hitherto precluded (and I shall always +think providentially) my final closes with his offer, when one of those +accidents, which, unimportant in themselves, often arise to give a turn +to the most serious intentions of our life, intervened, and put an end +at once to my projects of wiving and of housekeeping. + +I was never much given to theatrical entertainments,--that is, at no +time of my life was I ever what they call a regular play-goer; but on +some occasion of a benefit-night, which was expected to be very +productive, and indeed turned out so, Cleora expressing a desire to be +present, I could do no less than offer, as I did very willingly, to +squire her and her mother to the pit. At that time it was not customary +in our town for tradesfolk, except some of the very topping ones, to +sit, as they now do, in the boxes. At the time appointed I waited upon +the ladies, who had brought with them a young man, a distant relation, +whom it seems they had invited to be of the party. This a little +disconcerted me, as I had about me barely silver enough to pay for our +three selves at the door, and did not at first know that their relation +had proposed paying for himself. However, to do the young man justice, +he not only paid for himself, but for the old lady besides,--leaving me +only to pay for two, as it were. In our passage to the theatre, the +notice of Cleora was attracted to some orange-wenches that stood about +the doors vending their commodities. She was leaning on my arm; and I +could feel her every now and then giving me a nudge, as it is called, +which I afterwards discovered were hints that I should buy some oranges. +It seems, it is a custom at Birmingham, and perhaps in other places, +when a gentleman treats ladies to the play, especially when a full night +is expected, and that the house will be inconveniently warm, to provide +them with this kind of fruit, oranges being esteemed for their cooling +property. But how could I guess at that, never having treated ladies to +a play before, and being, as I said, quite a novice at these kind of +entertainments? At last she spoke plain out, and begged that I would buy +some of "those oranges," pointing to a particular barrow. But when I +came to examine the fruit, I did not think that the quality of it was +answerable to the price. In this way I handled several baskets of them; +but something in them all displeased me. Some had thin rinds, and some +were plainly over-ripe, which is as great a fault as not being ripe +enough; and I could not (what they call) make a bargain. While I stood +haggling with the women, secretly determining to put off my purchase +till I should get within the theatre, where I expected we should have +better choice, the young man, the cousin, (who, it seems, had left us +without my missing him,) came running to us with his pockets stuffed out +with oranges, inside and out, as they say. It seems, not liking the look +of the barrow-fruit any more than myself, he had slipped away to an +eminent fruiterer's, about three doors distant, which I never had the +sense to think of, and had laid out a matter of two shillings in some of +the best St. Michael's, I think, I ever tasted. What a little hinge, as +I said before, the most important affairs in life may turn upon! The +mere inadvertence to the fact that there was an eminent fruiterer's +within three doors of us, though we had just passed it without the +thought once occurring to me, which he had taken advantage of, lost me +the affections of my Cleora. From that time she visibly cooled towards +me, and her partiality was as visibly transferred to this cousin. I was +long unable to account for this change in her behavior; when one day, +accidentally discoursing of oranges to my mother, alone, she let drop a +sort of reproach to me, as if I had offended Cleora by my _nearness_, as +she called it, that evening. Even now, when Cleora has been wedded some +years to that same officious relation, as I may call him, I can hardly +be persuaded that such a trifle could have been the motive to her +inconstancy; for could she suppose that I would sacrifice my dearest +hopes in her to the paltry sum of two shillings, when I was going to +treat her to the play, and her mother too, (an expense of more than four +times that amount,) if the young man had not interfered to pay for the +latter, as I mentioned? But the caprices of the sex are past finding +out: and I begin to think my mother was in the right; for doubtless +women know women better than we can pretend to know them. + + * * * * * + +WORKS AND DAYS. + + --"Ritorna a tua scienza! + Che vuol, quanto la cosa č pił perfetta, + Pił senta il bene, e cosģ la doglienza."--DANTE. + + + Record, O Muse! and let the record stand, + That, when Bellona ravaged half the land, + When even these groves, from bloody fields afar, + Oft shook and shuddered at the sounds of war, + When the drum drowned the music of the flail, + And midnight marches broke the peace of Yale, + Then gathered here amid these vacant bowers + A band of scholars, men of various powers, + Various in motion, but with one desire, + Through wreck and war to watch the sacred fire, + The authentic fire that great forethoughted Mind + Stole from the gods for good of humankind. + + Say, Terebinthia, from thy tree of pine, + Nymph of New England! Muse beyond the Nine! + Great Berkeley's goddess! giver oftentimes + Of strength to him, and now and then of rhymes,-- + Whose tears were balsam to the Bishop's brain, + To cheer, but not infuriate his vein,-- + Tell me, sad virgin, who came after terms + In these dry fields to stir the slumbering germs? + + Their names were few,--but Agassiz was one, + And Peirce, the lord of numbers, and alone: + Arithmeticians many more will be, + But when another to outrival thee? + Then those Professors,--Philadelphian pair, + Winlock, the wise, and watchful as a hare, + Bright Benjamin that bears the golden name, + (Apthorp the quick,) Augustus of the same, + And that strict student, evermore exact, + One of the Wymans,--both such men of fact,-- + If observation with extensive view + More such observers can observe, they're few. + + Ye sacred shades where Silliman made gray + Those hairs that greet him eighty-five to-day! + Good names be these! good names to stand with his,-- + Fit to record with Yale's old histories, + When sage Timotheus woke the Western lyre + That Hillhouse touched, and Percival with fire! + + Declare now, Clio! 'mid this gifted band, + Who held the reins?--what scientific hand? + Did He preside? did Franklin's honored heir + With wonted influence possess the chair? + No: bowed with cares, a servant of the State, + In loftier fields he held his watch sedate: + Bache could not come,--for us a mighty void! + Yet well for him,--for he was best employed + High on his tented mountain's breezy slope, + Might but those maidens meet him--Health and Hope! + + Yet wouldst thou know who stood superior there, + Where all seemed equal, this I may declare:-- + Of all the wise that wandered from the East + Or West or South to sit in solemn feast, + Two men did mostly fascinate the Muse, + Differing in genius, but with equal views: + One measuring heaven, in starry lore supreme; + The other lighting, like the morning beam, + Old Ocean's bed, or his fresh Alpine snows, + Reading the laws whereby the glacier grows, + Or life, through some half-intimated plan, + Rose from a star-fish to the race of man: + Choose thine own monarch! either well might reign! + I knew but one before,--and now but twain. + + Now shut the gates,--the fields have drunk enough + The time demands a Muse of sterner stuff; + No more one bard, exempt from vulgar throng, + May sing through Roman towns the Ascręan song, + Or court in Learning's elmy bowers relief + From individual shame or general grief: + Silence is music to a soul outworn + With the wild clangor of the warlike horn, + The paltry fife, the brain-benumbing drum. + When, white Astręa! will thy kingdom come,-- + The chaster period that our boyhood saw,-- + Arts above arms, and without conquest, Law,-- + Rights well maintained without the strength of steel + And milder manners for the gentle weal,-- + That Freedom's promise may not come to blight, + And Wisdom fail, and Knowledge end in night? + +NEW HAVEN, _August 8_. + + * * * * * + +PAUL JONES AND DENIS DUVAL. + + +Ingham and his wife have a habit of coming in to spend the evening with +us, unless we go there, or unless we both go to Haliburton's, or unless +there is something better to do elsewhere. + +We talk, or we play besique, or Mrs. Haliburton sings, or we sit on the +stoup and hear the crickets sing; but when there is a new Trollope or +Thackeray,--alas, there will never be another new Thackeray!--all else +has always been set aside till we have read that aloud. + +When I began the last sentence of the last Thackeray that ever was +written, Ingham jumped out of his seat, and cried,-- + +"There, I said I remembered this _Duval_, and you made fun of me. Go +on,--and I will tell you all about him, when you have done." + +So I read on to the sudden end:-- + +"We had been sent for in order to protect a fleet of merchantmen that +were bound to the Baltic, and were to sail under the convoy of our ship +and the Countess of Scarborough, commanded by Captain Piercy. And thus +it came about, that, after being twenty-five days in His Majesty's +service, I had the fortune to be present at one of the most severe and +desperate combats that have been fought in our or in any time. + +"I shall not attempt to tell that story of the battle of the 23d of +September, which ended in our glorious captain striking his own colors +to our superior and irresistible enemy." (This enemy, as Mr. Thackeray +has just said, is "Monsieur John Paul Jones, afterwards Knight of His +Most Christian Majesty's Order of Merit.") "Sir Richard [Pearson, of the +English frigate Serapis] has told the story of his disaster in words +nobler than any I could supply, who, though indeed engaged in that fatal +action, in which our flag went down before a renegade Briton and his +motley crew, saw but a very small portion of the battle which ended so +fatally for us. It did not commence till nightfall. How well I remember +the sound of the enemy's gun, of which the shot crashed into our side in +reply to the challenge of our captain who hailed her! Then came a +broadside from us,--the first I had ever heard in battle."[G] + +Ingham did not speak for a little while. None of us did. And when we +did, it was not to speak of Denis Duval, so much as of the friend we +lost, when we lost the monthly letter, or at least, Roundabout Paper, +from Mr. Thackeray. How much we had prized him,--how strange it was that +there was ever a day when we did not know about him,--how strange it was +that anybody should call him cynical, or think men must apologize for +him:--of such things and of a thousand more we spoke, before we came +back to Denis Duval. + +But at last Fausta said,--"What do you mean, Fred, by saying you +remember Denis Duval?" + +And I,--"Did you meet him at the Battle of Pavia, or in Valerius +Flaccus's Games in Numidia?" For we have a habit of calling Ingham "The +Wandering Jew." + +But he would not be jeered at; he only called us to witness, that, from +the first chapter of Denis Duval, he had said the name was +familiar,--even to the point of looking it out in the Biographical +Dictionary; and now that it appeared Duval fought on board the Serapis, +he said it all came back to him. His grandfather, his mother's father, +was a "volunteer"-boy, preparing to be midshipman, on the Serapis,--and +he knew he had heard him speak of Duval! + +Oh, how we all screamed! It was so like Ingham! Haliburton asked him if +his grandfather was not _best-man_ when Denis married Agnes. Fausta +asked him if he would not continue the novel in the "Cornhill." I said +it was well known that the old gentleman advised Montcalm to surrender +Quebec, interpreted between Cook and the first Kamehameha, piloted La +Pérouse between the Centurion and the Graves in Boston harbor, and +called him up with a toast at a school-dinner;--that I did not doubt, +therefore, that it was all right,--and that he and Duval had sworn +eternal friendship in their boyhood, and now formed one constellation in +the southern hemisphere. But after we had all done, Ingham offered to +bet Newport for the Six that he would substantiate what he said. This is +by far the most tremendous wager in our little company; it is never +offered, unless there be certainty to back it; it is, therefore, never +accepted; and the nearest approach we have ever made to Newport, as a +company, was one afternoon when we went to South-Boston Point in the +horse-car, and found the tide down. Silence reigned, therefore, and the +subject changed. + +The next night we were at Ingham's. He unlocked a ravishing old black +mahogany secretary he has, and produced a pile of parchment-covered +books of different sizes, which were diaries of old Captain Heddart's. +They were often called log-books,--but, though in later years kept on +paper ruled for log-books, and often following to a certain extent the +indications of the columns, they were almost wholly personal, and +sometimes ran a hundred pages without alluding at all to the ship on +which he wrote. Well! the earliest of these was by far the most elegant +in appearance. My eyes watered a little, as Ingham showed me on the +first page, in the stiff Italian hand which our grandmothers wrote in, +when they aspired to elegance, the dedication,-- + + "TO MY DEAR FRANCIS, + _who will write something here every day, because he loves his_ + MOTHER." + +That old English gentleman, whom I just remember, when Ingham first went +to sea, as the model of mild, kind old men, at Ingham's mother's +house,--then he went to sea once himself for the first time,--and he had +a mother himself,--and as he went off, she gave him the best album-book +that Thetford Regis could make,--and wrote this inscription in ink that +was not rusty then! + +Well, again! in this book, Ingham, who had been reading it all day, had +put five or six newspaper-marks. + +The first was at this entry,-- + + "A new boy came into the mess. They said he was a French boy, but + the first luff says he is the Capptain's own nef-few." + +Two pages on,-- + + "The French boy fought Wimple and beat him. They fought seeventeen + rounds." + +Farther yet,-- + + "Toney is offe on leave. So the French boy was in oure watch. He + is not a French boy. His name is Doovarl." + +In the midst of a great deal about the mess, and the fellows, and the +boys, and the others, and an inexplicable fuss there is about a +speculation the mess entered into with some illicit dealer for an +additional supply, not of liquor, but of sugar,--which I believe was +detected, and which covers pages of badly written and worse spelled +manuscript, not another distinct allusion to the French boy,--not near +so much as to Toney or Wimple or Scroop, or big Wallis or little Wallis. +Ingham had painfully toiled through it all, and I did after him. But in +another volume, written years after, at a time when the young officer +wrote a much more rapid, though scarcely more legible hand, he found a +long account of an examination appointed to pass midshipmen, and, to our +great delight, as it began, this exclamation:-- + +"When the Amphion's boat came up, who should step up but old Den, whom I +had not seen since we were in the Rainbow. We were together all +day,--and it was very good to see him." + +And afterwards, in the detail of the examination, he is spoken of as +"Duval." The passage is a little significant. + +Young Heddart details all the questions put to him, as thus:-- + +"'Old Saumarez asked me which was the narrowest part of the Channel, and +I told him. Then he asked how Silly [_sic_] bore, if I had 75 fathom, +red sand and gravel. I said, 'About N.W.,' and the old man said, 'Well, +yes,--rather West of N.W., is not it so, Sir Richard?' And Sir Richard +did not know what they were talking about, and they pulled out +Mackenzie's Survey," etc., etc., etc.,--more than any man would delve +through at this day, unless he were searching for Paul Jones or Denis +Duval, or some other hero. "What is the mark for going into Spithead?" +"What is the mark for clearing Royal Sovereign Shoals?"--let us hope +they were all well answered. Evidently, in Mr. Heddart's mind, they were +more important than any other detail of that day, but fortunately for +posterity then comes this passage:-- + +"After me they called up Brooke, and Calthorp, and Clements,--and then +old Wingate, Tom Wingate's father, who had examined them, seemed to get +tired, and turned to Pierson, and said, 'Sir Richard, you ought to take +your turn." And so Sir Richard began, and, as if by accident, called up +Den. + +"'Mr. Duval,' said he, 'how do you find the variation of the compass by +the amplitudes or azimuths?' + +"Of course any fool knew that. And of course he could not ask all such +questions. So, when he came on _practice_, he said,-- + +"'Mr. Duval, what is the mark for Stephenson's Shoal?' + +"Oh, dear! what fun it was to hear Den answer,--Lyd Church and the ruins +of Lynn Monastery must come in one. The Shoal was about three miles from +Dungeness, and bore S.W. or somewhere from it. The Soundings were red +sand--or white sand or something,--very glib. Then-- + +"'How would you anchor under Dungeness, Mr. Duval?' + +"And Duval was not too glib, but very certain. He would bring it to bear +S.W. by W., or, perhaps, W.S.W.; he would keep the Hope open of Dover, +and he would try to have twelve fathoms water. + +"'Well, Mr. Duval, how does Dungeness bear from Beachy Head?'--and so +on, and so on. + +"And Den was very good and modest, but quite correct all the same, and +as true to the point as Cocker and Gunter together. Oh, dear! I hope the +post-captains did not know that Sir Richard was Den's uncle, and that +Den had sailed in and out of Winchelsea harbour, in sight of Beachy Head +and Dungeness, ever since the day after he was born! + +"But he made no secret of it when we passed-mids dined at the Anchor. + +"A jolley time we had! I slept there." + +With these words, Denis Duval vanishes from the Diary. + + +Of course, as soon as we had begged Ingham's pardon, we turned back to +find the battle with the Bon Homme Richard. Little enough was there. The +entry reads thus,--this time rather more in log-book shape. + +On the left-hand page, in columns elaborately ruled,-- + +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days. |Sept. 1779.|Wind.|Courses. |Dist.|Lat. |Long. | Bearings. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- + | | |Waiting for | | | | Flamboro. +Wednesday,\| 22.23. | S.E.|Convoy till |None.|54° 9'|0°5' E.| H. +Thursday. /| | |11 of | | | | N. by W. + | | |Thursday. | | | | +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +The rest of that page is blank. The right page, headed, "_Remarks, &c., +on board H.M.S. Serapis_," in the boy's best copy-hand, goes on with +longer entries than any before. + +"42 vessels reported for the convoy. Mr. Mycock says we shall not wait +for the rest." + +"10 o'clock, A.M. Thursday. Two men came on board with news of the +pirate Jones. Signal for a coast-pilot,--weighed and sailed as soon as +he came. As we pass Flamboro' Head, two sails in sight S.S.W., which the +men say are he and his consort." + +Then, for the next twenty-four hours,-- + +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days.|Sept. 1779.|Wind. |Courses.|Dist. |Lat. |Long. | Bearings. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- + | | | | | | |Flamb. H. +Thursday,\| 23.24. |S.S.W.| E.S.E. |Nothing.|52.13.|0.11. E.|W. aftern. +Friday. /| | | W.S.W. | | | |W. by N. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +"Foggy at first,--clear afterwards. + +"At 1 P.M. beat to quarters. All my men at quarters but West, who was on +shore when we sailed, the men say on leave,--and Collins in the sick +bay. (MEM. _shirked_.) The others in good spirits. Mr. Wallis made us a +speech, and the men cheered well. Engaged the enemy at about 7.20 P.M. +Mr. Wallis had bade me open my larboard ports, and I did so; but I did +not loosen the stern-guns, which are fought by my crew, when necessary. +The captain hailed the stranger twice, and then the order came to fire. +Our gun No. 2 (after-gun but one) was my first piece. No. 1 flashed, and +the gunner had to put on new priming. Fired twice with those guns, but +before we had loaded the second time, for the third fire, the enemy ran +into us. One of my men (Craik) was badly jammed in the shock,--squeezed +between the gun and the deck. But he did not leave the gun. Tried to +fire into the enemy, but just as we got the gun to bear, and got a new +light, he fell off. It was very bad working in the dark. The lanthorns +are as bad as they can be. Loaded both guns, got new portfires, and we +ran into the enemy. We were wearing, and I believe our jib-boom got into +his mizzen rigging. The ships were made fast by the men on the upper +deck. At first I could not bring a gun to bear, the enemy was so far +ahead of me. But as soon as we anchored, our ship forged ahead a +little,--and by bringing the hind axle-trucks well aft, I made both my +starboard guns bear on his bows. Fired right into his forward ports. I +do not think there was a man or a gun there. In the second battery, +forward of me, they had to blow our own ports open, because the enemy +lay so close. Stopped firing three times for my guns to cool. No. 2 +cools quicker than No. 1, or I think so. Forward we could hear +musket-shot, and grenadoes,--but none of these things fell where we were +at work. A man came into port No. 5, where little Wallis was, and said +that the enemy was sinking, and had released him and the other +prisoners. But we had no orders to stop firing. Afterwards there was a +great explosion. It began at the main hatch, but came back to me and +scalded some of my No. 2 men horribly. Afterwards Mr. Wallis came and +took some of No. 2's men to board. I tried to bring both guns to bear +with No. 1's crew. No. 2's crew did not come back. At half-past ten all +firing stopped on the upper deck. Mr. Wallis went up to see if the enemy +had struck. He did not come down,--but the master came down and said we +had struck, and the orders were to cease firing. + +"We had struck to the Richard, 44, Commodore Jones, and the Alliance, +40, which was the vessel they saw from the quarter-deck. Our consort, +the Countess Scarborough, had struck to the enemy's ship Pallas. The +officers and crew of the Richard are on board our ship. The mids talk +English well, and are good fellows. They are very sorry for Mr. Mayrant, +who was stabbed with a pike in boarding us, and Mr. Potter, another +midshipman, who was hurt. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days.|Sept., 1779.|Wind. |Courses.|Dist.|Lat. |Long. |Bearings. +----------------------------------------------------------------------- +Friday, \|24th, 25th. |S.S.W.| |None.|As |As |As above. +Saturday./| | | | |above. |above. | +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +"The enemy's sick and wounded and prisoners were brought on board. At +ten on the 25th, his ship, the Richard, sank. Played chess with Mr. +Merry, one of the enemy's midshipmen. Beat him twice out of three. + +"There is a little French fellow named Travaillier among their +volunteers. When I first saw him he was naked to his waist. He had used +his coat for a wad, and his shirt wet to put out fire. Plenty of our men +had their coats burnt off, but they did not live to tell it." + +Then the diary relapses into the dreariness of most ship-diaries, till +they come into the Texel, when it is to a certain extent relieved by +discussions about exchanges. + + * * * * * + +Such a peep at the most remarkable frigate-action in history, as that +action was seen by a boy in the dark, through such key-hole as the +after-ports of one of the vessels would give him, stimulated us all to +"ask for more," and then to abuse Master Robert Heddart, "volunteer," a +little, that he had not gone into more detail. Ingham defended his +grandfather by saying that it was the way diaries always served you, +which is true enough, and that the boy had literally told what he saw, +which was also true enough, only he seemed to have seen "mighty little," +which, I suppose, should be spelled "mity little." When we said this, +Ingham said it was all in the dark, and Haliburton added, that "the +battle-lanterns were as bad as they could be," Ingham said, however, +that he thought there was more somewhere,--he had often heard the old +gentleman tell the story in vastly more detail. + +Accordingly, a few days after, he sent me a yellow old letter on long +foolscap sheets, in which the old gentleman had written out his +recollections for Ingham's own benefit, after some talk of old times on +Thanksgiving evening. It is all he has ever found in his grandfather's +rather tedious papers about the battle, and one passing allusion in it +drops the curtain on Denis Duval. + +Here it is. + + "JAMAICA PLAIN, NOV. 29, 1824. + + "MY DEAR BOY,--I am very glad to comply with your request + about an account of the great battle between the Serapis and the + Bon Homme Richard and her consort. I had rather you should write + out what I told you all on Thanksgiving evening at your mother's, + for you hold a better pen than I do. But I know my memory of the + event is strong, for it was the first fight I ever saw; and + although it does not compare with Rodney's great fight with De + Grasse, which I saw also, yet there are circumstances connected + with it which will always make it a remarkable fight in history. + + "You said, at your mother's, that you had never understood why the + men on each side kept inquiring if the others had struck. The + truth is, we had it all our own way below. And, as it proved, when + our captain, Pearson, struck, most of his men were below. I know, + that, in all the confusion and darkness and noise, I had no idea, + aft on the main deck, that we were like to come off second best. + On the other hand, at that time, the Richard probably had not a + man left between-decks, unless some whom they were trying to keep + at her pumps. But on her upper deck and quarter-deck and in her + tops she had it all her own way. Jones himself was there; by that + time Dale was there; and they had wholly cleared our upper deck, + as we had cleared their main deck and gun-room. This was the + strangeness of that battle. We were pounding through and through + her, while she did not fight a gun of her main battery. But Jones + was working his quarter-deck guns so as almost to rake our deck + from stem to stern. You know, the ships were foul and lashed + together. Jones says in his own account he aimed at our main-mast + and kept firing at it. You can see that no crew could have lived + under such a fire as that. There you have the last two hours of + the battle: Jones's men all above, our men all below; we pounding + at his main deck, he pelting at our upper deck. If there had not + been some such division, of course the thing could not have lasted + so long, even with the horrid havoc there was. I never saw + anything like it, and I hope, dear boy, you may never have to." + + [_Mem._ by Ingham. I had just made my first cruise as a midshipman + in the U.S. navy on board the Intrepid, when the old gentleman + wrote this to me. He made his first cruise in the British navy in + the Serapis. After he was exchanged, he remained in that service + till 1789, when he married in Canso, N.S., resigned his + commission, and settled there.] + +The letter continues:-- + + "I have been looking back on my own boyish journal of that time. + My mother made me keep a log, as I hope yours does. But it is + strange to see how little of the action it tells. The truth is, I + was nothing but a butterfly of a youngster. To save my conceit, + the first lieutenant, Wallis, told me I was assigned to keep an + eye on the after-battery, where were two fine old fellows as ever + took the King's pay really commanding the crews and managing the + guns. Much did I know about sighting or firing them! However, I + knew enough to keep my place. I remember tying up a man's arm with + my own shirt-sleeves, by way of showing I was not frightened, as + in truth I was. And I remember going down to the cockpit with a + poor wretch who was awfully burned with powder,--and the sight + there was so much worse than it was at my gun that I was glad to + get back again. Well, you may judge, that, from two + after-portholes below, first larboard, then starboard, I _saw_ + little enough of the battle. But I have talked about it since, + with Dale, who was Jones's first lieutenant, and whom I met at + Charlestown when he commanded the yard there. I have talked of it + with Wallis many times. I talked of it with Sir Richard Pearson, + who was afterwards Lt.-Gov. of Greenwich, and whom I saw there. + Paul Jones I have touched my hat to, but never spoke to, except + when we all took wine with him one day at dinner. But I have met + his niece, Miss Janet Taylor, who lives in London now, and + calculates nautical tables. I hope you will see her some day. Then + there is a gentleman named Napier in Edinburgh, who has the + Richard's log-book. Go and see it, if you are ever there,--Mr. + George Napier. And I have read every word I could find about the + battle. It was a remarkable fight indeed. 'All of which I was, + though so little I saw.'" + + [_Mem._ by F.C. And dear Ingham's nice old grandfather is a little + slow in getting into action, _me judice_. It was a way they had in + the navy before steam.] + +The letter continues:-- + + "I do not know that Captain Pearson was a remarkable man; but I do + know he was a brave man. He was made Sir Richard Pearson by the + King for his bravery in this fight. When Paul Jones heard of that, + he said Pearson deserved the knighthood, and that he would make + him an earl the next time he met him. Of course, I only knew the + captain as a midshipman (we were 'volunteers' then) knows a + post-captain, and that for a few months only. We joined in summer + (the Serapis was just commissioned for the first time). We were + taken prisoners in September, but it was mid-winter before we were + exchanged. He was very cross all the time we were in Holland. I do + not suppose he wrote as good a letter as Jones did. I have heard + that he could not spell well. But what I know is that he was a + brave man. + + "Paul Jones is one of the curiosities of history. He certainly was + of immense value to your struggling cause. He kept England in + terror; he showed the first qualities as a naval commander; he + achieved great successes with very little force. Yet he has a + damaged reputation. I do not think he deserves this reputation; + but I know he has it. Now I can see but one difference between him + and any of your land-heroes or your water-heroes whom all the + world respects. This is, that he was born on our side, and they + were born on the American side. This ought not to make any + difference. But in actual fact I think it did. Jones was born in + the British Islands. The popular feeling of England made a + distinction between the allegiance which he owed to King George + and that of born Americans. It ought not to have done so, because + he had in good faith emigrated to America before the Rebellion, + and took part in it with just the same motives which led any other + American officer.[H] + + "He had a fondness for books and for society, and thought himself + gifted in writing. I should think he wrote too much. I have seen + verses of his which were very poor." + + [_Mem_. by F.C. I should think Ingham's grandfather wrote too + much. I have seen letters of his which were very long, before they + came to their subject.] + +The letter continues:-- + + "To return. The Serapis, as I have said, was but just built. She + had been launched that spring. She was one of the first 44-gun + frigates that were ever built in the world. We (the English) were + the first naval power to build frigates, as now understood, at + all. I believe the name is Italian, but in the Mediterranean it + means a very different thing. We had little ships-of-the-line, + which were called fourth-rates, and which fought sixty, and even + as low as fifty guns; they had two decks, and a quarter-deck + above. But just as I came into the service, the old Phoenix and + Rainbow and Roebuck were the only 44s we had: they were successful + ships, and they set the Admiralty on building 44-gun frigates, + which, even when they carried 50 guns, as we did, were quite + different from the old fourth-rates. Very useful vessels they + proved. I remember the Romulus, the Ulysses, the Actęon, and the + Endymion: the Endymion fought the President forty years after. As + I say, the Serapis was one of a batch of these vessels launched in + the spring of 1779. + + "We had been up the Cattegat that summer, waiting for what was + known as the Baltic fleet.[I] If there were room and time, I could + tell you good stories of the fun we had at Copenhagen. At last we + got the convoy together, and got to sea,--no little job in that + land-locked sailing. We got well across the North Sea, and, for + some reason, made Sunderland first, and afterwards Scarborough. + + "We were lying close in with Scarborough, when news came off that + Paul Jones, with a fleet, was on the coast. Captain Pearson at + once tried to signal the convoy back,--for they were working down + the coast towards the Humber,--but the signals did no good till + they saw the enemy themselves, and then they scud fast enough, + passing us, and running into Scarborough harbor. We had not a + great deal of wind, and the other armed vessel we had, the + Countess of Scarborough, was slow, so that I remember we lay to + for her. Jones was as anxious as we were to fight. We neared each + other steadily till seven in the evening or later. The sun was + down, but it was full moon,--and as we came near enough to speak, + we could see everything on his ship. At that time the Poor Richard + was the only ship we had to do with. His other ships were after + our consort. The Richard was a queer old French Indiaman, you + know. She was the first French ship-of-war I had ever seen. She + had six guns on her lower deck, and six ports on each side + there,--meaning to fight all these guns on the same side. On her + proper gun-deck, above these, she had fourteen guns on each + side,--twelves and nines. Then she had a high quarter, and a high + forecastle, with eight more guns on these,--having, you know, one + of those queer old poops you see in old pictures. She was, + therefore, a good deal higher than we; for our quarter-deck had + followed the fashion and come down. We fought twenty guns on our + lower deck, twenty on our upper deck, and on the forecastle and + quarter-deck we had ten little things,--fifty guns,--not unusual, + you know, in a vessel rated as a forty-four. We had twenty-two in + broadside. I remember I supposed for some time that all French + ships were black, because the Richard was. + + "As I said, I was on the main deck, aft. We were all lying + stretched out in the larboard ports to see and hear what we could, + when Captain Pearson himself hailed, "What ship is that?" I could + not hear their answer, and he hailed again, and then said, if they + did not answer, he would fire. We all took this as good as an + order, and, hearing nothing, tumbled in and blazed away. The Poor + Richard fired at the same time. It was at that first broadside of + hers, as you remember, that two of Jones's heavy guns, below his + main deck, burst. We could see that as we sighted for our next + broadside, because we could see how they hove up the gun-deck + above them. As for our shot, I suppose they all told. We had ten + eighteen-pounders in that larboard battery below. I do not see why + any shot should have failed. + + "However, he had no thought of being pounded to pieces by his own + firing and ours, and so he bore right down on us. He struck our + quarter, just forward of my forward gun,--struck us hard, too. We + had just fired our second shot, and then he closed, so I could not + bring our two guns to bear. This was when he first tried to fasten + the ships together. But they would not stay fastened. He could not + bring a gun to bear,--having no forward ports that served + him,--till we fell off again, and it was then that Captain Pearson + asked, in that strange stillness, if he had struck. Jones + answered, 'I have not begun to fight.' And so it proved. Our sails + were filled, he backed his top-sails, and we wore short round. As + he laid us athwart-hawse, or as we swung by him, our jib-boom ran + into his mizzen-rigging. They say Jones himself then fastened our + boom to his mainmast. Somebody did, but it did not hold, but one + of our anchors hooked his quarter, and so we fought, fastened + together, to the end,--both now fighting our starboard batteries, + and being fixed stern to stem. + + "On board the Serapis our ports were not open on the starboard + side, because we had been firing on the other. And as we ran + across and loosened those guns, the men amidships actually found + they could not open their ports, the Richard was so close. They + therefore fired their first shots right through our own port-lids, + and blew them off. I was so far aft that my port-lids swung free. + + "What I said, in beginning this letter, will explain to you the + long continuance of the action after this moment, when, you would + say, it must be ended by boarding, or in some other way, very + soon. As soon as we on our main deck got any idea of the Richard's + main deck, we saw that almost nobody replied to us there. In + truth, two of the six guns which made her lower starboard battery + had burst, and Jones's men would not fight what were left, nor do + I blame them. Above, their gun-deck had been hoisted up, and, as + it proved the next day, we were cutting them right through. We + pounded away at what we could see,--and much more at what we could + not see,--for it was now night, and there was a little smoke, as + you may fancy. But above, the Richard's upper deck was a good deal + higher than ours, and there Jones had dragged across upon his + quarter a piece from the larboard battery, so that he had three + nine-pounders, with which he was doing his best, almost raking us, + as you may imagine. No one ever said so to me, that I know, but I + doubt whether we could get elevation enough from any of our light + guns on our upper deck (nines) to damage his battery much, he was + so much higher than we. As for musketry, there is not much + sharp-shooting when you are firing at night in the smoke, with the + decks swaying under you. + + "Many a man has asked me why neither side boarded,--and, in fact, + there is a popular impression that Jones took our ship by + boarding, as he did not. As to that, such questions are easier + asked than answered. This is to be said, however: about ten + o'clock, an English officer, who had commanded the Union + letter-of-marque, which Jones had taken a few days before, came + scrambling through one of our ports from the Richard. He went up + aft to Captain Pearson at once, and told him that the Richard was + sinking, that they had had to release all her prisoners (and she + had hundreds) from the hold and spar-deck, himself among them, + because the water came in so fast, and that, if we would hold on a + few minutes more, the ship was ours. Every word of this was true, + except the last. Hearing this, Captain Pearson--who, if you + understand, was over my head, for he kept the quarter-deck almost + throughout--hailed to ask if they had struck. He got no answer, + Jones in fact being at the other end of his ship, on his quarter, + pounding away at our main-mast. Pearson then called for boarders; + they were formed hastily, and dashed on board to take the prize. + But the Richard had not struck, though I know some of her men had + called for quarters. Her men were ready for us,--under cover, + Captain Pearson says in his despatch,--Jones himself seized a pike + and headed his crew, and our men fell back again. One of the + accounts says we tried to board earlier, as soon as the vessels + were made fast to each other. But of this I knew nothing. + + "Meanwhile Jones's people could not stay on his lower deck,--and + could not do anything, if they had stayed there. They worked their + way above. His main deck (of twelves) was fought more + successfully, but his great strength was on his upper deck and in + his tops. To read his own account, you would almost think he + fought the battle himself with his three quarter-deck cannon, and + I suppose it would be hard to overstate what he did do. Both he + and Captain Pearson ascribe the final capture of the Serapis to + this strange incident. + + "The men in the Richard's tops were throwing hand-grenades upon + our decks, and at last one fellow worked himself out to the end of + the main-yard with a bucket filled with these missiles, lighted + them one by one, and threw them fairly down our main hatchway. + Here, as our ill luck ordered, was a row of our eighteen-gun + cartridges, which the powder-boys had left there as they went for + more,--our fire, I suppose, having slackened there:--cartridges + were then just coming into use in the navy. One of these grenades + lighted the row, and the flash passed--bang--bang--bang--back to + me. Oh, it was awful! Some twenty of our men were fairly blown to + pieces. There were other men who were stripped naked, with nothing + on but the collars of their shirts and their wristbands. Farther + aft there was not so much powder, perhaps, and the men were + scorched or burned more than they were wounded. I do not know how + I escaped, but I do know that there was hardly a man forward of my + guns who did escape,--some hurt,--and the groaning and shrieking + were terrible. I will not ask you to imagine all this,--in the + utter darkness of smoke and night below-decks, almost every + lantern blown out or smashed. But I assure you I can remember it. + There were agonies there which I have never trusted my tongue to + tell. Yet I see, in my journal, in a boy's mock-man way, this is + passed by, as almost nothing. I did not think so or feel so, I can + tell you. + + "It was after this that the effort was made to board. I know I had + filled some buckets of water from our lee ports, and had got some + of the worst hurt of my men below, and was trying to understand + what Brooks, who was jammed, but not burned, thought we could do, + to see if we could not at least clear things enough to fight one + gun, when boarders were called, and he left me. Cornish, who had + really been captain of the other gun, was badly hurt, and had gone + below. Then came the effort to board, which, as I say, failed; and + that was really our last effort. About half-past ten, Captain + Pearson struck. He was not able to bring a gun to bear on the + Alliance, had she closed with us; his ship had been on fire a + dozen times, and the explosion had wholly disabled our main + battery, which had been, until this came, our chief strength. But + so uncertain and confused was it all, that I know, when I heard + the cry, 'They've struck,' I took it for granted it was the + Richard. In fact, Captain Pearson had struck our flag with his own + hands. The men would not expose themselves to the fire from the + Richard's tops. Mr. Mayrant, a fine young fellow, one of Jones's + midshipmen, was wounded in boarding us after we struck, because + some of our people did not know we had struck. I know, when + Wallis, our first lieutenant, heard the cry, he ran + up-stairs,--supposing that Jones had struck to us, and not we to + him. + + "It was Lieutenant Dale who boarded us. He is still living, a fine + old man, at Philadelphia. He found Captain Pearson on the lee of + our quarter-deck again, and said,-- + + "'Sir, I have orders to send you on board the ship along-side.' + + "Up the companion comes Wallis, and says to Captain Pearson,-- + + "'Have they struck?' + + "'No, Sir,' said Dale,--'the contrary: he has struck to us.' + + "Wallis would not take it, and said to Pearson,-- + + "'Have you struck, Sir?' + + "And he had to say he had. Wallis said, 'I have nothing more to + say,' and turned to come down to us, but Dale would not let him. + Wallis said he would silence the lower-deck guns, but Dale sent + some one else, and took them both aboard the Richard. Little + Duval--a volunteer on board, not yet rated as midshipman--went + with them. Jones gave back our captain's sword, with the usual + speech about bravery,--but they quarrelled awfully afterwards. + + "I suppose Paul Jones was himself astonished when daylight showed + the condition of his ship. I am sure we were. His ship was still + on fire: ours had been a dozen times, but was out. Wherever our + main battery could hit him, we had torn his ship to + pieces,--knocked in and knocked out the sides. There was a + complete breach from the main-mast to the stern. You could see the + sky and sea through the old hulk anywhere. Indeed, the wonder was + that the quarter-deck did not fall in. The ship was sinking fast, + and the pumps would not free her. For us, our jib-boom had been + wrenched off at the beginning; our main-mast and mizzentop fell as + we struck, and at day-break the wreck was not cleared away. Jones + put Lieutenant Lunt on our vessel that night, but the next day he + removed all his wounded, and finally all his people, to the + Serapis, and at ten the Poor Richard went to the bottom. I have + always wondered that your Naval Commissioners never named another + frigate for her. + + "And so, my dear boy, I will stop. I hope in God, it will never be + your fate to see such a fight, or any fight, between an English + and an American frigate. + + "We drifted into Holland. Our wounded men were sent into hospital + in the fort of the Texel. At last we were all transferred to the + French Government as prisoners, and that winter we were exchanged. + The Serapis went into the French navy, and the only important + result of the affair in history was that King George had to make + war with Holland. For, as soon as we were taken into the Texel, + the English minister claimed us of the Dutch. But the Dutch + gentlemen said they were neutrals, and could not interfere in the + Rebel quarrel. "Interfere or fight," said England,--and the first + clause of the manifesto which makes war with Holland states this + grievance, that the Dutch would not surrender us when asked for. + That is the way England treats neutrals who offer hospitality to + rebels." + +So ends the letter. I suppose the old gentleman got tired of writing. I +have observed that the end of all letters is more condensed than the +beginning. Mr. Weller, indeed, pronounces the "sudden pull-up" to be the +especial charm of letter-writing. I had a mind to tell what the old +gentleman saw of Kempenfelt and the Royal George, but this is enough. As +Denis Duval scrambles across to Paul Jones's quarter-deck, at eleven +o'clock of that strange moonlight night, he vanishes from history. + + * * * * * + +THE FUTURE SUMMER. + + + Summer in all! deep summer in the pines, + And summer in the music on the sands, + And summer where the sea-flowers rise and fall + About the gloomy foreheads of stern rocks + And the green wonders of our circling sphere. + + Can mockery be hidden in such guise, + To peep, like sunlight, behind shifting leaves, + And dye the purple berries of the field, + Or gleam like moonlight upon juniper, + Or wear the gems outshining jewelled pride? + Can mockery do this, and we endure + In Nature's rounded palace of the world? + + Where, then, has fled the summer's wonted peace? + Sweeter than breath borne on the scented seas, + Over fresh fields, and brought to weary shores, + It should await the season's worshipper; + But as a star shines on the daisy's eye, + So shines great Conscience on the face of Peace, + And lends it calmer lustre with the dew: + When that star dims, the paling floweret fades! + + Yet there be those who watch a serpent crawl + And, blackening, sleep within a blossom's heart, + Who will not slay, but call their gazing "Peace." + Even thus within the bosom of our land + Creeps, serpent-like, Sedition, and hath gnawed + In silence, while a timid crowd stood still. + + O suffering land! O dear long-suffering land, + Slay thou the serpent ere he slime the core! + Take thou our houses and amenities, + Take thou the hand that parting clings to ours, + And going bears our heart into the fight; + Take thou, but slay the serpent ere he kill! + + Now, as a lonely watcher on the strand, + Hemmed by the mist and the quick coming waves, + Hears but one voice, the voice of warning bell, + That solemn speaks, "Beware the jaws of death!" + Death on the sea, and warning on the strand! + Such is our life, while Summer, mocking, broods. + + O mighty heart! O brave, heroic soul! + Hid in the dim mist of the things that be, + We call thee up to fill the highest place! + Whether to till thy corn and give the tithe, + Whether to grope a picket in the dark, + Or, having nobly served, to be cast down, + And, unregarded, passed by meaner feet, + Or, happier thou, to snatch the fadeless crown, + And walk in youth and beauty to God's rest,-- + The purpose makes the hero, meet thy doom! + + We call to thee, where'er thy pillowed head + Rests lonely for the brother who has gone, + To fix thy gaze on Freedom's chrysolite, + Which rueful fate can neither crack nor mar, + And, hand in hand indissolubly bound + To thy next fellow, hand and purpose one, + Stretch thus, a living wall, from the rock coast + Home to our ripe and yellow heart of the West, + Impenetrable union triumphing. + + The solemn Autumn comes, the gathering-time! + Stand we now ripe, a harvest for the Right! + That, when fair Summer shall return to earth, + Peace may inhabit all her sacred ways, + Lap in the waves upon melodious sands, + And linger in the swaying of the corn, + Or sit with clouds upon the ambient skies,-- + Summer and Peace brood on the grassy knolls + Where twilight glimmers over the calm dead, + While clustered children chant heroic tales. + + * * * * * + +DEMOCRACY AND THE SECESSION WAR. + + +The interest which foreign peoples take in our civil war proceeds from +two causes chiefly, though there are minor causes that help swell the +force of the current of feeling. The first of these causes is the +contemplation of the check which has been given by the war's occurrence +to our march to universal American dominion. For about seventy-two years +our "progress," as it was called, was more marvellous than the dreams of +other nations. In spite of Indian wars, of wars with France and England +and Mexico, of depredations on our commerce by France and England and +Barbary, of a currency that seemed to have been created for the +promotion of bankruptcy and the organization of instability, of biennial +changes in our tariffs and systems of revenue, of competition that ought +to have been the death of trade,--in spite of these and other evils, +this country, in the brief term of one not over-long human life, +increased in all respects at a rate to excite the gravest fears in the +minds of men who had been nursed on the balance-of-power theory. A new +power had intruded itself into the old system, and its disturbing force +was beyond all calculation. Between the day on which George Washington +took the Presidential oath and the day when South Carolina broke her +oath, our population had increased from something like three millions to +more than thirty-one millions; and in all the elements of material +strength our increase had far exceeded our growth in numbers. When the +first Congress of the old Union met, our territory was confined to a +strip of land on the western shore of the Atlantic,--and that territory +was but sparsely settled. When the thirty-sixth Congress broke up, our +territory had extended to the Pacific, on which we had two States, while +other communities there were preparing to become States. It did seem as +if Coleridge's "august conception" was about to become a great fact. +"The possible destiny of the United States of America," said that mighty +genius, "as a nation of a hundred millions of freemen, stretching from +the Atlantic to the Pacific, living under the laws of Alfred, and +speaking the language of Shakspeare and Milton, is an august +conception." To all appearance in 1860, there would be a hundred +millions of freemen here, and not far from twenty millions of slaves, at +the close of the nineteenth century; and middle-aged men were not +unreasonable in their expectation of seeing the splendid spectacle. The +rate of increase in population that we had known warranted their most +sanguine hopes. Such a nation,--a nation that should grow its own food, +make its own cloths, dig or pick up its own gold and silver and +quicksilver, mine its own coal and iron, supply itself, and the rest of +the world too, with cotton and tobacco and rice and sugar, and that +should have a mercantile tonnage of not less than fifteen millions, and +perhaps very much more,--such a nation, we say, it was reasonable to +expect the United States would become by the year 1900. But because the +thought of it was pleasing to us, we are not to conclude that it would +be so to European sovereigns and statesmen. On the contrary, they had +abundant reason to dread the accumulation of so much strength in one +empire. Even in 1860 we had passed the point at which it was possible +for us to have any fear of European nations, or of a European alliance. +We had but to will it, and British America, and what there was left of +Spanish America and Mexico, would all have been gathered in, reaped by +that mowing-machine, the American sword. Had our rulers of that year +sought to stave off civil war by plunging us into a foreign war, we +could have made ourselves masters of all North America, despite the +opposition of all Europe, had all Europe been ready to try the question +with us, whether the Monroe doctrine were a living thing or a dirty +skeleton from the past. But all Europe would not have opposed us, seeing +that England would have been the principal sufferer from our success; +and England is unpopular throughout Continental Europe,--in France, in +Germany, and in Russia. Probably the French Emperor would have preferred +a true cordial understanding with us to a nominal one with England, and, +confining his labors to Europe and the East, would have obtained her +"natural boundaries" for France, and supremacy over Egypt. The war might +have left but three great powers in the world, namely, France, Russia, +and America, or the United States, the latter to include Canada and +Mexico, with the Slave-Power's ascendency everywhere established in +North America. It was on the cards that we might avoid dissension and +civil strife by extending the Union, and by invading and conquering the +territories of our neighbors. Why this course was not adopted it is not +our purpose now to discuss; but that it would have been adopted, if the +Secession movement had been directed from the North against the rule of +the Democratic party, we are as firmly convinced as we are of the +existence of the tax-gatherer,--and no man in this country can now +entertain any doubt of his existence, or of his industry and exactions. + +When, therefore, our Union was severed in twain by the action of the +Southern Secessionists, and the Confederacy was established, it was the +most natural thing in the world that most European governments, and by +far the larger part of the governing classes in most European nations, +should sympathize with the Rebels: not because they altogether approved +of what the Rebels avowed to be their principles, or of their scandalous +actions in the cause of lawlessness; but because their success would +break down a nation that was becoming too strong to have any regard for +European opinion, and the continuance and growth of which were believed +to be incompatible with the safety of Europe, and the retention of its +controlling position in the world. England was relieved of her fears +with regard to her North-American possessions; and Spain saw an end put +to those insulting demands that she should sell Cuba, which for years +had proceeded from Democratic administrations,--President Buchanan, in +the very last days of his term, and while the Union was falling to +pieces around him, persisting in a demand which then had become as +ridiculous as it had ever been wicked. Austria and Prussia could have no +objection to the breaking-up of a nation which had sympathized with +Poland, Hungary, and Italy, and which, so far as it acted at all, had +acted in behalf of European Liberalism. France, which would have been +willing to act with us, had we remained in condition to render our +action valuable, had no idea of risking anything in our behalf, and +turned her attention to Mexico, as a field well worthy of her +cultivation, and which our troubles had laid open to her enterprise and +ambition. The kingdom of Italy was of too recent birth to have much +influence; and, though its sympathies were with us, it was forced by +circumstances to conform to the example of France and England. Even +Russia, though unquestionably our friend, and sincerely anxious for our +success, probably did not much regret that something had here occurred +which might teach us to become less ready to prompt Poles to rebel, and +not so eager to help them when in rebellion. Most of the lesser +governments of Europe saw our difficulties with satisfaction, because +generally they are illiberal in their character, and our example was +calculated to render their subjects disaffected. + +The feeling of which we speak is one that arose from the rapid growth of +this country, and of the fears that that growth had created as to the +safety of European States. It had nothing to do with the character of +our national polity, or with the political opinions of our people. It +would have existed all the same, if we had been governed by an Autocrat +or a Stratocrat, instead of having a movable President for our chief. It +would have been as strong, if our national legislature had been as +quiescent as Napoleon I.'s Senate, instead of being a reckless and an +undignified Congress. It owed its existence to our power, our growth, +our ambition, our "reannexing" spirit, our disposition to meddle with +the affairs of others, our restlessness, and our frequent avowals of an +intention to become masters of all the Occident. We might have been +regarded as even more dangerous than we were, had our government been as +firmly founded as that of Russia, or had it, like that of France, the +power that proceeds at once from the great intellect and the great name +of its chief. A Napoleon or a Nicholas at the head of a people so +intelligent and so active as Americans would indeed have been a most +formidable personage, and likely to employ his power for the disturbance +of mankind. + +But in addition to the fear that was created by our rapid growth in +greatness, the rulers of foreign nations regarded us with apprehension +because of our political position. We stood at the head of the popular +interest of Christendom, and all that we effected was carried to the +credit of popular institutions. We stood in antagonism to the +monarchical and aristocratical polities of Europe. The greater our +success, the stronger was the testimony borne by our career against the +old forms of government. Our example was believed to have brought about +that French movement which had shaken the world. The French Revolution +was held to be the child of the American Revolution; and if we had +accomplished so much in our weak youth, what might not be expected from +our example when we should have passed into the state of ripened +manhood? Our existence in full proportions would be a protest against +hereditary rule and exclusiveness. Imitation would follow, and every +existing political interest in Europe was alarmed at the thought of the +attacks to which it was exposed, and which might be precipitated at any +moment. On the other hand, if our "experiment" should prove a failure, +if democracy should come to utter grief in America, if civil war, debt, +and the lessening of the comforts of the masses should be the final +result of our attempt to establish the sovereignty of the people, would +not the effect be fatal to the popular cause in Europe? Certainly there +would be a great reaction, perhaps as great, and even as permanent, as +that Catholic reaction which began in the generation that followed the +death of Luther, and which has been so forcibly painted by the greatest +literary artists of our time. This was the second cause of that interest +in our conflict which has prevailed in Europe, which still prevails +there, and which has compelled Europeans of all classes, our foes as +well as our friends, to turn their attention to our land. "The eyes of +the world are upon us!" is a common saying with egotistical communities +and parties, and mostly it is ridiculously employed; but it was the +soberest of facts for the three years that followed the Battle of Bull +Run. If that gaze has latterly lost some of its intensity, it is because +the thought of intervention in our quarrel has, to appearance, been +abandoned even by the most inveterate of Tories who are not at the same +time fools or the hireling advocates of the Confederate cause. +Intervention in Mexico, too, whatever its success, has proved a more +difficult and a more costly business than was expected, and has +indisposed men who wish our fall to be eager in taking any part in +bringing it about. It may be, too, that the opinion prevails in Europe +that the Rebels are quite equal to the work which there it is desired +should here be wrought, and that policy requires that both parties +should be allowed to bleed to death, perishing by their own hands. If +American democracy is bent upon suicide, why should European aristocrats +interfere openly in the conflict? + +We admit that the inference which the European foes of freedom are +prepared to draw from our unhappy quarrel would be perfectly correct, if +they started from a correct position. If our polity is a democratic +polity, and if the end thereof is disunion, civil war, debt, immense +suffering, and the fear of the conflict assuming even a social character +before it shall have been concluded and peace restored, then is the +conclusion inevitable that a democracy is no better than any other form +of government, and is as bad as aristocracy or pure monarchy, under both +of which modes of governing states there have been civil wars, heavy +expenditures, much suffering for all classes of men, and great +insecurity for life and property. Assuredly, democracy never could hope +for a fairer field than has here existed; and if here it has failed, the +friends of democracy must suffer everywhere, and the cause of democracy +receive a check from which it cannot hope to recover for generations. As +"the horrors of the French Revolution" have proved most prejudicial to +the popular cause for seventy years, so must the failure of the American +"experiment" prove prejudicial to that cause throughout Christendom. Our +failure must be even more prejudicial than that of France; for the +French movement was undertaken under circumstances that rendered failure +all but certain, whereas ours was entered upon amid the most favoring +conditions, such as seemed to make failure wellnigh impossible. But we +do not admit that the position assumed by our European enemies is a +sound one, and therefore we hold that the conclusion to which they have +come, and from which they hope to effect so much for the cause of +oppression, is entirely erroneous. Whether we have failed or not, the +democratic principle remains unaffected. As we never have believed that +our example was fairly quotable by European democrats, even when we +appeared to be, and in most respects were, the most successful of +constitutionally governed nations, so do we now deny that our failure to +preserve peace in the old Union can be adduced in evidence against the +excellence of democracy, as that is understood by the advanced liberals +of Europe. As there is nothing in the history of the French Revolution +that should make reflecting men averse to constitutional liberty, so is +there nothing in the history of our war that should cause such men to +become hostile to that democratic idea which, as great observers assure +us, is to overcome and govern the world. + +If we have failed, _if_ our conflict is destined to end in a "general +break-down," so unhappy a close to a grand movement will not be due to +the ascendency of democracy here, but rather to democracy having by us +been kept down and depressed. Our polity is not a democratic polity. It +was never meant that it should be a democratic polity. Judging from the +history of the doings of the national convention which made the Federal +Constitution, and of the State conventions which ratified it, we should +be justified in saying that the chief object of "the fathers" was to +prevent the existence of a democracy in America. Their words and deeds +are alike adverse to the notion that democracy had many friends here in +the years that followed the achievement of our nationality. What might +have happened, had the work of constitution-making been entered upon two +or three years later, so that we should have had to read of Frenchmen +and Americans engaged at the same time in the same great business, it +might be interesting to inquire, as matter of curiosity; but our +government under the Constitution had been fairly organized some days +before the last States-General of France met, and, much as this country +was subsequently influenced by considerations that proceeded from the +French Revolution, they did not affect our polity, while they largely +affected our policy. Some eminent men, who were much under the influence +of French ideas, and others who were democratically inclined by their +mental constitution, did not altogether approve of the polity which had +been formed and ratified, and they represented the extreme left of the +country,--as others, who thought that polity too liberal, (too feeble, +they would have said,) represented the extreme right. These men agreed +in nothing but this, that the Federal Constitution was but a temporary +contrivance, and destined to last only until one extreme party or the +other should succeed in overthrowing it, and substituting for it a +polity in which either liberty or power should embody a complete +triumph. Probably not one of their number ever dreamed that it would +have seventy-two years of unbroken existence, or that the first serious +attack made on it would proceed from the quarter whence that attack was +destined to come. + +That our polity ever should have been looked upon as democratical in its +character, as well at home as abroad, is one of the strangest facts in +political history. Probably it is owing to some popular expressions in +the Constitution itself. "We, the People of the United States," are the +first words of the instrument, and they are represented as ordaining and +establishing the Constitution. Some of the provisions of the +Constitution are of a popular character, beyond doubt; but they are, in +most instances, not inspirations, but derived from English +experience,--and it will hardly be pretended that England was an armory +from which democracy would think of drawing special weapons. Our +fathers, as it were, codified English ideas and practices, because they +knew them well, and knew them to be good. The two legislative chambers, +the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus, the good-behavior tenure of +judges, and generally the modes of procedure, were taken from England; +and they are not of democratic origin, while they are due to the action +of aristocrats. The English Habeas-Corpus Act has been well described as +"the most stringent curb that ever legislation imposed on tyranny"; and +that act was the work of the English Whigs, the most aristocratical +party that ever existed, and it was as dear to Tories as to Whigs. +Democracy had no more to do with its existence than with the existence +of the earth. No democratic movement has ever aimed to extend this +blessing to other countries. In forming our judicial system, the men of +1787-'91 paid little regard to democracy, making judges practically +independent. There have been but two Chief Justices of the United States +for wellnigh sixty-four years, though it is well known that +Chief-Justice Marshall was as odious to the Jeffersonians of the early +part of the century as Chief-Justice Taney is to the ascendent party of +the last four years. Mansfield did not hold his seat more securely in +England than Marshall held his in America, though Mansfield was as +emphatically a favorite of George III. as Marshall was detestable in the +eyes of President Jefferson, who seems to have looked upon the Federal +Supreme Court with feelings not unlike to those with which James II. +regarded the Habeas-Corpus Act. Had he been the head of a democratic +polity, as he was the head of the democratic party, President Jefferson +would have got rid of the obnoxious Chief Justice as summarily as ever a +Stuart king ridded himself of an independent judge. And he would have +been supported by his political friends,--democrats being quite as ready +to support tyranny, and to punish independent officials, as ever were +aristocrats or monarchists. + +The manner in which Congress is constituted ought alone to suffice to +show that our polity is thoroughly anti-democratic. The House of +Representatives has the appearance of being a popular body; but a +popular body it is not, in any extended sense. The right to vote for +members of the House is restricted, in some States essentially so. As +matters stood during the whole period between the first election of +Representatives and the closing days of 1860, a large number of members +were chosen as representatives of property in men, a number sufficiently +large to decide the issue of more than one great political question. In +the Congress that met in December, 1859, the last Congress of the old +_régime_, one eleventh part of the Representatives, or thereabout, +represented slaves! Could anything be more opposed to democratic ideas +than such a basis of representation as that? Does any one suppose it +would be possible to incorporate into a democratic constitution that +should be formed for a European nation a provision giving power in the +legislature to men because they were slaveholders, allowing them to +treat their slaves as beasts from one point of view, and to regard them +as men and women from another point of view? Even in the Free States, +and down to recent times, large numbers of men have been excluded from +voting for Members of Congress because of the closeness of State laws. +At this very time, the State of Rhode Island--a State which in opinion +has almost invariably been in advance of her sisters--maintains a +suffrage-system that is considered illiberal, if not odious, in +Massachusetts; and Massachusetts herself is very careful to guard the +polls so jealously that she will not allow any man to vote who does not +pay roundly for the "privilege" of voting, while she provides other +securities that operate so stringently as sometimes to exclude even men +who have paid their money. Universal suffrage exists nowhere in the +United States, nor has its introduction ever been proposed in any part +of this country. The French imperial system of voting approaches much +nearer to universality than anything that ever has been known in +America; and yet England manages to get along tolerably well with her +imperial and democratic neighbor. Perhaps imperialism sweetens democracy +for her, just as democracy salts imperialism in France. + +But our House of Representatives, as originally constituted, was a +democratic body, when compared with "the upper chamber," the Senate. The +very existence of an "upper chamber" was an invasion of democratic +ideas. If the people are right, why institute a body expressly for the +purpose of checking their operations? Yet, in making our Constitution, +not only was such a body instituted, but it was rendered as +anti-democratic and as aristocratical as it could possibly be made. Its +members were limited to two from each State, so that perfect equality +between the States existed in the Senate, though one State might have +four million inhabitants, and its neighbor not one hundred thousand. How +this worked in practice will appear from the statement of a few facts. +The year before the war began, the three leading States of the Union, +New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio, had, in round numbers, ten millions of +people, and they sent six members to the Senate, or the same number with +Delaware, Florida, and Oregon, which had not above a twelfth part as +many. Massachusetts had seven times as many people as Rhode Island, and +each had two Senators. And so on through the whole roll of States. The +Senators are not popularly elected, but are chosen by the State +legislatures, and for the long term of six years, while Representatives +are elected by the people, every two years. The effect was, that the +Senate became the most powerful body in the Republic, which it really +ruled during the last twelve years of the old Union's existence, when +our Presidents were of the Forcible-Feeble order of men. The English +have Mr. Mason in their country, and they make much of him; and he will +tell them, if asked, that the Senate was the chief power of the American +State in its last days. That it was so testifies most strongly to the +fact that our polity is not democratic. Yet it was to the peculiar +constitution of the Senate that the seventy-two years of the Union were +due; and had nothing occurred to disturb its formation, we should have +had no Secession War. There was no danger that Secession could happen +but what came from the existence of Slavery; and so long as the number +of Slave States and of Free States remained the same, it was impossible +to convince any large portion of the slaveholders that their beloved +institution could be put in danger. But latterly the Free States got +ahead of the Slave States, and then the Secessionists had an opportunity +to labor to some purpose, and that opportunity they did not neglect. It +was to preserve the relative position of the two "sections" that the +Missouri Compromise was repealed in 1854, in the hope and expectation +that several new States might be made that should set up Slavery, and be +represented by slaveholders. Had this nefarious scheme succeeded, it +would have saved us from the Secession War; but it would have brought +other evils upon the country, which, in the long run, might have proved +as great as those under which we are now suffering. We were reduced to a +choice of evils; and though we chose blindly, it is by no means certain +that we did not choose wisely. As in all other cases, the judgment must +depend upon the event,--and the judges are gentlemen who sit in +courts-martial. + +The manner in which the President and Vice-President of the United +States were chosen was the reverse of democratical. Each State had the +right to cast as many Electoral votes as it had Representatives in +Congress, which was a democratic arrangement up to a certain point; but +as a score and upward of the Representatives owed their existence to the +existence of Slavery, the equality of the arrangement was more apparent +than real. Yet farther in the direction of inequality: each State was +allowed two Electors who answered to its Senators, which placed New +Jersey on a footing with New York, Delaware with Pennsylvania, and +Florida with Ohio, in utter disregard of all democratic ideas. The +simple creation of Electoral Colleges was an anti-democratic proceeding. +The intention of the framers of the Constitution was that the Electors +of each State should be a perfectly independent body, and that they +should vote according to their own sense of duty. We know that they +never formed an independent body, and that they became at once mere +agents of parties. This failure was in part owing to a sort of +Chalcedonian blindness in the National Convention of 1787. That +convention should have placed the choice of Electors where it placed the +choice of Senators,--in the State legislatures. This would not have made +the Electors independent, but it would have worked as well as the plan +for choosing Senators, which has never been changed, and which it has +never been sought to change. The mode of choosing a President by the +National House of Representatives, when the people have failed to elect +one, is thoroughly anti-democratic. The voting is then by States, the +small States being equal to the great ones. Delaware then counts for as +much as New York, though Delaware has never had but one Representative, +and during one decennial term New York's Representatives numbered forty! +Twice in our history--in 1801 and in 1825--have Presidents been chosen +by the House of Representatives. + +The manner in which it is provided that amendments to the Constitution +shall be effected amounts to a denial of the truth of what is considered +to be an American truism, namely, that the majority shall rule. +Two-thirds of both Houses of Congress, or two-thirds of the legislatures +of the several States, must unite in the first instance, before +amendments can be proposed, or a convention called in which to propose +them. If thus far effected, they must be ratified by three-fourths of +the States, before they can be incorporated into the Constitution. The +process is as difficult as that which awaited the proposer of an +amendment to the legislation of the Locrian lawgiver, who made his +motion with a rope round his neck, with which he was strangled, if that +motion was negatived. The provisions of Article V. pay no more attention +to the mere majority of the people than Napoleon III would pay to a +request from the majority of Frenchmen to abdicate that imperial +position which he won for himself, and which it is his firm purpose +shall remain in his family. + +It would be no difficult matter to point out other anti-democratic +provisions in our National Constitution; and it would be easy to show +that in the Constitutions of most of our States, if not in all of them, +there are provisions which flagrantly violate the democratic principle, +and of which European democrats never could approve. All through the +organic laws of the Nation and the States there are to be found +restraints on numbers, as if the leading idea of the Constitution-makers +of America were aversion to mere majorities, things that fluctuate from +year to year,--almost from day to day,--and therefore are not to be +trusted. We are stating the fact, and it does not concern our purpose to +discuss the wisdom of what has here been done. How happened it, then, +that our polity was so generally regarded as purely democratical in its +character? Partly this was owing to the extremely popular nature of all +our political action, and to the circumstances of the country not +admitting of any struggle between the rich and the poor. Because there +was no such struggle, it was inferred that the rich had been conquered +by the poor, when the truth was, that, outside of the cities and large +towns, there were no poor from whom to form a party. Degrees of wealth, +and of means below wealth, there were, and there were poor men; but +there was no class of poor people, and hence no material from which to +form a proletarian party. In all our great party-conflicts the wealth +and talents of the country were not far from equally divided, the wealth +and ability of the South being mostly with the democratic party, while +those of the North were on the side of their opponents; but to this rule +there were considerable exceptions. Foreigners could not understand +this; and their conclusion was that the masses had their own way in +America, and that property was at their mercy, as it is said by some +writers to have been at the mercy of the democracy of Athens.[J] We +were said to have established universal suffrage, when in fact suffrage +was limited in every State, and in some States essentially limited, the +abuses that from time to time occurred happening in great towns for the +most part. Most citizens were legal voters in the larger number of the +States; but this was owing, not altogether to the liberal character of +our polity or legislation, but to the general prosperity of the country, +which made tax-paying easy and intelligence common, and hence caused +myriads of men to take a warm interest in politics who in other +countries never would have thought of troubling themselves about +politics, save in times of universal commotion. The political appearance +presented by the country was that of a democracy, beyond all question. +America seemed to be a democratic flat to the foreigner. To him the +effect was much the same as follows from looking upon a map. Look upon a +map, and there is nothing but flatness to be seen, the most perfect +equality between all parts of the earth. There are neither mountains nor +villages, neither elevations nor chasms, nothing but conventional marks +to indicate the existence of such things. The earth is a boundless +plain, on which the prairie is as high as Chimborazo. The observer of +the real earth knows that such is not the case, and that inequality is +the physical world's law. So was it here, to the foreign eye. All +appeared to be on the same level, when he looked upon us from his home; +but when he came amongst us, he found that matters here differed in no +striking respect from those of older nations. Yet so wedded were +foreigners to the notion that we were all democrats, and that here the +majority did as it pleased them to do, that, but a short time before his +death,--which took place just a year before the beginning of the +Secession movement,--Lord Macaulay wrote a letter in which he expressed +his belief that we should fall because of a struggle between the rich +and the poor, for which we had provided by making suffrage universal! He +could not have been more ignorant of the real sources of the danger that +threatened us, if he had been an American who resolutely closed his +eyes, and then would not believe in what he would not see. When such a +man could make such a mistake, and supposed that we were to perish from +an agrarian revolt,--we being then on the eve of a revolt of the +slaveholders,--it cannot be matter for wonder that the common European +belief was that the United States constituted a pure and perfect +democracy, or that most Europeans of the higher classes should have +considered that democracy as the most impure and imperfect of political +things.[K] + +The long and almost unbroken ascendency of the democratic party in this +country had much to do with creating the firm impression that our system +was democratic in its character,--men not discriminating closely between +that party and the polity of which it had charge. Originally, some +reproach attached to the word _Democrat_, considered as a party-name; +and it was not generally accepted until after the Jeffersonian time had +passed away. Men who would now be called _Democrats_ were known as +_Republicans_ in the early part of the century. But the word conquered a +great place for itself, and became the most popular of political names, +so that even respectable Whigs did not hesitate to appropriate it to +their own use. Whatever name it was known by, the democratic party took +possession of the Federal Government in 1801, and held it through an +unbroken line of Virginia Presidents for twenty-four years. The +Presidential term of Mr. J.Q. Adams was no breach of democratic +party-rule in fact, whatever it was in name, for almost every man who +held high office under Mr. Adams was a Jeffersonian democrat. In 1829 +the new democratic party came into power, and held office for twelve +successive years. The Whig victory of 1840 hardly interrupted that rule, +as President Harrison's early death threw power into the hands of Mr. +Tyler, who was an ultra-Jeffersonian democrat, a Pharisee of the +Pharisees. Mr. Polk, a Jacksonian democrat, was President from 1845 to +1849. The four years that followed saw the Presidential chair filled by +Whigs, General Taylor and Mr. Fillmore; and those four years form the +only time in which men who had had no connection with the democratic +party wielded the executive power of the United States. General Pierce +and Mr. Buchanan, both democrats, were at the head of the Government for +the eight years that followed Mr. Fillmore's retirement. Thus, during +the sixty years that followed Mr. Jefferson's inauguration in 1801, the +Presidency was held by democrats for fifty-six years, President Harrison +himself being a democrat originally,--and if he is to be counted on the +other side, the counting would not amount to much, as he was President +less than five weeks. Even in those years in which the democrats did not +have the Presidency, they were powerful in Congress, and generally +controlled Federal legislation. It was natural, when the democratic +party was so successful under our polity, that that polity should itself +be considered democratic. In point of fact, the polity was as democratic +as the party,--our democrats seldom displaying much sympathy with +liberal ideas, and in their latter days becoming even servilely +subservient to Slavery. It is but fair to add, that down to 1854 their +sins with respect to Slavery were rather those of position than of +principle, and that their action was no worse than would have been that +of their opponents, had the latter been the ruling party. But, as the +democratic party did rule here, and was supposed to hold to democratic +principles, the conclusion was not unreasonable that we were living +under a democratic polity, the overthrow of which would be a warning to +the Liberals of Europe. + +Our polity was constitutional in its character, strictly so; and if it +has failed,--which we are far indeed from admitting,--the inference +would seem fairly to be, that Constitutionalism has received a blow, not +Democracy. As England is the greatest of constitutional countries, our +failure, supposing it to have occurred, tells with force against her, +from whose system we have drawn so much, and not adversely to the cause +of European democracy, from whose principles and practice we have taken +little. To us it seems that our war bears hard upon no government but +our own, upon no people but ourselves, upon no party but American +parties. It is as peculiar in its origin as in its modes. It had its +origin in the existence of Slavery, and Slavery here existed in the +worst form ever known among men. Until Slavery shall be found elsewhere +in combination with Constitutionalism or Democracy, it would be unfair +to quote our contest as a warning to other liberally governed lands. We +were a nation with a snake in its bosom; and as no other nation is +similarly afflicted, our misfortune cannot be cited in the case of any +other community. Free institutions are to be judged by their effect when +they have had fair play, and not by what has happened in a republic +which sought to have them in an unnatural alliance with the most +detestable form of tyrannical oppression. REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES. + + +_A Summer Cruise on the Coast of New England._ By Robert Carter. Boston: +Crosby & Nichols, pp. 261. + +In these days, when the high price of paper makes it easy for authors to +sell by the pound what no one would take by the single copy, he is +luckiest who has made the heaviest book. Our morning newspaper nowadays +is a kind of palimpsest, and one cannot help wondering how many dead +volumes, how many hopes and disappointments, lie buried under that +surface made smooth for the Telegraph (sole author who is sure of +readers) to write upon. We seem to detect here and there a flavor of +Jones's Poem or Smith's History, something like the rhythm of the one +and the accuracy of the other. _Quot libras autore summo invenies?_ is +the question for booksellers now. + +In a metaphysical sense, one is apt to find many heavy books for one +weighty one, and it is as difficult to make light reading that shall +have any nutriment in it as to make light bread. Mr. Carter has +succeeded in giving us something at once entertaining and instructive. +One who introduces us to a new pleasure close by our own doors, and +tells us how we may have a cheap vacation of open air, with fresh +experience of scenery and adventure at every turn, deserves something of +the same kind of gratitude as he who makes two blades of grass grow +where one grew before. Americans, above all other men, need to be taught +to take a vacation, and how to spend one so as to find in it the rest +which mere waste of time never gives. Mr. Carter teaches us how we may +have all the pleasure without any of the responsibilities of yachting, +and, reversing the method of our summer migration, shows us the shore +from the sea. + +Hakluyt and Purchas have made us familiar with, the landscape of our +coast to the early voyagers,--with its fringe of forest to the water's +edge, its fair havens, its swarms of wild fowl, its wooded islets +tangled with grape-vines, its unknown mountains looming inland, and its +great rivers flowing out of the realm of dream; but its present aspect +is nearly as unfamiliar to us as to them. We know almost as little of +the natives as Gosnold. Mr. Carter's voyage extends from Plymouth to +Mount Desert, and he lands here and there to explore a fishing-village +or seaport town, with all the interest of an outlandish man. He +describes scenery with the warmth of a lover of Nature and the accuracy +of a geographer. Acting as a kind of volunteer aide-de-camp to a +naturalist, he dredges and fishes both as man of science and amateur, +and makes us more familiarly acquainted with many queer denizens of +fin-land. He mingles with our fishermen, and finds that the schoolmaster +has been among them also. His book is lively without being flippant, and +full of information without that dulness which is apt to be the evil +demon of statistics. The moral of it is, that, as one may travel from +Dan to Beersheba and see nothing, so one needs but to open his eyes to +the life and Nature around him to find plenty of entertainment and +knowledge. + + +_Azarian_: An Episode. By Harriet E. Prescott, Author of "The Amber +Gods," etc. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. + +If one opened the costly album of some rare colorist, and became +bewildered amid successive wreaths of pictured flowers, with hues that +seemed to burn, and freshness that seemed fragrant, one could hardly +quarrel with a few stray splashes of purple or carmine spilt heedlessly +on the pages. Such a book is "Azarian"; and if few are so lavish and +reckless with their pigments as Harriet Prescott, it is because few have +access to such wealth. If one proceeds from the theory that all life in +New England is to be pictured as bare and pallid, it must seem very +wrong in her to use tints so daring; but if one believes that life here, +as elsewhere, may be passionate as Petrarch and deep as Beethoven, there +appears no reason why all descriptive art should be Quaker-colored. + +Nature and cultivation gave to this writer a rare inventive skill, an +astonishing subtilty in the delineation of character, and a style +perhaps unequalled among contemporaries in a certain Keats-like +affluence. Yet her plots have usually been melodramatic, her characters +morbid, and her descriptions overdone. These are undoubtedly great +offences, and have grievously checked her growing fame. But the American +public, so ready to flatter early merit, has itself to thank, if that +flattery prove a pernicious atmosphere. That fatal cheapness of +immediate reputation which stunts most of our young writers, making the +rudiments of fame so easy to acquire, and fame itself so +difficult,--which dwarfs our female writers so especially that not one +of them, save Margaret Fuller, has ever yet taken the pains to train +herself for first-class literary work,--has no doubt had a transient +influence on Harriet Prescott. Add to this, perhaps, the common and +fatal necessity of authorship which pushes even second-best wares into +the market. It is evident, that, with all the instinct of a student and +an artist, she has been a sensation-writer against her will. The whole +structure of "Azarian," which is evidently a work of art and of love, +indicates these higher aspirations, and shows that she is resolved to +nourish them, not by abandoning her own peculiar ground, but by training +her gifts and gradually exorcising her temptations. Like her "Amber +Gods," the book rests its strength on its descriptive and analytic +power, not on its events; but, unlike that extraordinary story, it is +healthful in its development and hopeful in its ending. The name of "An +Episode" seems to be given to it, not in affectation, but in humility. +It is simply a minute study of character, in the French style, though +with a freshness and sweetness which no Frenchman ever yet succeeded in +transferring into language, and which here leave none of that bad taste +in the mouth of which Charlotte Brontč complained. The main situation is +one not new in fiction, being simply unequal love and broken troth, but +it is one never to be portrayed too often or too tenderly, and it is not +desecrated, but ennobled by the handling. It is refreshing to be able to +say for Miss Prescott that she absolutely reaches the end of the book +without a suicide or a murder, although the heroine for a moment +meditates the one and goes to the theatre to behold the other. The +dialogue, usually a weak point with this writer, is here for better +managed than usual, having her customary piquancy, with less of +disfigurement from flippancy and bad puns. The plot shows none of those +alarming pieces of incongruity and bathos which have marred some of her +stories. And one may fancy that it is not far to seek for the originals +of Azarian, Charmian, and Madame Sarator. + +It is the style of the book, however, to which one must revert with +admiration, not unmingled with criticism, and, it may be, a trifle of +just indignation. There are not ten living writers in America of whom it +can be said that their style is in itself a charm,--that it has the +range, the flexibility, the delicacy, the ease, the strength, which +constitute permanent power,--that it is so saturated with life, with +literary allusion, with the symbolism of Nature, as to make us dwell on +the mere sentences with delight, apart from all thought of argument or +theme. This it is to be a literary artist; and as Miss Prescott may +justly claim to rank among these favored ones, she must be tried by the +code which befits her station. There is not, perhaps, another individual +among us who could have written the delicious descriptions of external +Nature which this book contains,--not one of the multitude of young +artists, now devoting their happy hours to flower-painting, who can +depict color by color as she depicts it by words. We hold in our hands +an illuminated missal, some Gospel of Nature according to June or +October, as the case may be. The price she pays for this astonishing +gift is to be often overmastered by it, to be often betrayed into +exuberant and fantastic phrases, and wanderings into the realm of words +unborn. One fancies the dismay of the accomplished corrector of the +University Press, as his indignant pencil hung over "incanting" and +"reverizing" and "cose." Yet closer examination always shows that she, +too, has studied grammar and dictionary, algebra and the Greek alphabet; +and her most daring verbal feats are never vague or wayward, for there +is always an eager and accurate brain behind them. She dares too much to +escape blunders, yet, after all, commits fewer in proportion than those +who dare less. The basis of all good writing is truth in details; and +her lavish wealth of description would be a gaudy profanation, were it +not based on a fidelity of observation which is Thoreau-like, so far as +it goes. "Sabbatia sprays, those rosy ghosts that haunt the Plymouth +ponds,"--"the cardinal, with the very glitter of the stream it loves +meshed like a silver mist behind its scarlet sheen,"--"the wide rhodora +marshes, where some fleece of burning mist seemed to be fallen and +caught and tangled in countless filaments upon the bare twigs,"--such +traits as these are not to be found in the newspapers nor in the +botanies. With all her seeming lavishness, she rarely wastes a word. +Though she may sometimes heap upon a frail hepatica some greater +accumulation of fine-spun fancies than its slender head will bear, she +yet can so characterize a flower with a touch that any one of its lovers +would know it without the name. If she hints at "those slipshod little +anemones that cannot stop to count their petals, but take one from their +neighbor or leave another behind them," it is because she knows how +peculiarly this fantastic variableness belongs to the rue-leaved +species, so unlike the staid precision of its cousin, the wind-flower, +from which not one pedestrian in a hundred can yet distinguish it. If +she simply says, "great armfuls of blue lupines," she has said enough, +because this is almost the only wild-flower whose size, shape, and +abundance naturally tempt one to gather it thus: imagine her speaking of +armfuls of violets or wild roses! From this basis of accurate fact her +fancy can safely unfold its utmost wings, as in her fancied +illustrations for the Garden-Song in "Maud," or in the wonderful +descriptions of Azarian's lonely nights on the water. "He leaned over +his boat-side, miles away from any shore, a star looked down from far +above, a star looked up from far below, the glint passed as instantly, +and left him the sole spirit between immense concaves of void and +fulness, shut in like the flaw in a diamond." How the subscribers to the +Circulating Library of the enterprising Mr. Loring must catch their +breaths in amazement, when that courteous gentleman hands them for the +last new novel--sandwiched between "Pique" and "Woodburn"--thoughts of +such a compass as that! + +There are sometimes fictitious writers who sweep across the land in a +great wave of popularity and then pass away,--as Frederika Bremer twenty +years ago,--and leave no visible impression behind. But Harriet +Prescott's fame rests on a foundation of sure superiorities, so far as +she possesses it; and no one has impaired or can impair it, except +herself. If it has not grown as was at first anticipated, it has been +her own doing, and "Azarian" has come none too soon to give a better +augury for the future. There is no literary laurel too high for her to +grasp, if her own will, and favoring circumstances, shall enable her to +choose only noble and innocent themes, and to use canvas firm and pure +enough for the rare colors she employs. + + +_The Wrong of Slavery, the Right of Emancipation, and the Future of the +African Race in the United States_. By Robert Dale Owen. Philadelphia: +J.B. Lippincott & Co. 12mo. + +"Book, Sir, book! It's the _title_!" This is the reputed saying of +Longman, the publisher, when asked for the key to bookselling. It is a +pity that Mr. Owen's book has so cumbrous a name to carry; for +everything else about it is compact and portable. Few American works on +statistics or political economy possess either brevity or an index, and +this combines both treasures. "In this small volume, which a busy man +may read in a few hours," the author condenses an immense deal,--and it +is a blessed sign, if a man who has been in Congress can still be so +economical of words. If his brother Congressmen would only imitate his +precious example, what a blessed hope! How gladly would one subscribe +for the "Congressional Globe," with the assurance that it would +henceforth be the only tedious book in his library, that all the chaff +would hereafter be safely winnowed into that, and all the sense put into +comfortable little duo-decimos like this! + +Mr. Owen's opportunities, as Chairman of the American Freedmen's +Commission, have been very great, and he has used them well. The history +of slavery and the slave-trade,--the practical consequences of +both,--the constitutionality of emancipation,--the present condition of +the freed slaves, and their probable future,--all this ground is +comprehended within two hundred and fifty pages. The points last named +have, of course, the most immediate value, and his treatment of these +is exceedingly manly and sensible. He shows conclusively that the whole +demeanor of the freed slaves has done them infinite credit, and that the +key to their successful management is simply to treat them with justice. +That this justice includes equal rights of citizenship he fully asserts, +and states the gist of the matter in one of the most telling paragraphs +of the book. "God, who made the liberation of the negro the condition +under which alone we could succeed in this war, has now, in His +providence, brought about a position of things under which it would seem +that a full recognition of that negro's rights as a citizen becomes +indispensable to stability of government in peace." For, as Mr. Owen +shows, even if under any other circumstances we might excuse ourselves +for delaying the recognition of the freedman's right to suffrage, +because of his ignorance and inexperience, yet it would be utterly +disastrous to do so now, when two-thirds of the white population will +remain disloyal, even when conquered. We cannot safely reorganize a +republican government on the basis of one-sixth of its population, and +shall be absolutely compelled to avail ourselves of that additional +three-sixths which is loyal and black. Fortunately, as a matter of fact, +there are no obstacles to the citizenship of the Southern negro greater +than those in the way of the average foreign immigrant. The emancipated +negro is at least as industrious and thrifty as the Celt, takes more +pride in self-support, is far more eager for education, and has fewer +vices. It is impossible to name any standard of requisites for the full +rights of citizenship which will give a vote to the Celt and exclude the +negro. + +Much as has been written on this point, Mr. Owen has yet some +astonishing facts to contribute. He shows, for instance, by the official +statements, that, amidst the great distress produced in the city of St. +Louis at the beginning of the war, by the gathering of white and black +refugees from all parts of the State, when ten thousand persons received +public aid, only two out of that whole vast number were of negro blood. +These two were all who applied, one being lame, the other bedridden, and +both women. He shows, upon similar authority, that the free colored +people of Louisiana, under serious civil disabilities, are, on the +average, richer, by seven and a half per cent., than the people of the +Northern States. Their average wealth in 1860 was five hundred and +twenty dollars, while the average wealth in the loyal Free States is +only four hundred and eighty-four dollars. Such facts show how utterly +gratuitous is the frequent assumption that the emancipated slave does +not sufficiently know the value of a dollar. + +Upon some disputed points Mr. Owen does not, perhaps, make his facts +quite cover his inferences, as, for instance, on the vexed question of +the vigor and vitality of the mulatto, upon which the more extended +observations of the last three years have as yet shed little light. It +is the same with the whole obscure problem of amalgamation; indeed, he +slips into an absolute contradiction, in pronouncing judgment rather too +hastily here. "I believe," he says, "that the effect of general +emancipation will be to discourage amalgamation. It is rare in Canada." +(p. 219.) But, however it may be in Canada, he has already admitted, +four pages before, that "the proportion of mulattoes among the free +colored is much greater than among the slaves," which is, doubt less, +true, except, perhaps, in a few large cities of the South. It is a +subject of common remark that the Southern colored regiments are +generally of far darker complexion than those recruited at the North, +and this is inexplicable except on the supposition that freedom, even +more than slavery, tends thus far to amalgamation. What further step in +reasoning this suggests, it is, fortunately, not needful to inquire; +like all other mysteries of human destiny, this will safely work itself +out. It is not for nothing that the black man thrives in contact with +the white, while the red man dies; and there certainly are practical +anxieties enough to last us for a month or two, without borrowing any +from the remoter future. + + +_Enoch Arden_, etc. By ALFRED TENNYSON, D.C.L., Poet-Laureate. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields. + +In his new volume Tennyson has thrown out some verses, graceful, +defiant, triumphant, and yet a little touched with sadness, in which he +assails the thieves who have stolen his seed of poetry, and made the +flower so common that the people call it--as, indeed, they did when +first it blossomed--a weed. It may be for the reason here indicated that +he has chosen for his later poems a form--that of the Idyl--the +versification, construction, and use of which he has made his own by a +delicate and yet indisputable stamp of sovereignty: whatever may be the +reason, let us be thankful for the choice. He has worked in no field of +whose resources he was more completely master, or which has yielded him +more full and varied development of his rare genius. The work of his +riper years, with the results of his fidelity in discipline, his +generous culture, his catholic and earnest intercourse with men, and his +clear and thoughtful observation lying ready for his use, he has crowned +the green glory of his past with a chaplet that will grow more sure of +permanence with the scrutiny of every succeeding year. In his "Idyls of +the King" we recognized the best moral qualities of many of his previous +works; and in "Enoch Arden," which gives the title to his last volume, +he has turned the full light of his perfected genius on the simple +scenes of domestic joy and sorrow. + +We have always deemed it one of the greatest of Tennyson's great and +good qualities, that he is unfaltering in the tribute of honor which he +pays to the sterling virtues and to the beauty and heroism which he +rejoices to point us to in the daily walk of the humblest life. A +blameless character, pure desire, manly ambition, a fervent faith, and a +strong will, resting on the firm innermost foundation of a Christian +spirit, are as real to him in the fisherman as in the peerless prince. +The temptations, the strength, and the temper of the hero are so common +to both, and so clearly brought out in each, that we feel the Man in the +Prince, and the high aim of the Prince in the true Man. There is the +"grand, heroic soul" in Enoch as in Arthur,-- + + "Who reverenced his conscience as his king; + Whose glory was redressing human wrong; + Who spoke no slander, no, nor listened to it; + Who loved one only, and who clave to her." + +Our poet never strays from Nature; which has for him two sides,--the old +duality, which is also forever,--the real and the ideal. To the one he +brings the most patient fidelity of study; the other he reflects in +every part of his poems in glowing imagery. "Enoch Arden" contains +scenes which a Pre-Raphaelite might draw from,--as that "cup-like hollow +in the down" which held the hazel-wood, with the children nutting +through its reluctant boughs, or the fireside of Philip, on which Enoch +looked and was desolate. On the other hand, no poet has so planted our +literature with gorgeous gardens from which generations of lesser +laborers will be enriched and prospered. The figures in which Tennyson +uses Nature are not, moreover, strained or artificial; they do not +distort or cover the inner meaning, but bloom from it, revealing its +beauty and its sweetness. All bear the mark of loving thought,--now so +delicate that its very faintness thrills and holds us, now strong and +spirited and solemn. + +In this latest poem we find also the old surpassing skill of language, a +skill dependent on the faculty of penetrating to the inmost significance +both of words and of things, so that there is no waste, and so that +single words in single sentences stamp on the brain the substance of +long experiences. Witness this: Enoch lies sick, distant from home and +wife and children; here is one word crowded with pathos, telling of the +weary loss of livelihood, the burden slowly growing more intolerably +irksome to the bold and careful worker wrestling with pain, and to the +fragile mother of the new-born babe:-- + + "Another hand _crept_, too, across his trade, + Taking her bread and theirs." + +See, again, how one line woven in the context shows where the tears +came. Enoch, wrecked, solitary, almost hopeless, found that + + "A phantom made of many phantoms moved + Before him, haunting him,--or he himself + Moved, haunting people, things, and places known + Far in a darker isle beyond the line: + The babes, their babble, Annie, the small house, + The climbing street, the mill, the leafy lanes, + The peacock-yewtree and the lonely Hall, + The horse he drove, the boat he sold, the chill + November dawns and dewy glooming of the downs, + The gentle shower, _the smell of dying leaves_, + And the low moan of leaden-colored seas." + +We know of no more perfect rendering of an unlearned and trustful faith +in God than this which Tennyson puts in the mouth of Enoch as he departs +on the voyage from which he never returns to his wife:-- + + "If you fear, + Cast all your fears on God: that anchor holds. + Is He not yonder in those uttermost + Parts of the morning? if I flee to these, + Can I go from Him? And the sea is His, + The sea is His: He made it." + +In the repetition in the last line one can almost hear the sob welling +up from the heart of the strong sailor, as he speaks of God to one +beloved, in time of trial,--the feeling of bitterness in parting +starting with the impulse of the stronger faith. + +In "Enoch Arden," as in "In Memoriam," Tennyson shows the sweet and sure +sympathy which informs him of all the ways of grief. In its sacred +experiences, where the slightest variance from the simplicity of actual +feeling would jostle all, he holds his way unquestioned. + +It is a test, unembarrassed and complete, of genius, this treatment of +grief, the emotion which least of all brooks exaggeration or +sentimentalism. It is the test of human purity, too, and the hand must +be very tender and very clean which leaves thus exact and clear the +picture of the crowning phase of human life. If "In Memoriam" has +appropriated to itself, by its sublime supremacy, a phrase which, though +in daily use, is never heard without suggesting the poem, Tennyson shows +in "Enoch Arden" that he understands the sad and perfect reign of grief +in the life of the sailor and of the sailor's wife struck with a great +sorrow for the loss of the latest born, as well as in the broad and +varied range of his own cultured nature. + +Coupled with the knowledge of grief is this of prayer,--"that mystery +when God in man is one with man-in-God,"--which is said when Enoch had +resolved to surrender his Annie rather than to break in upon her +happiness:-- + + "His resolve + Upbore him, and firm faith, and evermore + Prayer, from a living source within the will, + And beating up through all the bitter world, + Like fountains of sweet water in the sea, + Kept him a living soul." + +And so we close the poem, which touches us again more than we deemed +possible, till each renewal of the reading stirs again the depths of +passionate sympathy. A pure manhood among the poets, a heart simple as +the simplest, an imperial fancy, whose lofty supremacy none can +question, a high faith, and a spirit possessed with the sublimest and +most universal of Christ's truths, a tender and strong humanity, not +bounded by a vague and misty sentiment, but pervading life in all its +forms, and with these great skill and patience and beauty in +expression,--these are the riper qualities to which "Enoch Arden" +testifies. They are qualities whose attainment and retention are +singularly rare, and whose value we cannot easily overrate. + +And thus much having been said of "Enoch Arden," we find no space for +consideration of the other poems contained in the new volume. "Aylmer's +Field" is in some respects, perhaps, more remarkable than the poem which +precedes it, since the poet never loses sight of England, in its course, +nor the old familiar scenes, but tugs at the fetid roots of shallow +aristocracy with the relentless clutch of one of God's noblemen laboring +for the right. + +Shut in these few pages we find the substance of a three-volume novel; +and while the mind sways slowly to the music of its "sculptured lines," +the lives of men move on from birth to death, leaving their meaning +stamped in rhythmic beauty on our heart and brain. + +Nor must we forget, while contemplating the two principal poems in the +volume,--finished heroic lessons of the poet's mature life,--the songs, +singing themselves like summer ripples on the strand, which are their +melodious companions. Among them we dare to mention "In the Valley of +Cauteretz,"-- + + "Sweeter thy voice, though every sound is sweet." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] _Madame Récamier, with a Sketch of the History of Society in +France_. By Madame M----. London. 1862. + +[B] _Causeries de Lundi_. + +[C] _Coppet et Weimar: Madame de Staėl et la Grande Duchesse Louise_. + +[D] Madame de Chāteaubriand. + +[E] This term designated a larger class of young men than that to which +it is now confined. It took in the articled clerks of merchants and +bankers, the George Barnwells of the day. + +[F] Since writing this article, we have been informed that the object of +our funeral oration is not definitively dead, but only moribund. So much +the better: we shall have an opportunity of granting the request made to +Walter by one of the children in the wood, and "kill him two times." The +Abbé de Vertot, having a siege to write, and not receiving the materials +in time, composed the whole from his invention. Shortly after its +completion, the expected documents arrived, when he threw them aside, +exclaiming, "You are of no use to me now: I have carried the town." + +[G] _Cornhill Magazine_, June, 1864, Vol. IX. p. 654. + +[H] Gates was an Englishman, and has a damaged reputation. Lee was +another, who has no reputation at all. Conway was an Irishman, and the +same is true of him. But these men all did something to forfeit esteem. +Jones never did. Montgomery died in the full flush of his deserved +honors. He was Irish by birth. + +[I] Not bound to the Baltic, as Mr. Thackeray supposes. Cf. Beatson's +_Naval Memoirs_, Vol. IV. pp. 550-553. + +[J] The bad character that is commonly given to the Athenian polity by +the enemies of popular government is by no means deserved if we can +trust the definition of that polity by Pericles, as reported by +Thucydides, and translated by that eminent scholar and great historian, +Mr. Grote. "We live under a constitution," says Pericles, in the +famous funeral speech, "such as noway to envy the laws of our +neighbors,--ourselves an example to others, rather than mere imitators. +It is called a democracy, since its permanent aim tends toward the Many +and not toward the Few: in regard to private matters and disputes, the +laws deal equally with every man: while looking to public affairs and to +claims of individual influence, every man's chance of advancement is +determined, not by party favor, but by real worth, according as his +reputation stands in his own particular department: nor does poverty, or +obscure station, keep him back, if he really has the means of benefiting +the city." This wellnigh makes a political Arcadia of Athens. Yet there +is no good reason, after making due allowance for the imperfection of +human action, when compared with the theory of a given polity, for +doubting the correctness of the picture. + +[K] One of our English Friends, a man of well-earned eminence, says that +"extracts from the contemporary literature of America seem to show, +that, if the result of the Presidential election of 1860 had been +different, separation would have come, not from the South, but from the +North." (See _Essays on Fiction_, by Nassau W. Senior, p. 397.) Mr. +Senior is mistaken, as much so as when he says that "a total abstinence +from novel-reading pervades New England," where there is more +novel-reading than in any other community of the same numbers in the +world. With the exception of "the old Abolitionists," there were not +five hundred disunionists in all the Free States in 1860; and the +Abolitionists would neither fight nor vote, and, though possessed of +eminent abilities, they had no influence. If Mr. Senior were right, we +do not see how the South could be blamed for what it has done; for, if +we could secede because of Mr. Lincoln's defeat, it follows that the +South could secede because of his election. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, +October, 1864, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 14 *** + +***** This file should be named 16087-8.txt or 16087-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/8/16087/ + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864 + A Magazine Of Literature, Art, And Politics + +Author: Various + +Release Date: June 18, 2005 [EBook #16087] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 14 *** + + + + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#A_NIGHT_IN_THE_WATER"><b>A NIGHT IN THE WATER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#ON_A_LATE_VENDUE"><b>ON A LATE VENDUE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_RIDE_TO_CAMP"><b>THE RIDE TO CAMP.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_TRUE_STORY_OF_LUIGI"><b>THE TRUE STORY OF LUIGI.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#COMMUNICATION"><b>COMMUNICATION.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#HOUSE_AND_HOME_PAPERS"><b>HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#SERVICE"><b>SERVICE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#MADAME_RECAMIER"><b>MADAME RÉCAMIER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_WELLFLEET_OYSTERMAN"><b>THE WELLFLEET OYSTERMAN.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHARLES_LAMBS_UNCOLLECTED_WRITINGS"><b>CHARLES LAMB'S UNCOLLECTED WRITINGS.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#PAUL_JONES_AND_DENIS_DUVAL"><b>PAUL JONES AND DENIS DUVAL.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_FUTURE_SUMMER"><b>THE FUTURE SUMMER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#DEMOCRACY_AND_THE_SECESSION_WAR"><b>DEMOCRACY AND THE SECESSION WAR.</b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + + +<p><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396"></a></p> +<h1>THE</h1> + +<h1>ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h1> + +<h2>A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.</h2> + +<h3>VOL. XIV.—OCTOBER, 1864.—NO. LXXXIV.</h3> + +<p>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by TICKNOR AND +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_NIGHT_IN_THE_WATER" id="A_NIGHT_IN_THE_WATER"></a>A NIGHT IN THE WATER.</h2> + + +<p>That was a pleasant life on picquet, in the delicious early summer of +the South, and among the endless flowery forests of that blossoming +isle. In the retrospect, I seem to see myself adrift upon a horse's back +amid a sea of roses. The various outposts were within a five-mile +radius, and it was one long, delightful gallop, day and night. I have a +faint impression that the moon shone steadily every night for two +months; and yet I remember certain periods of such dense darkness that +in riding through the wood-paths it was really unsafe to go beyond a +walk, for fear of branches above and roots below; and one of my officers +was once shot at by a Rebel scout who stood unperceived at his horse's +bridle.</p> + +<p>We lived in a dilapidated plantation-house, the walls scrawled with +capital charcoal-sketches by R., of the New Hampshire Fourth, with a +good map of the island and its paths by C. of the First Massachusetts +Cavalry; there was a tangled garden, full of neglected roses and +camellias, and we filled the great fireplace with magnolias by day and +with logs by night; I slept on a sort of shelf in the corner, bequeathed +to me by Major F., my jovial predecessor,—and if I waked up at any +time, I could put my head through the broken window, arouse my orderly, +and ride off to see if I could catch a picquet asleep. I spell the word +with a <i>q</i>, because such was the highest authority, in that Department +at least, and they used to say at post head-quarters that so soon as the +officer in command of the outposts grew negligent, and was guilty of a +<i>k</i>, he was instantly ordered in.</p> + +<p>To those doing outpost-duty on an island, however large, the main-land +has all the fascination of forbidden fruit, and on a scale bounded only +by the horizon. Emerson says that every house looks ideal until we enter +it,—and it is certainly so, if it be just the other side of the hostile +lines. Every grove in that blue distance appears enchanted ground, and +yonder loitering gray-back, leading his horse to water in the farthest +distance, makes one thrill with a desire to hail him, to shoot at him, +to capture him, to do anything to bridge this inexorable dumb space that +lies between. A boyish feeling, no doubt, and one that time diminishes, +without effacing; <a name="Page_397" id="Page_397"></a>yet it is a feeling which lies at the bottom of many +rash actions in war, and of some brilliant ones. For one, I could never +quite outgrow it, though restricted by duty from doing many foolish +things in consequence, and also restrained by reverence for certain +confidential advisers whom I had always at hand, and who considered it +their mission to keep me always on short rations of personal adventure. +Indeed, most of that sort of entertainment in the army devolves upon +scouts detailed for the purpose, volunteer aides-de-camp and +newspaper-reporters,—other officers being expected to be about business +more prosaic.</p> + +<p>All the excitements of war are quadrupled by darkness; and as I rode +along our outer lines at night, and watched the glimmering flames which +at regular intervals starred the opposite river-shore, the longing was +irresistible to cross the barrier of dusk, and see whether it were men +or ghosts who hovered round those dying embers. I had yielded to these +impulses in boat-adventures by night,—for it was a part of my +instructions to obtain all possible information about the Rebel +outposts,—and fascinating indeed it was to glide along, noiselessly +paddling, with a dusky guide, through the endless intricacies of those +Southern marshes, scaring the reed-birds, which wailed and fled away +into the darkness, and penetrating several miles into the interior, +between hostile fires, where discovery might be death. Yet there were +drawbacks as to these enterprises, since it is not easy for a boat to +cross still water, even on the darkest night, without being seen by +watchful eyes; and, moreover, the extremes of high and low tide +transform so completely the whole condition of those rivers that it +needs very nice calculation to do one's work at precisely the right +time. To vary the experiment, I had often thought of trying a personal +reconnaissance by swimming, at a certain point, whenever circumstances +should make it an object.</p> + +<p>The opportunity at last arrived, and I shall never forget the glee with +which, after several postponements, I finally rode forth, a little +before midnight, on a night which seemed made for the purpose. I had, of +course, kept my own secret, and was entirely alone. The great Southern +fire-flies were out, not haunting the low ground merely, like ours, but +rising to the loftiest tree-tops with weird illumination, and anon +hovering so low that my horse often stepped the higher to avoid them. +The dewy Cherokee roses brushed my face, the solemn "Chuck-will's-widow" +croaked her incantation, and the rabbits raced phantom-like across the +shadowy road. Slowly in the darkness I followed the well-known path to +the spot where our most advanced outposts were stationed, holding a +causeway which thrust itself far out across the separating river,—thus +fronting a similar causeway on the other side, while a channel of +perhaps three hundred yards, once traversed by a ferry-boat, rolled +between. At low tide this channel was the whole river, with broad, oozy +marshes on each side; at high tide the marshes were submerged, and the +stream was a mile wide. This was the point which I had selected. To +ascertain the numbers and position of the picquet on the opposite +causeway was my first object, as it was a matter on which no two of our +officers agreed.</p> + +<p>To this point, therefore, I rode, and dismounting, after being duly +challenged by the sentinel at the causeway-head, walked down the long +and lonely path. The tide was well up, though still on the flood, as I +desired; and each visible tuft of marsh-grass might, but for its +motionlessness, have been a prowling boat. Dark as the night had +appeared, the water was pale, smooth, and phosphorescent, and I remember +that the phrase "wan water," so familiar in the Scottish ballads, struck +me just then as peculiarly appropriate. A gentle breeze, from which I +had hoped for a ripple, had utterly died away, and it was a warm, +breathless Southern night. There was no sound but the faint swash of the +coming tide, the noises of the reed-birds in the marshes, and the +occasional leap of a fish; and it seemed to my over-strained <a name="Page_398" id="Page_398"></a>ear as if +every footstep of my own must be heard for miles. However, I could have +no more postponements, and the thing must be tried now or never.</p> + +<p>Reaching the farther end of the causeway, I found my men couched, like +black statues, behind the slight earthwork there constructed. I expected +that my proposed immersion would rather bewilder them, but knew that +they would say nothing, as usual. As for the lieutenant on that post, he +was a steady, matter-of-fact, perfectly disciplined Englishman, who wore +a Crimean medal, and never asked a superfluous question in his life. If +I had casually remarked to him, "Mr. Hooker, the General has ordered me +on a brief personal reconnaissance to the Planet Jupiter, and I wish you +to take care of my watch, lest it should be damaged by the Precession of +the Equinoxes," he would have responded with a brief "All right, Sir," +and a quick military gesture, and have put the thing in his pocket. As +it was, I simply gave him the watch, and remarked that I was going to +take a swim.</p> + +<p>I do not remember ever to have experienced a greater sense of +exhilaration than when I slipped noiselessly into the placid water, and +struck out into the smooth, eddying current for the opposite shore. The +night was so still and lovely, my black statues looked so dream-like at +their posts behind the low earthwork, the opposite arm of the causeway +stretched so invitingly from the Rebel main, the horizon glimmered so +low around me,—for it always appears lower to a swimmer than even to an +oarsman,—that I seemed floating in some concave globe, some magic +crystal, of which I was the enchanted centre. With each little ripple of +my steady progress all things hovered and changed; the stars danced and +nodded above; where the stars ended, the great Southern fire-flies +began; and closer than the fire-flies, there clung round me a halo of +phosphorescent sparkles from the soft salt water.</p> + +<p>Had I told any one of my purpose, I should have had warnings and +remonstrances enough. The few negroes who did not believe in alligators +believed in sharks; the skeptics as to sharks were orthodox in respect +to alligators; while those who rejected both had private prejudices as +to snapping-turtles. The surgeon would have threatened intermittent +fever, the first assistant rheumatism, and the second assistant +congestive chills; non-swimmers would have predicted exhaustion, and +swimmers cramp; and all this before coming within bullet-range of any +hospitalities on the other shore. But I knew the folly of most alarms +about reptiles and fishes; man's imagination peoples the water with many +things which do not belong there, or prefer to keep out of his way, if +they do; fevers and congestions were the surgeon's business, and I +always kept people to their own department; cramp and exhaustion were +dangers I could measure, as I had often done; bullets were a more +substantial danger, and I must take the chance,—if a loon could dive at +the flash, why not I? If I were once ashore, I should have to cope with +the Rebels on their own ground, which they knew better than I; but the +water was my ground, where I, too, had been at home from boyhood.</p> + +<p>I swam as swiftly and softly as I could, although it seemed as if water +never had been so still before. It appeared impossible that anything +uncanny should hide beneath that lovely mirror; and yet when some +floating wisp of reeds suddenly coiled itself around my neck, or some +unknown thing, drifting deeper, coldly touched my foot, it gave that +undefinable sense of shudder which every swimmer knows, and which +especially appeals to the imagination by night. Sometimes a slight sip +of brackish water would enter my lips,—for I naturally tried to swim as +low as possible,—and then would follow a slight gasping and contest +against choking, such as seemed to me a perfect convulsion; for I +suppose the tendency to choke and sneeze is always enhanced by the +circumstance that one's life may depend on keeping still, just as +yawning becomes irresistible where to yawn would be social ruin, and +just as one is <a name="Page_399" id="Page_399"></a>sure to sleep in church, if one sits in a conspicuous +pew. At other times, some unguarded motion would create a splashing +which seemed, in the tension of my senses, to be loud enough to be heard +at Richmond, although it really mattered not, since there are fishes in +those rivers which make as much noise on special occasions as if they +were misguided young whales.</p> + +<p>As I drew near the opposite shore, the dark causeway projected more and +more distinctly, to my fancy at least, and I swam more softly still, +utterly uncertain as to how far, in the stillness of air and water, my +phosphorescent course could be traced by eye or ear. A slight ripple +would have saved me from observation, I was more than ever sure, and I +would have whistled for a fair wind as eagerly as any sailor, but that +my breath was worth more than anything it was likely to bring. The water +became smoother and smoother, and nothing broke the dim surface except a +few clomps of rushes and my unfortunate head. The outside of this member +gradually assumed to its inside a gigantic magnitude; it had always +annoyed me at the hatter's from a merely animal bigness, with no +commensurate contents to show for it, and now I detested it more than +ever. A physical fooling of turgescence and congestion in that region, +such as swimmers often feel, probably increased the impression. I +thought with envy of the Aztec children, of the headless horseman of +Sleepy Hollow, of Saint Somebody with his head tucked under his arm. +Plotinus was less ashamed of his whole body than I of this inconsiderate +and stupid appendage. To be sure, I might swim for a certain distance +under water. But that accomplishment I had reserved for a retreat, for I +knew that the longer I stayed down the more surely I should have to +snort like a walrus when I came up again, and to approach an enemy with +such a demonstration was not to be thought of.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a dog barked. We had certain information that a pack of hounds +was kept at a Rebel station a few miles off, on purpose to hunt +runaways, and I had heard from the negroes almost fabulous accounts of +the instinct of these animals. I knew, that, although water baffled +their scent, they yet could recognize in some manner the approach of any +person across water as readily as by land; and of the vigilance of all +dogs by night every traveller among Southern plantations has ample +demonstration. I was now so near that I could dimly see the figures of +men moving to and fro upon the end of the causeway, and could hear the +dull knock, when one struck his foot against a piece of timber.</p> + +<p>As my first object was to ascertain whether there were sentinels at that +time at that precise point, I saw that I was approaching the end of my +experiment. Could I have once reached the causeway unnoticed, I could +have lurked in the water beneath its projecting timbers, and perhaps +made my way along the main shore, as I had known fugitive slaves to do, +while coming from that side. Or had there been any ripple on the water, +to confuse the aroused and watchful eyes, I could have made a circuit +and approached the causeway at another point, though I had already +satisfied myself that there was only a narrow channel on each side of +it, even at high tide, and not, as on our side, a broad expanse of +water. Indeed, this knowledge alone was worth all the trouble I had +taken, and to attempt much more than this, in the face of a curiosity +already roused, would have been a waste of future opportunities. I could +try again, with the benefit of this new knowledge, on a point where the +statements of the negroes had always been contradictory.</p> + +<p>Resolving, however, to continue the observation a very little longer, +since the water felt much warmer than I had expected, and there was no +sense of chill or fatigue, I grasped at some wisps of straw or rushes +that floated near, gathering them round my face a little, and then, +drifting nearer the wharf in what seemed a sort of eddy, was able, +without creating further alarm, to make some additional observations on +points which it <a name="Page_400" id="Page_400"></a>is not best now to particularize. Then, turning my back +upon the mysterious shore which had thus far lured me, I sank softly +below the surface and swam as far as I could under water.</p> + +<p>During this unseen retreat, I heard, of course, all manner of gurglings +and hollow reverberations, and could fancy as many rifle-shots as I +pleased. But on rising to the surface all seemed quiet, and even I did +not create as much noise as I should have expected. I was now at a safe +distance, since they were always chary of showing their boats, and they +would hardly take personally to the water. What with absorbed attention +first, and this submersion afterwards, I had lost all my bearings but +the stars, having been long out of sight of my original point of +departure. However, the difficulties of the return were nothing; making +a slight allowance for the flood-tide, which could not yet have turned, +I should soon regain the place I had left. So I struck out freshly +against the smooth water, feeling just a little stiffened by the +exertion, and with an occasional chill running up the back of the neck, +but with no nips from sharks, no nudges from alligators, and not a +symptom of fever-and-ague.</p> + +<p>Time I could not, of course, measure,—one never can, in a novel +position; but, after a reasonable amount of swimming, I began to look, +with a natural interest, for the pier which I had quitted. I noticed, +with some solicitude, that the woods along the friendly shore made one +continuous shadow, and that the line of low bushes on the long causeway +could scarcely be relieved against them, yet I knew where they ought to +be, and the more doubtful I felt about it, the more I put down my +doubts, as if they were unreasonable children. One can scarcely conceive +of the alteration made in familiar objects by bringing the eye as low as +the horizon, especially by night; to distinguish foreshortening is +impossible, and every low near object is equivalent to one higher and +more remote. Still I had the stars; and soon my eye, more practised, was +enabled to select one precise line of bushes as that which marked the +causeway, and for which I must direct my course.</p> + +<p>As I swam steadily, but with some sense of fatigue, towards this +phantom-line, I found it difficult to keep my faith steady and my +progress true; everything appeared to shift and waver, in the uncertain +light. The distant trees seemed not trees, but bushes, and the bushes +seemed not exactly bushes, but might, after all, be distant trees. Could +I be so confident, that, out of all that low stretch of shore, I could +select the one precise point where the friendly causeway stretched its +long arm to receive me from the water? How easily (some tempter +whispered at my ear) might one swerve a little, on either side, and be +compelled to flounder over half a mile of oozy marsh on an ebbing tide, +before reaching our own shore and that hospitable volley of bullets with +which it would probably greet me! Had I not already (thus the tempter +continued) been swimming rather unaccountably far, supposing me on a +straight track for that inviting spot where my sentinels and my drapery +were awaiting my return?</p> + +<p>Suddenly I felt a sensation as of fine ribbons drawn softly across my +person, and I found myself among some rushes. But what business had +rushes there, or I among them? I knew that there was not a solitary spot +of shoal in the deep channel where I supposed myself swimming, and it +was plain in an instant that I had somehow missed my course, and must be +getting among the marshes. I felt confident, to be sure, that I could +not have widely erred, but was guiding my course for the proper side of +the river. But whether I had drifted above or below the causeway I had +not the slightest clue to tell.</p> + +<p>I pushed steadily forward, with some increasing sense of lassitude, +passing one marshy islet after another, all seeming strangely out of +place, and sometimes just reaching with my foot a soft tremulous shoal +which gave scarce the shadow of a support, though even that shadow +rested my feet. At one of these moments <a name="Page_401" id="Page_401"></a>of stillness, it suddenly +occurred to my perception (what nothing but this slight contact could +have assured me, in the darkness) that I was in a powerful current, and +that this current set <i>the wrong way</i>. Instantly a flood of new +intelligence came. Either I had unconsciously turned and was rapidly +nearing the Rebel shore,—a suspicion which a glance at the stars +corrected,—or else it was the tide itself which had turned, and which +was sweeping me down the river with all its force, and was also sucking +away at every moment the narrowing water from that treacherous expanse +of mud out of whose horrible miry embrace I had lately helped to rescue +a shipwrecked crew. Either alternative was rather formidable. I can +distinctly remember that for about one half-minute the whole vast +universe appeared to swim in the same watery uncertainty in which I +floated. I began to doubt everything, to distrust the stars, the line of +low bushes for which I was wearily striving, the very land on which they +grew, if such visionary tiring could be rooted anywhere. Doubts trembled +in my mind like the weltering water, and that awful sensation of <i>having +one's feet unsupported</i>, which benumbs the spent swimmer's heart, seemed +to clutch at mine, though not yet to enter it. I was more absorbed in +that singular sensation of nightmare, such as one may feel equally when +lost by land or by water, as if one's own position were all right, but +the place looked for had somehow been preternaturally abolished out of +the universe. At best, might not a man in the water lose all his power +of direction, and so move in an endless circle until he sank exhausted? +It required a deliberate and conscious effort to keep my brain quite +cool. I have not the reputation of being of an excitable temperament, +but the contrary; yet I could at that moment see my way to a condition +in which one might become insane in an instant. It was as if a fissure +opened somewhere, and I saw my way into a mad-house; then it closed, and +everything went on as before. Once in my life I had obtained a slight +glimpse of the same sensation, and then too, strangely enough, while +swimming,—in the mightiest ocean-surge into which I had ever dared +plunge my mortal body. Keats hints at the same sudden emotion, in a wild +poem written among the Scottish mountains. It was not the distinctive +sensation which drowning men are said to have, that spasmodic passing in +review of one's whole personal history. I had no well-defined anxiety, +felt no fear, was moved to no prayer, did not give a thought to home or +friends; only it swept over me, as with a sudden tempest, that, if I +meant to get back to my own camp, I must keep my wits about me. I must +not dwell on any other alternative, any more than a boy who climbs a +precipice must look down. Imagination had no business here. That way +madness lay. There was a shore somewhere before me, and I must get to +it, by the ordinary means, before the ebb laid bare the flats, or swept +me below the lower bends of the stream. That was all.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a light gleamed for an instant before me, as if from a house in +a grove of great trees upon a bank; and I knew that it came from the +window of a ruined plantation-building, where our most advanced outposts +had their head-quarters. The flash revealed to me every point of the +situation. I saw at once where I was, and how I got there: that the tide +had turned while I was swimming, and with a much briefer interval of +slack-water than I had been led to suppose,—that I had been swept a +good way down-stream, and was far beyond all possibility of regaining +the point I had left. Could I, however, retain my strength to swim one +or two hundred yards farther, of which I had no doubt, and if the water +did not ebb too rapidly, of which I had more fear, then I was quite +safe. Every stroke took me more and more out of the power of the +current, and there might even be an eddy. I could not afford to be +carried down much farther, for there the channel made <a name="Page_402" id="Page_402"></a>a sweep toward +the wrong side of the river; but there was now no reason why this should +happen. I could dismiss all fear, indeed, except that of being fired +upon by our own sentinels, many of whom were then new recruits, and with +the usual disposition to shoot first and investigate afterwards.</p> + +<p>I found myself swimming in shallow and shallower water, and the flats +seemed almost bare when I neared the shore, where the great gnarled +branches of the live-oaks hung far over the muddy bank. Floating on my +back for noiselessness, I paddled rapidly in with my hands, expecting +momentarily to hear the challenge of the picquet, and the ominous click +so likely to follow. I knew that some one should be pacing to and fro, +along that beat, but could not tell at what point he might be at that +precise moment. Besides, there was a faint possibility that some chatty +corporal might have carried the news of my bath thus far along the line, +and they might be partially prepared for this unexpected visitor. +Suddenly, like another flash, came the quick, quaint challenge,—</p> + +<p>"Halt! Who's go dar?"</p> + +<p>"F-f-friend with the c-c-countersign," retorted I, with chilly, but +conciliatory energy, rising at full length out of the shallow water, to +show myself a man and a brother.</p> + +<p>"Ac-vance, friend, and give de countersign," responded the literal +soldier, who at such a time would have accosted a spirit of light or +goblin damned with no other formula.</p> + +<p>I advanced and gave it, he recognizing my voice at once. And then and +there, as I stood, a dripping ghost, beneath the trees before him, the +unconscionable fellow, wishing to exhaust upon me the utmost resources +of military hospitality, deliberately <i>presented arms</i>.</p> + +<p>Now a soldier on picquet, or at night, usually presents arms to nobody; +but a sentinel on camp-guard by day is expected to perform that ceremony +to anything in human shape that has two rows of buttons. Here was a +human shape, but so utterly buttonless that it exhibited not even a rag +to which a button could by any earthly possibility be appended, +buttonless even potentially; and my blameless Ethiopian presented arms +to even this. Where, then, are the theories of Carlyle, the axioms of +"Sartor Resartus," the inability of humanity to conceive "a naked Duke +of Windlestraw addressing a naked House of Lords?" Cautioning my +adherent, however, as to the proprieties suitable for such occasions +thenceforward, I left him watching the river with renewed vigilance, and +awaiting the next merman who should report himself.</p> + +<p>Finding my way to the building, I hunted up a sergeant and a blanket, +got a fire kindled in the dismantled chimney, and sat before it in my +single garment, like a moist, but undismayed Choctaw, until my horse and +clothing could be brought round from the Causeway. It seemed strange +that the morning had not yet dawned, after the uncounted periods that +must have elapsed; but when my wardrobe arrived, I looked at my watch +and found that my night in the water had lasted precisely one hour.</p> + +<p>Galloping home, I turned in with alacrity, and without a drop of +whiskey, and waked a few hours after in excellent condition. The rapid +changes of which that Department has seen so many—and, perhaps, to so +little purpose—soon transferred us to a different scene. I have been on +other scouts since then, and by various processes, but never with a zest +so novel as was afforded by that night's experience. The thing soon got +wind in the regiment, and led to only one ill consequence, so far as I +know. It rather suppressed a way I had of lecturing the officers on the +importance of reducing their personal baggage to a minimum. They got a +trick of congratulating me, very respectfully, on the thoroughness with +which I had once conformed my practice to my precepts.</p><p><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ON_A_LATE_VENDUE" id="ON_A_LATE_VENDUE"></a>ON A LATE VENDUE.</h2> + + +<p>The red flag—not the red flag of the loathed and deadly pestilence that +has destroyed so many lives and disfigured so many fair and so many +manly countenances, but (in some circumstances) the scarcely less +ominous flag of the auctioneer—has been displayed from the handsome and +substantial red-brick house in Kensington-Place Gardens, London, in +which Thackeray lately lived, and in which he wrote the opening chapters +of his last and never-to-be-completed work, which we are all reading +with mingled pleasure and regret.</p> + +<p>I rejoice to see the flags and pennants gracefully waving from the masts +of the outward or the inward bound ship; to see our beautiful national +ensign,—the ensign that is destined sooner or later, so all loyal and +patriotic men and women hope and believe, triumphantly to float over the +largest, the freest, the happiest, the most prosperous country in the +whole wide world,—to see the stars and stripes fluttering in the breeze +from the city flag-staff and the village liberty-pole; to see the +dancing banners and the fluttering pennons of a regiment of brave and +stalwart men marching in all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of war to +the defence of their country in this her hour of danger and of need. As +a child, I loved to see the colors of the holiday-soldiers flapping in +the wind and flaunting in the sun on "muster-day." Nay, was not an uncle +of mine (he is an old man now, and is fond of bragging of the brave days +of old, when he was a gay and gallant sunshine-soldier) the +standard-bearer of a once famous company of fair-weather soldiers?—dead +now, most of them, and their</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">"bones are dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And their good swords rust";<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>—and did not this daring and heroic uncle of mine, while bravely +upbearing his gorgeous silken banner (a gift of the beautiful and +all-accomplished ladies of Seaport) in a well-contested sham fight, +receive, from the accidental discharge of a field-piece, an honorable +and soldier-like wound, and of which he ever after boasted louder, and +took more pride in, than the bravest veteran in Grant's gallant army of +the scars and injuries received at the siege of Vicksburg? And no wonder +at that, perhaps. For you will find hundreds who have been cut by the +sword or pierced by the bullet of a Rebel, to one who has been ever so +slightly wounded upon a holiday training-field.</p> + +<p>But I never could, and I never shall, abide the sight of the red and +ruthless flag of the vendue-master. 'Tis a signal that death is still +busy, and that to many the love of money is greater than the love of +friends and of those nearer and dearer than friends,—that fortune is +fickle and that prosperity has fled,—that humbugs and sharpers are +alive and active. 'Tis a reminder—and therefore may have its use in the +world—of our mortality, an admonisher of our pride, a represser of our +love of greed and gain. 'Tis evidently an invention of Satan's, this +selling by vendue; and perhaps the first auction was that by which Cain +sold the house and furniture of his brother Abel, then lately deceased. +If there were no such thing in the world as death and misfortune and +humbug, that bit of blood-colored bunting would be but seldom flaunting +in the wind.</p> + +<p>Charles Lamb counsels those who would enjoy true peace and quiet to +retire into a Quaker meeting; and if our sentimental readers (and for +such only is this paper written) would find wherewithal to feed and +pamper their melancholy, let them follow the mercenary flags, and become +haunters of auctions,—let them attend the sales of the effects of their +deceased friends and acquaintances,—let them see A's favorite horse, or +B's favorite country-seat, or<a name="Page_404" id="Page_404"></a> C's favorite books and pictures knocked +down, amid the laughter of the crowd and the smart sayings and witty +retorts of the auctioneer, to the highest bidder,—and they will be +sadder, if not wiser, men than they were before. Such scenes should have +more effect on them than all the fine sermons on the vanities and +nothings of life ever preached. Sir Richard Steele, in his beautiful +paper, in the "Tatler," on "The Death of Friends," says, in speaking of +his mother's sorrow for his father's death, there was a dignity in her +grief amidst all the wildness of her transport that made pity the +weakness of his heart ever since; and perhaps it is owing to the +impressions I received at the first auction I ever attended that I am +now an inveterate sentimentalist.</p> + +<p>How well I remember that auction! Looking back "through the dim posterns +of the mind" into the far-off days of my childhood, I see, among other +things, the large and comfortable mansion—it was the home of plenty and +the temple of hospitality—in which I passed some of the goldenest hours +of my boyhood. But the finest play has an end, and the sweetest feasts +and the merriest pastimes do not last forever. Very suddenly, indeed, +did my visits to that happy home cease. For my good friends of the +"great house"—the dearest old lady and the kindest and merriest old +gentleman that ever patted a little boy on the head—were both seized +(oh, woe the day!) by a terrible disease, and died in spite of all that +the great doctor from Boston did to cure them. The last time I entered +the dear old house was on a beautiful balmy summer morning; the birds +were singing as I have never heard them sing since, and all Nature +seemed as glad and exultant as if death, misfortune, and auctioneers +were banished from the world. I found there, in place of the late kind +host and hostess, a crowd—so they seemed to me—of rude and +coarse-minded people; and I saw the hateful red flag of the auctioneer +hanging over the door.</p> + +<p>An eagle in a dove-cot, a fox in a barn-yard, a wolf among sheep, is +mild, merciful, and humane, when compared with the flock of human +vultures that had invaded this once happy residence, and were greedily +stripping it of all that the taste and the wealth of its late occupants +had furnished it with. Should I live to be a thousand years old, I do +not think I should forget the unladylike proceedings of sundry old women +at that auction. With what a free and contemptuous manner they examined +the fine old furniture, and handled the fine old china, and coolly +rummaged and ransacked every nook and corner, and peeped and pried into +every box, chest, and closet that was not locked! And their tongues, you +may be sure, were not idle the while!</p> + +<p>The auctioneer was a little dried-up mummy of a man, the ugliness of +whose countenance was, as it were, emphasized by a disagreeable leer +which would ever and anon deepen into a broad grin; this man, with his +dreary jokes and vapid small-talk, was equally repulsive to me.</p> + +<p>Oh, the tap of his little hammer did knock against my very heart!</p> + +<p>Of all the hammers in this busy and hammering world, from the huge +forge-hammer with which the brawny blacksmith deals telling blows upon +the glowing iron and beats it into shape, to the tiny hammer that the +watchmaker so deftly handles, the ivory-headed, ebony-handled instrument +of the auctioneer is the most potent. From the day it was first upraised +by the original auctioneer—the nameless and unknown founder of a mighty +line of auctioneers—over the chattels of some unfortunate mortal, to +the present time, when the red flag is constantly waving in all the +great cities and towns of the world, what an immense amount of property +of all kinds and descriptions has come under that little instrument! At +its fall the ancestral acres of how many spendthrift heirs have passed +away from their families forever into the hands of wealthy plebeian +parvenus! By a few strokes Dives's splendid mansion, and Crœsus's +magnificent country-seat, and Phaëton's famous fast <a name="Page_405" id="Page_405"></a>horses become the +property of others. At its tap human beings have been sold into worse +than Egyptian bondage.</p> + +<p>Horace Walpole confidently hoped that his famous collection of <i>virtù</i> +would be the envy and admiration of the relic-mongers and the +curiosity-seekers of two or three hundred years hence; but he had not +been dead fifty years before the red flag was waving over Strawberry +Hill, and it was not taken down till the villa had been despoiled of all +the curious and costly toys and bawbles with which it was packed and +crammed. At each stroke of the hammer,—and for four-and-twenty days the +quaint Gothic mansion resounded with the "Going, going, gone" of the +auctioneer,—at every stroke of the hammer Walpole must have turned +uneasily in his grave; for at every stroke of that fatal implement some +beautiful miniature, or rare engraving, or fine painting, or precious +old coin, or beloved old vase, or bit of curious old armor, or equally +curious relic of the olden time, passed into the possession of some +unknown person or other.</p> + +<p>And the Duke of Roxburghe's magnificent collection of rare, curious, and +valuable books, in the gathering of which he spent a goodly portion of +his life, and evinced the policy and finesse of the most wily statesman +and the shrewdness and cunning of a Jew money-lender, was soon after his +decease scattered, by the hammer of Evans, over England and the +Continent. A circumstantial history of this memorable sale was written +by Dibdin the bibliomaniac.</p> + +<p>I do not, however, grieve much—indeed, to state the precise truth, I do +not grieve at all—at the dismantling of Strawberry Hill, or at the sale +of the Roxburghe library; but at the vendition of Samuel Johnson's dusty +and dearly loved books (they were sold by Mr. Christie, "at his Great +Room in Pall-Mall," on Wednesday, February 16, 1785) I own to being a +trifle sad and sentimental. For Walpole, with all his cleverness, is a +man one cannot love; and as for the bibliographical Duke, he evidently +thought more of a rare edition or a unique copy than of all the charms +of wit, poetry, or eloquence. I suspect that a splendid binding would +please him more than a splendid passage. Whereas Johnson (he was never +without a book in his pocket to read at by-times when he had nothing +else to do) had a scholar's love for books, and liked them for what they +contained, and not merely because they were rare and costly.</p> + +<p>Neither can I think unmoved of the dispersion "under the hammer" of the +fine library at Greta Hall, which Southey had taken so much pains and +pleasure in collecting, and which was, as his son has observed, the +pride of his eyes and the joy of his heart,—a library which contained +many a "monarch folio," and many a fine old quarto, and thousands of +small, but precious volumes of ancient lore, and which was particularly +rich in rare old Spanish and Portuguese books. Many of the old volumes +in this library had seen such hard service, and had been so roughly +handled by former owners, that they were in a very ragged condition when +they came into Southey's possession; and as he could not afford to have +them equipped in serviceable leather, his daughters and female friends +comfortably and neatly clothed them in colored cotton prints. The twelve +or fourteen hundred volumes thus bound filled an entire room, which the +poet designated as the "Cottonian Library." I saw, a year or two ago, +among the costly and valuable works upon the shelves of a Boston +bookstore, two or three volumes of this "Cottonian Library." They are +not there now. Perhaps the lucky purchaser of them may be a reader of +this article. If so, let me congratulate him upon possessing such rare +and interesting memorials of the famous and immortal biographer of +Doctor Daniel Dove of Doncaster.</p> + +<p>And sure I am that no gentle reader can contemplate the fate of Charles +Lamb's library without becoming a prey to</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Mild-eyed melancholy."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Elia's books,—his "midnight darlings,"<a name="Page_406" id="Page_406"></a> his "folios," his "huge +Switzer-like tomes of choice and massy divinity," his "kind-hearted +play-books," his book of "Songs and Posies," his rare old treatises, and +quaint and curious tractates,—the rich gleanings from the old London +book-stalls by one who knew a good book, as Falstaff knew the Prince, by +instinct,—books that had been the solace and delight of his life, the +inspirers and prompters of his best and noblest thoughts, the food of +his mind, and the nourishers of his fancies, ideas, and feelings,—these +books, with the exception of those retained by some of Elia's personal +friends, were, after Mary Lamb's death, purchased by an enterprising +New-York bookseller, and shipped to America, where Lamb has ever had +more readers and truer appreciators than in England. The arrival in New +York of his "shivering folios" created quite a sensation among the +Cisatlantic admirers of "the gentle Elia." The lovers of rare old books +and the lovers of Charles Lamb jostled each other in the way to Bartlett +and Welford's shop, where the treasures (having escaped the perils of +the sea) were safely housed, and where a crowd of <i>literati</i> was +constantly engaged in examining them.</p> + +<p>The sale was attended by a goodly company of book-collectors and +book-readers. All the works brought fair prices, and were purchased by +(or for) persons in various parts of the country. Among the bidders were +(I am told) Geoffrey Crayon,—Mr. Sparrowgrass,—Clark, of the +"Knickerbocker" magazine,—that lover of the angle and true disciple of +Izaak Walton, the late Rev. Dr. Bethune,—Burton, the comedian,—and +other well-known authors, actors, and divines. The black-letter +Chaucer—Speght's edition, folio, London, 1598,—the identical copy +spoken of by Elia in his letter to Ainsworth, the novelist—was knocked +down to Burton for twenty-five dollars. I know not who was the fortunate +purchaser of "The Works of Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of +Newcastle,"—an especial favorite of Lamb's. Neither do I know the name +of the buyer of "The Works of Michael Drayton." They brought +twenty-eight dollars. A number of volumes (one of them my correspondent +opines was "The Dunciad," <i>variorum</i> edition) were bought by an +enthusiastic lover of Elia who came all the way from St. Louis on +purpose to attend this auction. The English nation should have purchased +Lamb's library. But instead of comfortably filling an alcove or two in +the British Museum, it crossed the Atlantic and was widely scattered +over the United States of America. Will it ever be brought together +again? Ah, me! such things do not happen in the annals of books.</p> + +<p>'Tis no wonder that the old blind scholar, Bardo de' Bardi, in George +Eliot's grand story of "Romola," knowing as he did the usual fate of +private libraries, manifested a constant fear that his noble collection +of books would be merged in some other library after his death. Every +generous soul must heartily despise Tito Melema for basely disposing of +Bardo's library for lucre. There are plenty of good people, however, who +would uphold him in that transaction. Indeed, do not most of us with +unseemly haste and unnatural greed dispose of the effects of our +deceased friends and relations? The funeral is hardly over before we +begin to get ready for the auction. "I preserve," says Montaigne, "a bit +of writing, a seal, a prayer-book, a particular sword, that has been +used by my friends and predecessors, and have <i>not</i> thrown the long +staves my father carried in his hand out of my closet." If the essayist +lived in these days, and followed the customs that now obtain, he would +send the sword and the staves, along with the other useless and (to him) +worthless tokens and remembrancers of the dead and gone Montaignes, to +the auction-room, and cheerfully pocket the money they brought.</p> + +<p>Thackeray had been dead but a few weeks when a scene similar to the one +he has so truthfully described in the seventeenth chapter of "Vanity +Fair" occurred <a name="Page_407" id="Page_407"></a>at his own late residence. The voice of "Mr. Hammerdown" +was heard in the house, and the rooms were filled with a motley crowd of +auction-haunters and relic-hunters, (among whom, of course, were Mr. +Davids and Mr. Moses,)—a rabble-rout of thoughtless and unfeeling men +and women, eager to get an "inside view" of the home of the great +satirist. The wine in his cellars,—the pictures upon his walls,—the +books in his library,—the old "cane-bottomed chair" in which he sat +while writing many of his best works, and which he has immortalized in a +fine ballad,—the gifts of kind friends, liberal publishers, and +admiring readers,—yea, his house itself, and the land it stands +on,—passed under the hammer of the auctioneer. O good white head, low +lying in the dust of Kensal Green! it matters little to thee now what +becomes of the red brick mansion built so lovingly in the style of Queen +Anne's time, and filled with such admirable taste from cellar to roof; +but many a pilgrim from these shores will step aside from the roar of +London and pay a tribute of remembrance to the house where lived and +died the author of "Henry Esmond" and "Vanity Fair."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RIDE_TO_CAMP" id="THE_RIDE_TO_CAMP"></a>THE RIDE TO CAMP.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When all the leaves were red or brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or golden as the summer sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now and then came flickering down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the grasses hoar and dun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through which the first faint breath of frost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had as a scorching vapor run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I rode, in solemn fancies lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To join my troop, whose low tents shone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far vanward to our camping host.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus as I slowly journeyed on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I was made suddenly aware<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I no longer rode alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence came that strange, incongruous pair?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whether to make their presence plain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To mortal eyes from earth or air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The essence of these spirits twain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had clad itself in human guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As in a robe, is question vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hardly dared to turn my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So faint my heart beat; and my blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Checked and bewildered with surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within its aching channels stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the soldier in my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scarce mustered common hardihood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as I paused, with lips apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strong shame, as with a sturdy arm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shook me, and made my spirit start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all my stagnant life grew warm;<br /></span><p><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Till, with my new-found courage wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of my mouth there burst a storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of song, as if I thus beguiled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My way with careless melody:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whereat the silent figures smiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then from a haughty, asking eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I scanned the uninvited pair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And waited sternly for reply.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One shape was more than mortal fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He seemed embodied out of light;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sunbeams rippled through his hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His cheeks were of the color bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That dyes young evening, and his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glowed like twin planets, that to sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Increase in lustre and in size,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The more intent and long our gaze.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full on the future's pain and prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half seen through hanging cloud and haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His steady, far, and yearning look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blazed forth beneath his crown of bays.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His radiant vesture, as it shook,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dripped with great drops of golden dew;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And at each step his white steed took,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sparks beneath his hoof-prints flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if a half-cooled lava-flood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He trod, each firm step breaking through.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This figure seemed so wholly good,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That as a moth which reels in light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unknown till then, nor understood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dazzled soul swam; and I might<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have swooned, and in that presence died,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the mere splendor of the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had not his lips, serene with pride<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cold, cruel purpose, made me swerve<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From aught their fierce curl might deride.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A clarion of a single curve<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hung at his side by slender bands;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when he blew, with faintest nerve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life burst throughout those lonely lands;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Graves yawned to hear, Time stood aghast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The whole world rose and clapped its hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then on the other shape I cast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My eyes. I know not how or why<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He held my spellbound vision fast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instinctive terror bade me fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But curious wonder checked my will.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mysteries of his awful eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So dull, so deep, so dark, so chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the calm pity of his brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And massive features hard and still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lovely, but threatening, and the bow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of his sad neck, as if he told<br /></span><p><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Earth's graves and sorrows as they grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast me in musings manifold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before his pale, unanswering face.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thousand winters might have rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above his head. I saw no trace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of youth or age, of time or change,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon his fixed immortal grace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A smell of new-turned mould, a strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dank, earthen odor from him blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cold as the icy winds that range<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moving hills which sailors view<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Floating around the Northern Pole,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With horrors to the shivering crew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His garments, black as minèd coal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cast midnight shadows on his way;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as his black steed softly stole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cat-like and stealthy, jocund day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Died out before him, and the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then sear and tawny, turned to gray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hardy flowers that will not pass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the shrewd autumn's chilling rain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Closed their bright eyelids, and, alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No summer opened them again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The strong trees shuddered at his touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shook their foliage to the plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sheaf of darts was in his clutch;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wheresoe'er he turned the head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of any dart, its power was such<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Nature quailed with mortal dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And crippling pain and foul disease<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For sorrowing leagues around him spread.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whene'er he cast o'er lands and seas<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That fatal shaft, there rose a groan;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And borne along on every breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came up the church-bell's solemn tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cries that swept o'er open graves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And equal sobs from cot and throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the winds she tasks and braves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tall ship paused, the sailors sighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And something white slid in the waves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One lamentation, far and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Followed behind that flying dart.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Things soulless and immortal died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they filled the self-same part;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flower, the girl, the oak, the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made the same dust from pith or heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then spoke I, calmly as one can<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who with his purpose curbs his fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thus to both my question ran:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What two are ye who cross me here,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon these desolated lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose open fields lie waste and drear<br /></span><p><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Beneath the tramplings of the bands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which two great armies send abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With swords and torches in their hands?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To which the bright one, as a god<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who slowly speaks the words of fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Towards his dark comrade gave a nod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And answered:—"I anticipate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The thought that is your own reply.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You know him, or the fear and hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon your pallid features lie.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Therefore I need not call him Death:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But answer, soldier, who am I?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereat, with all his gathered breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He blew his clarion; and there came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From life above and life beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale forms of vapor and of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dim likenesses of men who rose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above their fellows by a name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There curved the Roman's eagle-nose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Greek's fair brows, the Persian's beard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Punic plume, the Norman bows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There the Crusader's lance was reared;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there, in formal coat and vest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stood modern chiefs; and one appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose arms were folded on his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And his round forehead bowed in thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who shone supreme above the rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again the bright one quickly caught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His words up, as the martial line<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before my eyes dissolved to nought:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Soldier, these heroes all are mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I am Glory!" As a tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That groans on opening, "Say, were thine,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cried the dark figure. "I consume<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thee and thy splendors utterly.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More names have faded in my gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than chronicles or poesy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have kept alive for babbling earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To boast of in despite of me."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other cried, in scornful mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Of all that was or is thou curse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou dost o'errate thy frightful worth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the cradle and the hearse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What one of mine has lived unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whether through triumph or reverse?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For them the regal jewels shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For them the battled line was spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Victorious or overthrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My splendor on their path was shed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They lived their life, they ruled their day:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hold no commerce with the dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mistake me not, and falsely say,<br /></span><p><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411"></a></p> +<span class="i0">'Lo, this is slow, laborious Fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who cares for what has passed away,'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My twin-born brother, meek and tame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who troops along with crippled Time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shrinks at every cry of shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And halts at every stain and crime;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While I, through tears and blood and guilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stride on, remorseless and sublime.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">War with his offspring as thou wilt;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay thy cold lips against their cheek.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The poison or the dagger-hilt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is what my desperate children seek.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their dust is rubbish on the hills;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the grave they would not speak.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall man surround his days with ills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And live as if his only care<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were how to die, while full life thrills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bounding blood? To plan and dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To use life is life's proper end:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let death come when it will, and where!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"You prattle on, as babes that spend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their morning half within the brink<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the bright heaven from which they wend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what I am you dare not think.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thick, brooding shadow round me lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You stare till terror makes you wink;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I go not, though you shut your eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unclose again the loathful lid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lo, I sit beneath the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Sphinx beside the pyramid!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So Death, with solemn rise and fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of voice, his sombre mind undid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He paused; resuming,—"I am all;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am the refuge and the rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heart aches not beneath my pall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O soldier, thou art young, unpressed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By snarling grief's increasing swarm;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While joy is dancing in thy breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly from the future's fated harm;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rush where the fronts of battle meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let me take thee on my arm!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said Glory,—"Warrior, fear deceit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Death gives counsel. Run thy race;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bring the world cringing to thy feet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surely no better time nor place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than this, where all the Nation calls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For help, and weakness and disgrace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lag in her tents and council-halls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And down on aching heart and brain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blow after blow unbroken falls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her strength flows out through every vein;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mere time consumes her to the core;<br /></span><p><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Her stubborn pride becomes her bane.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain she names her children o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They fail her in her hour of need;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She mourns at desperation's door.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be thine the hand to do the deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To seize the sword, to mount the throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wear the purple as thy meed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No heart shall grudge it; not a groan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall shame thee. Ponder what it were<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To save a land thus twice thy own!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Use gave a more familiar air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To my companions; and I spoke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart out to the ethereal pair:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"When in her wrath the Nation broke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her easy rest of love and peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I was the latest who awoke.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sighed at passion's mad increase.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I strained the traitors to my heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I said, 'We vex them; let us cease.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not play the common part.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tamely I heard the Southrons' brag:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I said, 'Their wrongs have made them smart.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length they struck our ancient flag,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their flag as ours, the traitors damned!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And braved it with their patchwork-rag.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I rose, when other men had calmed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their anger in the marching throng;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I rose, as might a corpse embalmed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who hears God's mandate, 'Right my wrong!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I rose and set me to His deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With His great Spirit fixed and strong.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I swear, that, when I drew this sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And joined the ranks, and sought the strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I drew it in Thy name, O Lord!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I drew against my brother's life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even as Abraham on his child<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drew slowly forth his priestly knife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No thought of selfish ends defiled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The holy fire that burned in me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No gnawing care was thus beguiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My children clustered at my knee;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon my braided soldier's coat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My wife looked,—ah, so wearily!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It made her tender blue eyes float.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when my wheeling rowels rang,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or on the floor my sabre smote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound went through her like a pang.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw this; and the days to come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forewarned me with an iron clang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That drowned the music of the drum,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That made the rousing bugle faint;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet I sternly left my home,—<br /></span><p><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Haply to fall by noisome taint<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of foul disease, without a deed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sound in rhyme or shine in paint;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, oh, at least, to drop a seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Humble, but faithful to the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sown by my Country in her need!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Death, come to me, slow or fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll do my duty while I may!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though sorrow burdens every blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And want and hardship on me lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their bony gripes, my life is pledged,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And to my Country given away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor feel I any hope, new-fledged,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Arise, strong Glory, at thy voice.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our sword the people's will has edged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our rule stands on the people's choice.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This land would mourn beneath a crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where born slaves only could rejoice.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How should the Nation keep it down?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What would a despot's fortunes be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">After his days of strength had flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amidst this people, proud and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose histories from such sources run?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The thought is its own mockery.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pity the audacious one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who may ascend that thorny throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bide a single setting sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Day dies; my shadow's length has grown;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun is sliding down the west.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That trumpet in my camp was blown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From yonder high and wooded crest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shall behold my squadron's camp,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prepared to sleep its guarded rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the low, misty, poisoned damp<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wears the strength, and saps the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drains the surgeon's watching lamp.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence, phantoms! in God's peace depart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I was not fashioned for your will:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I scorn the trump, and brave the dart!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They grinned defiance, lingering still.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I charge ye quit me, in His name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who bore His cross against the hill!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Him who died a death of shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I might live, and ye might die,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Christ the Martyr!"—As a flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaps sideways when the wind is high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bright one bounded from my side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At that dread name, without reply;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Death drew in his mantle wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shuddered, and grew ghastly pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if his dart had pricked his side.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There came a breath, a lonely wail,<br /></span><p><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Out of the silence o'er the land;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whether from souls of bliss or bale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What mortal brain may understand?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only I marked the phantoms went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Closely together, hand in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if upon one errand bent.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_TRUE_STORY_OF_LUIGI" id="THE_TRUE_STORY_OF_LUIGI"></a>THE TRUE STORY OF LUIGI.</h2> + + +<p>A white dove flew down into the market-place one summer morning, and, +undisturbed among all the wheels and hoofs, followed the footsteps of +Luigi.</p> + +<p>He carried in one hand a sunflower, and thoughtlessly, while it hung +there, with nervous fingers scattered the seeds as he went his way. So +that the dove cooed in her little swelling throat, gathered what Luigi +spilled, and, startled at last by a frisking hound, flew up and alighted +on the tray which Luigi's other hand poised airily on his head, and was +borne along with all the company of fair white things there in the +sunshine.</p> + +<p>The street-urchins warned Luigi of the intruder among his wares, and +then, slyly putting up his hand, the boy tossed the seeds in a shower +about the tray. Off flew the dove, and back with the returning gust she +fluttered, and, pausing only to catch her seed, she came and went, +wheeling in flashing circles round his head as he pursued his path.</p> + +<p>It was at the pretty picture he thus presented, as, having left the +market-place, he came upon the higher streets of the town, that a lady, +looking from her window, made exclaim. The kind face, the pleasant +voice, attracted him; in a moment after, while she was yet thinking of +it, the door was pushed partly open, a dark boy, smiling, appeared, +followed by the unslung tray, and a voice like a flute said,—</p> + +<p>"<i>Sono io</i>,—it is I. Will the lady buy?"</p> + +<p>And then the image-vender showed his wares.</p> + +<p>The lady chaffered with him a moment, and at its close he was evidently +paying no attention to what she said, but was listening to a voice from +the adjoining room, the clear voice of a girl singing her Italian +exercises.</p> + +<p>His face was in a glow, he bent to catch the words with signalling +finger and glittering eyes; it was plainly neither the deftly sweet +accompaniment nor the melody that charmed him, but the language: the +language was his own.</p> + +<p>With the cadence of the measure the sound was broken capriciously, the +book had been thrown down, and the singer herself stood balancing in the +doorway between the rooms, a hand on either side,—still lightly +trilling her scales, smiling, beaming, blue-eyed, rosy. The sunbeam that +entered behind the shade swinging in the wind fell upon the beautiful +masses of her light-brown hair, and illumined all the shifting color +that played with such delicate suffusion upon her cheek and chin; her +face was a deep, innocent smile of joy; she would have been dazzling but +for the blushes that seemed to go and come with her breath and make her +human; and so much did she embody one's ideal of the first woman that no +one wondered when all called her Eve, although her name was Rosamond, +and she was the Rose of the World.</p> + +<p>Directly Eve saw the boy kneeling <a name="Page_415" id="Page_415"></a>there over his tray, the cast +suspended in his hand, as he leaned intently forward with the rich +carmine deepening the golden tint of his brow and with that yellow fire +in his wine-dark eyes, she ceased singing, and, not hesitating to mimic +the well-known call, cried,—</p> + +<p>"Images?"</p> + +<p>Then Luigi remembered where he was, and answered the question asked five +minutes since.</p> + +<p>"Signora, seven shillings."</p> + +<p>"That is reasonable, now," said the lady. "I will have it for that sum. +Do you cast these things yourself?"</p> + +<p>"My master and I."</p> + +<p>"Have you been long here?"</p> + +<p>"Alas! much, much time," said he, with melancholy earnestness.</p> + +<p>"And from what part of Italy did you come?" she kindly asked.</p> + +<p>"<i>Vengo da Roma</i>" replied the boy, drawing himself up proudly.</p> + +<p>"The Roman peasant is a prince, mamma," said Eve quickly, in an +undertone.</p> + +<p>Luigi glanced up instantly and smiled, and offered to her a little +plaster cherub, silver-gilt, just spreading wings for flight.</p> + +<p>"It is for her," said he, with an appealing look at the mother. "For +her,—<i>la principessina</i>. I myself made it."</p> + +<p>No one perceived his adroit under-meaning; but Eva bethought herself of +her school-phrases, and venturously selected one.</p> + +<p>"<i>È grazioso</i>!" said she.</p> + +<p>Luigi's face kindled anew; it seemed as if the sound of his native +tongue were like some magic wand that called the blind blood to his +cheek or drove it into the pools of his heart; the smile broke all over +his face as light dances on burnished gold; he turned to her boldly with +outstretched hands, like some one asking an alms.</p> + +<p>"Give to me a song," he said.</p> + +<p>"<i>Volontieri</i>" quoth Eve, in hesitating accent, and flitted back to her +piano. Without a thought, he followed.</p> + +<p>It was a little song of flowers and sunshine that Eve began to carol +over the carolling keys; the words fell into the sweetness of the air, +that seemed laden with the morning murmur of bees and blossoms; it was +but a verse or two, with a refrain that went repeating all the honeyed +burden, till Luigi's face fairly burned with pleasure, where he stood at +timid distance in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ciò mi fa bene!</i> That does me good!" cried he, as she rose. "Ah, +Signorina, I am happy here!"</p> + +<p>Then he turned and found the elder lady counting out his money. He +received the seven shillings quietly, as his due; but when she would +have paid him for the cherub, he pushed the silver swiftly back.</p> + +<p>"It is a gift!" said he, with spirit.</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Eve. "I should like it, but I must pay for it. You will +be so kind as to take the price?" she asked, her hand extended, and a +winning grace irradiating all her changing rosy countenance.</p> + +<p>A shadow fell over the boy's face, like that of a cloud skimming down a +sunny landscape.</p> + +<p>"<i>A Lei non posso dar un rifiuto</i>," said he, meeting her shining eyes; +and he gravely gathered the money and slung his tray.</p> + +<p>As he raised it, Eve laid along its side a branch of unsullied +day-lilies that had been filling the room with their heavy fragrance. +The image-boy interested her; he was a visible creature of those foreign +fairy-shores of which she had dreamed; that she did anything but show +kindness to a vagrant whom she would not see again never crossed her +mind; perhaps, too, she liked that Italy, in his person, should admire +her,—that was pardonable. But, at the action, the shadow swept away +from the boy's face again, all his lights and darks came flashing out, +eyes and teeth and color sparkling in his smile, like sunshine after +rain; he made his low obeisance, poised the tray upon his head, and, +with a wave of his hand, went out.</p> + +<p>"<i>A rivederla</i>!" he called back to her from the door, and was gone.</p><p><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416"></a></p> + +<p>And soon far down the street they heard his musical cry again; and +perhaps the little distant dove, who had forsaken him on entrance, also +caught the sound, and was reminded by it, as he pecked along the dusty +thoroughfare, of some remote and pleasant memory of morning and the +market-place.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a week afterward, that, as Eve and her mother loitered over +luncheon, the door again softly opened, and they saw Luigi standing +erect on the threshold, and holding with both hands above the brightly +bronzed face a tall, slender, white jar of ancient and exquisite shape, +carefully painted, and having a glass suspended within, lest any water +it might receive should penetrate the porous plaster.</p> + +<p>He did not look at Eve, but marched to her mother, and deposited it upon +the floor at her feet.</p> + +<p>"For the Signora's lilies," said he.</p> + +<p>And remembering the silver pieces of the week before, and fearing lest +she should really grieve him, the Signora perforce accepted it with +admiring words; while Eve ran to fill it from the garden, into which +abode of bliss—as gardens always are—the long casement of the +music-room opened. Luigi hesitated, his hand upon the door, wistful +wishes in his face; then he cast a smiling, deprecating glance at the +mother, lightly crossed the floor, was over the sill, and stood beside +Eve in the walk.</p> + +<p>To right and left the long, straight stems rose in rank, and bore their +floral crown of listening lilies, calm, majestic, pure, and only +stirring now and then when the wind shook a waft of gold-dust down the +shining leaf, or rifled the inmost heart of its delicious wealth of +odor; on either side of the path the snowy bloom lay like a fallen +cloud.</p> + +<p>"It is a company of angels," said Luigi, brokenly, "a cloud of seraphs +with their gold harps! If they should sing," hazarded he, "it would be +the song the Signorina gave me,—alas, it is long since!"</p> + +<p>"It is a week," said she, laughing and lingering.</p> + +<p>"Eve!" came a warning voice.</p> + +<p>"That is the Signorina's name?" questioned Luigi, as he bent to help her +cut the stems.</p> + +<p>"Eve,—yes, they call me so."</p> + +<p>"Certainly I had not thought it," he repeated to himself.</p> + +<p>"Why, what did you suppose it was?" she heedlessly asked.</p> + +<p>"<i>Luigia!</i>" said he. And his low, rapt tone was indescribably simple, +sweet, and intense.</p> + +<p>Eve did not know what the boy himself was called.</p> + +<p>"I wish it were," said she. "That is a pleasant sound."</p> + +<p>And rising with her armful, she went in and heaped the jar with honor, +while Luigi, pleased and proud, lifted it to the level of the +black-walnut bracket.</p> + +<p>"Signora, behold what is beautiful!" said he, stepping back.</p> + +<p>The Signora looked at the lilies, but Luigi looked at Eve.</p> + +<p>They had lunched. Eve went into the other room to her exercises. Her +mother poured out a glass of wine for the unbidden guest. He repulsed it +with an angry eye and a disdainful gesture. But then there rose the +sound of Eve's voice just beyond;—while he stayed, he could listen. +With sudden change from frown to smile, he stepped forward and took the +plate.</p> + +<p>"To the Signora's health," said he, with a courtesy that sat well on the +supple shape and the dark beauty of the boy, whose homely garb, whose +poverty, and whose profession seemed only the disguise of some young +prince,—and sipped the wine, and broke the fine, white bread, while his +cheek was scarlet with delight at recurrence of the familiar sounds, +even though in such simple phrase.</p> + +<p>"That is a proud boy," said Eve's mother, when he had gone, and she +paused a moment to see how Eve went on. "He urges no one."</p> + +<p>"Italy is full of its troubles, <i>mia madre</i>. He is the exile of a noble +family,—no <a name="Page_417" id="Page_417"></a>other beggar would be so haughty," looked up and answered +Eve, laughing between her bars. "Mamma, what different beings different +meridians make!" she exclaimed, dropping her music. "Is he so sweet and +lofty and fiery because he has lived in the shadow of old +temples,—because, if he stumbled over a pebble in the street, it was +the marble fragment of a goddess,—because the clay of which he is made +has so many times been moulded into heroes?"</p> + +<p>"Are there no further fancies with which you can invest an +image-vender?"</p> + +<p>"But he is unique. Did you ever see any one like him? Daily beauty has +made him beautiful. Is that what the Doctor means, when he says a +Corinthian pillar in the market-place would educate a generation better +than a pulpit would?"</p> + +<p>"They have both in Rome," said her mother, with meaning.</p> + +<p>"And, in spite of them, perhaps our hero cannot spell! Yet he is more +accomplished than we, mamma. He speaks Italian beautifully," said she, +with <i>espièglerie</i>.</p> + +<p>"But hardly Tuscan."</p> + +<p>"Silver speech for all that. I have reached the end of my idioms, +though. I always said school was good for something, if one could only +find it out," she archly cried, her little fingers running in arpeggios +up the keys. "To think he understood them so! Then Dante's women would."</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid!"</p> + +<p>"How his face glows at them,—like a light behind a mask! It is quite +the opera, when he comes. I will sing to him an aria, and then it will +make a scene."</p> + +<p>"You are a madcap. What do you want a scene for?"</p> + +<p>"Spice. When my voice fills his handsome eyes with tears, he makes me an +artist; when he turns upon you in that sudden, ardent air, he brings a +sting of foreign fire into this quiet summer noon."</p> + +<p>"Amuse yourself sparingly with other people's emotions, Eve."</p> + +<p>"Especially when they are suave as olive-oil, pungent as cherry-cordial, +and ready to blaze with a spark, you know. Ah, it is all as interesting +to me as when the little sweep last year looked out from the chimney-top +and made the whole sky brim over with his wild music."</p> + +<p>Here a clock chimed silverly from below.</p> + +<p>"There is the half-hour striking, and you have lost all this time," said +the caressing mother, her fingers lost in the bright locks she lifted.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, mother mine," said she, turning in elfish mood to brush her +lips across the frustrated fingers. "Art is long, if time is fleeting," +she sang to the measure of her <i>Non più mesta</i>, beginning again to +shower its diamonds about till all the air seemed bright with her young +and sparkling voice.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Summer days are never too long for the fortunes of health and happiness, +and at the sunset following this same morning Eve leaned from the +casement, watching the retiring rays as if she fain would pursue. A +tender after-glow impurpled all the heaven like a remembered passion, +and bathed field and fallow in its bloom. It gave to her a kind of +aureole, as if her beauty shed a lustre round her. The window where she +leaned was separated from the street only by a narrow inclosure, where +grew a single sumach, whose stem went straight and bare to the eaves, +and there branched out, like the picture of a palm-tree, in tossing +plumes. Blossoming honeysuckles wreathed this stem and sweetened every +breath.</p> + +<p>A figure came sauntering down the street, an upright and pliant form, +laden with green boughs. It was Luigi, with whom it had been a holiday, +and who, roaming in the woods, had come across a wild stock on whose +rude flavor the kindly freak of some wayfarer had grafted that of pulpy +wax-heart cherries, tart ruddiness and sugared snow. Pausing before Eve, +he gazed at her lingeringly, then sprang half-way up the adjacent +<a name="Page_418" id="Page_418"></a>door-steps, and proffered her his fragrant freight. Eve deliberated for +a moment, but the fruit was tempting, the act would be kind. As he stood +there, he wore a certain humility, and yet a certain assurance,—the +lover's complicate timidity, that seems to say he will defend her +against all the world, for there is nothing in the world he fears except +herself. Eve bent and broke a little spray of the nearest branch.</p> + +<p>"They are all for you," pleaded he,—"all."</p> + +<p>"I have enough," said Eve.</p> + +<p>"I brought them for the Signorina from the wood. Behold! the tints are +hers. The cream upon Madonna's shoulder,—here; the soft red flame upon +her cheek is there."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I thank you," said Eve. "Good night."</p> + +<p>"<i>Scusi</i>,—I beg that the Signorina take them."</p> + +<p>"No, no," answered Eve, obliged to speak, and, hanging on her foot, half +turned away, a moment before flight; "why should I rob you so?"</p> + +<p>"It is not take,—but give! Why? Only that to me you are so kind. <i>O +quanta bontà</i>! You speak the speech I love. You sing its songs. I was a +wanderer. <i>Io era solo</i>. Alone and sad. But since I heard your voice, I +am at home again, and life is sweet!"</p> + +<p>And suddenly and dexterously he flung the boughs past her in at the open +window, laughed at his success till the teeth flashed again in his dusky +face, kissed both his hands and ran down the steps, singing in a ringing +recitative something where the <i>bella bellas</i> echoed and reëchoed each +other through the evening as far as they could be heard at all.</p> + +<p>Eve smiled to herself, gathered up the scattered boughs, and went into +the lighted room behind, where her gay companions clustered, appearing +at the door thus laden, and with a blush upon her brow.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said she, her lovely head bent on one side and ringed with +gloss beneath the burner, "the fruit is fresh, whether you call it +cherry or <i>ciriegia</i>." And straightway planting herself at her mother's +feet, taper fingers twinkled among shadowy leaves till the boughs were +bare of their juicy burden, and they all made merry together upon the +spoils of Luigi.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>July was following June in sunshine down the slope of the year, and Eve, +pursuing her pleasures, might almost have forgotten that an image-boy +existed, had Luigi allowed her to forget. But he was omnipresent as a +gnat.</p> + +<p>As she walked from church on the next Sunday afternoon alone, gazing at +her shadow by the way, she started to see another shadow fall beside it. +In spite of his festal midsummer attire of white linen, a sidelong +glance assured her that it was Luigi; yet she did not raise her eyes. He +continued by her, in silence, several steps.</p> + +<p>"Signorina Eve," said he then, "I went that I might worship with you."</p> + +<p>But Eve had no reply.</p> + +<p>"My prayer mounted with yours,—may he forgive, <i>il padre mio</i>," said +Luigi. "<i>Ebbene!</i> It is not lovely there. It is cold. Your heaven would +be a dreary place, perhaps. Come rather to mine!" For they approached a +little chapel, the crystallization in stone of a devout fancy, and +through the open doors rolling organ, purple incense, and softened light +invited entrance. "It is the holy vespers," said the boy. "<i>Ciascuno +alia sua volta.</i> The Signorina enters,—<i>forse?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Not to-day," answered Eve, gently.</p> + +<p>"Kneel we not," then faltered he, "before one shrine,—although," and he +grew angry with his hesitation, "at different gates?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, certainly," said Eve. "But now I must go home."</p> + +<p>"The Signorina refuses to come with me, then!" he exclaimed, springing +forward so that he opposed her progress. "Her foot is too holy! she +herself has said it. Her eyes are too lofty,—<i>gli occhi azzurri!</i>! It +is true; stood she there, <a name="Page_419" id="Page_419"></a>who would look at the blessed saints? Ah! you +have a fair face, but it is—<i>traditrice</i>!"</p> + +<p>And as he confronted her, with his clenched hands slightly raised and +advanced from his side, the lithe figure drawn back, the swarthy cheek, +the eager eyes, aglow, and made more vivid by his spotless attire, Eve +bethought herself that a scene in public had fewer charms than one in +private, and, casting about for escape, quietly stepped across the +street. For an instant Luigi gazed after her like one thunderstruck; +then he dashed into the vestibule and was lost in its shadows.</p> + +<p>It was at midnight that Eve's mother, rising to close an open window, +caught sight of an outline in the obscurity, and discerned Luigi leaning +on the railing below, with one arm supporting his upturned face. "Ah, +the sad day! the sad day!" he was sighing in his native speech. "Pardon, +pardon, Signorina! Alas! I was beside myself!"</p> + +<p>And on the next twilight Eve stood at the gate, her arms and hands full +of a flush of rosy wild azaleas from the swamps, bounty that had been +silently laid upon her by a fast and fleeting shadow. She doubted for a +moment, then dropped them where she stood. But a tint as deep as theirs +was broken by the arch and dimpling smile that flickered round her mouth +as she went in, laughing because this devotion was so strange, and +blushing because it was so genuine. "Mamma," said she, her eyes cast +down, her head askant like a shy bird's, "I am afraid I have a lover!" +And then to think of it the child grew sad. It pained her to grieve him +with the beautiful pink blossoms she had dropped, and which she knew he +would return to find; but better trivial sting than lasting ache, she +had heard. And perhaps in his tropical nature the passion would be brief +as the pain.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The broad, bright river flowing past the town by summer noon or night +was never left unflecked with sails. And of all who loved its swinging +bridge, its stately shores, its breezy expanses, none sought them more +frequently than Eve.</p> + +<p>She had gone out one day with her companions—who, beside her, seemed +like the moss that clusters on a rose-bud—to watch the shoal in the +weir as the treacherous ebb forsook it. It was a favorite diversion of +Eve's,—for she always felt as if she were Scheherazade looking into the +pools of her fancy, and viewing the submerged city with its princes and +its populace transformed to fish, when, having entered the heart-shaped +inclosure, she leaned over the boat-side and noted the twin tides of +life whose facile and luminous career followed all the outline of the +weir. For the mackerel, swimming in at the two eddies of the mouth, +struck straight across in transverse courses till they met the barrier +on either side, and then each slowly felt the way along to the end of +the lobe, where, instead of escaping, they struck freely across again, +and thus pursued their round in everlasting interchase of +lustre,—through the darkly transparent surface each current glancing on +its swift and silent way, an arrow of emerald and silver. Curving, +racing, rippling with tints, they circled, till, warned by some subtile +instinct that the river was betraying them, fresh fear swept faster and +faster their lines of light, the rich dyes deepened in the splendid +scales, and some huddled into herds, and some, more frantic than the +rest, leaped from the water in shining streaks, and darted away like +stars into outer safety. There the sail-boat already had preceded them, +and the master of the weir, having taken its place, from the dip-net was +loading his dory with massive fare of frosted silver and fusing jewel. +As Eve and her friends lingered yet a moment there, watching the +picturesque figure splashing barelegged in the shallow water, one of the +droll little craft known as Joppa-chaises came up beside them, a fulvous +face appeared at its helm, a tawny hand was extended, and they left +Luigi bargaining for fish, and stringing these simulations <a name="Page_420" id="Page_420"></a>of massed +turquoise and scale-ruby at a penny apiece.</p> + +<p>What little wind there was that day blew from the southeast, and +sheathed the brightness of the noonday sky in a soft veil of haze; and +having made this pretty sight their own, Eve's party spread their sail +for tacking to and fro, meaning to reach the sea. This, for some hidden +reason, the wind refused to let them do, and when it found them +obstinate brought an accomplice upon the scene, and they suddenly +surprised themselves rocking this side the bar, and caught in the vapory +fringes of a dark sea-turn, that, creeping round about, had soon so +wrapped and folded them that they could scarcely see the pennon drooping +at their mast-head. This done, the wind fell altogether, and they lay +there a part of the great bank of mist that all day brooded above the +bar. Everywhere around them the gray cloud hung and curled and curdled; +it was impossible to see an oar's-length on either side; their very +faces were unfamiliar, and seemed to be looking like the faces of +spirits from a different atmosphere; their little boat was the whole +world, and beyond it was only void. Now and then an idle puff parted the +bank to right and left, their sail flapped impatiently, and in the +sudden space they saw the barge that dashed along with the great white +seine-boat heaped high with nets towering in its midst, the oars of the +six red-shirted rowers flashing in the sun as it cut the channel and +rushed by to join the fishing-fleet outside,—or they caught a glimpse +of some little gunning-float, covered with wisps of hay and carrying its +single occupant couched <i>perdu</i> along its length,—or, while they +lunched and trifled and jested, Eve with her crumbs tolled about them +the dwellers in the depths, and in the falling flake of sunshine laughed +to see a stately aldermanic flounder, that came paddling after a +chicken-bone, put to rout by a satanic sculpin, whereat an eel swiftly +snaked the prize away, and the frost-fish, collecting at a chance of +civil war, mingled in the <i>mêlée</i>, tooth and nail, or rather fin and +tail. Then the vapors would darken round them again, till, with the +stray rays caught and refracted in their fleece, it seemed like living +in an opal full of cloudy color and fire. Far off they heard the great +ground-swell of the surf upon the beach, or there came the dull report +of the sportsmen in the marsh, or they exchanged first a laugh and then +a yawn with some other unseen party becalmed in the fog and drifting +with the currents; and all day long, on this side and on that, the cloud +rang with near and distant music, as if Ariel and his sprites had lost +their way in it, the tinkling of a mandolin, the singing of a clear, +rich voice that had the tenor's golden strain, and yet, in floating +through the mist, was sweet and sighing as a flute. The melody and the +undistinguished words it bore upon its wings, delicious tune and +passionate meaning, seemed the speech of another planet, an orb of song, +the delicate sound lost when at sunset the threaded mist broke up and +streamed away in fire, but coming again, as if they were haunted by the +viewless voices of the air, when star-beam and haze tangled together at +last in the dusk of summer night and found them still rocking on the +swell, vainly whistling for the wind, and slowly tiding up with the +flood.</p> + +<p>It was one of those days so long in the experience, but so charming to +remember. Eve, with her wilful, fearless ways, her quips and joyousness, +had been the life and the delight of it; now, chilled and weary, she +hailed the sight of the lamps that seemed to be hung out along the shore +to light them home: for their boatmen were inexperienced, and, though +wind failed them, had not dared before to lift the oars, ignorant as +they were of their precise whereabouts, and even now made no progress +like that of the unseen voice still hovering around them. There had been +a season of low tides, and when, to save the weary work of rowing a +heavy sail-boat farther, it was decided to make the shore, they were +hindered by a length of shallow water and weedy flat, through which the +ladies of the party must consent <a name="Page_421" id="Page_421"></a>to be carried. A late weird moon was +rising down behind the light-houses, all red and angry in the mist still +brooding over the horizon, the boat lay in the deep shade it cast, the +river beyond was breaking into light, reach after reach, like a blossom +into bloom. Two of her friends had already been taken to the bank; Eve +stood in the bow, awaiting her bearers, and watching the distant bays of +the stream, each one of which seemed just on the verge of opening into +an impossible midnight glory. She heard the plash of feet in the water, +but did not heed it other than to fold her cloak more conveniently about +her, her eye caught the contour of a vague approaching form, and then +shadowy arms were reaching up to encircle her. She was bending, and just +yielding herself to the clasp, when the hearty voice of her bearers +sounded at hand, bidding her be of good cheer; the adumbration shrank +back into the gloom, and, before she recovered from her start, firm arms +had borne her to firm land.</p> + +<p>"Well, Eve," said one of her awaiting friends, "is the earth going up +and down with you? As for me, my head swims like a buoy. I feel as if I +had waltzed all day."</p> + +<p>"Nympholeptic, then," said Eve,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"'When you do dance, I wish you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wave of the sea, that you might ever do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing but that.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I thought they threw out the anchor down there," said the other. "Are +they tying her up for the night, too? How long it takes them! Oh, for an +inquisition and a rack,—I am so cramped! Eve, here, is extinguished. +What a day it has been!"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Oh, sweet the flight, at dead of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When up the immeasurable height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thin cloud wanders with the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shakes the splendor from the star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stoops and crisps the darkling seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drives the daring keel afar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where loneliness and silence are!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cleave the crested wave, and mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drowned in its depth the shattered spark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On airy swells to soar, and rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where nothing but the foam-bell flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er freest tracts of wild delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, sweet the flight at dead of night!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>sang Eve. "Ah, there they are! I am so tired that I could fall asleep +here, if there were but a reed to lean against!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Appoggiatevi a me</i>" sighed a murmurous voice in her ear, with musical +monotone.</p> + +<p>A little shiver ran over Eve, but no soul saw it; in an instant she knew +the sound that had all day haunted the sea-turn; yet she could neither +smile nor be angry at Luigi's simplicity; with a peremptory motion of +her hand, she only waved him away, and fortified herself among her +companions, who, thoroughly awakened, made the night ring as they wended +along. They rallied Eve, then grew vexed that she refused the sport, and +kept silence awhile, only to break it with gayer laughter, elate with +life while half the world was stretched in white repose. At length they +paused to rest in the lee of a cottage that seemed more like a hulk +drawn up on shore than any house, but matted from ground to chimney in a +smother of woodbine.</p> + +<p>"A picturesque place," said one of the chevaliers.</p> + +<p>"And a picturesque body lives in it," replied another. "The beauty of +the fisher-maidens. I have seen her out upon the flats at low tide +digging for clams, barefooted, the short petticoats fluttering, a +handkerchief across her ears,—and outline could do no more."</p> + +<p>"I have seen her, too," said Eve. "Though she lives in the belt of +sunburn, she is white as snow,—milk-white, with hazel eyes. She has +hair like Sordello's Elys. She is a girl that dreams. Let us serenade +her till she sees visions."</p> + +<p>And Eve's voice went warbling lightly up, till the others joined, as if +the oriole in his hanging nest not far away had stirred to sing out the +seasons of the dark.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The hours that bear thy beauty prize<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Star after star sinks numbering,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laden wind at thy lattice sighs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To find thee slumbering, slumbering!<br /></span><p><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422"></a></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah, wantonly why waste these hours<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That love would fain be borrowing?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon youth and joy must fall like flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And leave thee sorrowing, sorrowing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ye fleeting hours, ye sacred skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet airs around her hovering,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, open me the envied eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your spells are covering, covering!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Or only, while the dew's soft showers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shake slowly into glistening,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let her, O magic midnight hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In dreams be listening, listening!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And their voices blended so together as they sang, and the plunge of the +sea came on the east-wind in such chiming chord, that they never heeded +the old mandolin whose strings in humble remoteness Luigi struck to +their tune. But mingling the sound of the sea and the sound of the +strings in her memory, it seemed to Eve that Luigi was fast becoming the +undertone of her life.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But Luigi was not to be abashed. Faint heart never won fair lady, he +said to himself, in some answering apophthegm. And thereat he summoned +his reserves.</p> + +<p>At noon of the next day, Eve, having run down-stairs into the room where +her mother sat, stood before her during the inspection of the attire she +had proposed as possible for an approaching masquerade some weeks hence. +She wore a white robe of classic make, and over its trailing folds her +bright hair, all unbound from the heavy braids, streamed in a thousand +ripples of scattered lustre, the brown breaking into gold, the gloss +lurking in tremulous jacinth shadows, tresses like a cascade of ravelled +light falling to her feet, shrouding her in a long and luminous +veil,—such "sweet shaken hair" as was never seen since Spenser and +Ariosto put their heads together.</p> + +<p>"<i>Come sta</i>?" said some one in the doorway. And there stood Luigi, +having deposited his tray of images on the steps, holding up a long +string of birds'-eggs blown, tiny varicolored globes plundered from the +thrushes, bobolinks, blue-jays, and cedar-birds, and trembling upon the +thread as if their concrete melody quivered to open into tune.</p> + +<p>For an indignant instant Eve felt her seclusion unwarrantably violated; +she turned upon the invader with her blushes, and the venturesome Luigi +blenched before the gaze. Still, though he retreated, a part of him +remained: a slender brown hand, that stretched back in relief against +the white door-post, yet suspended the pretty rosary; and there it +caught Eve's eye.</p> + +<p>Now it was Euterpe that Eve was to represent at the masquerade; and what +ornament so fit and fanciful as this amulet of spring-time, whose charm +commanded all that hour of freshness, fragrance, and dew, when the +burdened heart of the dawn bubbles over with music? Yet the enticement +was brief. Eve looked and longed, and then hurriedly turned her back +upon the tempting treasure, her two hands thrusting it off. "Behind me, +Satan!" cried she, tossing a laugh at her mother; and Paula, the stately +servant who had followed her down, signified to Luigi that the door +awaited his movements.</p> + +<p>Then the hand quietly withdrew, and his footstep was heard upon the +threshold. It was arrested by a sound: Eve stood in the doorway, +gathering her locks in one hand, and blushing and smiling upon him like +sunshine, whether she would or no.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," said she, hesitating, and fluttering out the broad, +snowy love-ribbon that was to ornament her lute, "but, if you +please,—indeed"—</p> + +<p>"Indeed, the Signorina cares not for such bawbles," said Luigi, sadly, +covering her with his gaze. Then he turned, mounted his tray again, and +went slowly down the street, forgetting to cry his wares.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, after this, Luigi felt that his situation was desperate; +perhaps despair made him bold,—for, having already spoiled Eve's +pleasure for the day, that same evening found him in her mother's +garden, half hidden in the grape-vines, and watching the movements in +the <a name="Page_423" id="Page_423"></a>lighted room opposite, through the long window, whose curtain was +seldom dropped.</p> + +<p>It was a gay old town in those days, kind to its lads and lasses, and if +the streets were grass-grown, it seemed only that so they might give +softer footing to the young feet that trod them. Almost every night +there was a festival at one house or another, and this evening the +rendezvous was with Eve. The guests gathered and dallied, the dancers +floated round the room, the lovers uttered their weighty trifles in such +seclusion or shadow as they could secure, the voices melted in happy +unison. Eve, with snowy shoulders and faultless arms escaping from the +ruffle of her rosy gauzes, where skirt over skirt, like clinging petals, +made her seem the dryad of a wild rose-tree just rising and looking from +her blushing cup, Eve flitted to and fro among them, and, all the time, +Luigi's gaze brooded over the scene. Sometimes her shadow fell in the +lighted space of turf, and then Luigi went and laid his cheek upon it; +it passed, and he returned once more to his hiding-place, and the dark, +motionless countenance, with its wandering, glittering eyes, appeared to +hang upon the dense leafage that sheltered all the rest of him like a +vizard in whose cavities glowworms had gathered. And more than once, in +passing, Eve delayed a moment, and almost caught that gaze; she was +sensible of his presence there, felt it, as she might have felt an +apparition, as if the eyes were those of a basilisk and she were +fascinated to look and look again, till filled with a strange fear and +unrest. It grew late; by-and-by, before they separated, Eve sang. It +would have been impossible for her to say why she chose a luscious +little Italian air, one that many a time at home, perhaps, Luigi had +heard some midnight lover sing. Through it, as he listened now, he could +fancy the fountain's fall, the rustle of the bough, the half-checked +gurgle of the nightingale, upon the scented waft almost the slow +down-floating of the scattered corolla of the full-blown flower. The +tears sparkled over his face, first of delight, and then of anger. +Something was wanting in the song,—he missed the passionate utterance +of the lover standing by the gate and pouring his soul in his singing.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the room was startled by the ring of a voice from the garden, a +voice that outbroke sweet and strong, that snatched the measure from +Eve's lips, flung a fervor into its flow, a depth into its burden, and +carried it on with impetuous fire, lingering with tenderness here, swift +with ardor there, till all hearts bounded in quicker palpitation when +the air again was still. For deep feeling has a potency of its own, and +all that careless group felt as if some deific cloud had passed by.</p> + +<p>As for Eve, what coquetry there was in her nature was but the innocent +coruscation of happy spirits, the desire to see her power, the necessity +of being dear to all she touched. Far from pleasant was this vehemence +of devotion; the approach of it oppressed her; she comprehended Luigi as +a creature of another species, another race, than herself; she shrank +before him now with a kind of horror. That night in a nervous excitation +she did not close an eye, and in the morning she was wan as a flower +after rain.</p> + +<p>This state of things found at least one observer, a personage of no less +authority in household matters than Paula, the tall and stately woman of +Nubian lineage who had been the nurse of Eve, and who every morning now +stood behind her chair at breakfast, familiarly joining in and gathering +what she chose of the conversation. Erect as a palm-tree, slender, +queenly, with her thin and clearly cut features, and her head like that +of some Circassian carved in black marble, she had a kinship of +picturesqueness with Luigi, and could meet him more nearly on his own +ground than another, for her voice was as sweet as his, and he was only +less dark than she. Breakfast over, she took her way into the garden, +set open the gate, and busied herself pinching the fresh shoots of the +grape-vine, <a name="Page_424" id="Page_424"></a>too luxuriant in leaves. She did not wait long before Luigi +came up the side-street, his tray upon his head, his gait less elastic +than beseemed the fresh, fragrant morning. Paula stepped forward and +gave him pause, with a gesture.</p> + +<p>"Sir!" said she, commandingly.</p> + +<p>Luigi looked up at her inquiringly. Then a pleasant expectation overshot +his gloomy face; he smiled, and his teeth glittered, and his eyes. +Instantly he unslung his tray and set it upon the level gate-post.</p> + +<p>"Sir," said Paula, "do you come here often?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tutti i giorni</i>," answered Luigi, scarcely considering her worth +wasting his sparse and precious English upon.</p> + +<p>"You come here often," said Paula. "Will you come here no more?"</p> + +<p>Luigi opened his eyes in amaze.</p> + +<p>"You will come here no more," said Paula.</p> + +<p>"<i>Chi lo</i>,—who wishes it?" stammered Luigi.</p> + +<p>"My mistress," answered Paula, proudly, as if to be her servant were +more than enough distinction, and to mention her name were sovereign.</p> + +<p>"Who commands?" he demanded, imperatively.</p> + +<p>"Still my mistress."</p> + +<p>"She said—Tell me that!"</p> + +<p>"She said, 'Paula, if the boy disturbs us further, we must take +measures.'"</p> + +<p>"The Signorina?"</p> + +<p>"Her mother."</p> + +<p>"Not the Signorina, then!" And Luigi's gloomy face grew radiant.</p> + +<p>"She and her mother are one," replied Paula.</p> + +<p>Luigi was silent for a moment. One could see the shadows falling over +him. Then he said, softly,—</p> + +<p>"My Paula, you will befriend me?"</p> + +<p>Paula bridled at the address; arrogant in family-place, she would have +assured him plainly that she was none of his, to begin with, had he been +an atom less disconsolate.</p> + +<p>"Never more than now!" said she, loftily.</p> + +<p>Luigi did not understand her; her tone was kind, but there was a "never" +in her words.</p> + +<p>"I should be the most a friend," said Paula, unbending, "in urging you +to forget us."</p> + +<p>"Ah, never!"</p> + +<p>"Let me say. Can you read?"</p> + +<p>"Some things," replied Luigi quickly, his brow brightening.</p> + +<p>"Can you write?"</p> + +<p>"It may be. Alas! I have not tried."</p> + +<p>"You see."</p> + +<p>There was no appeal from Paula's dictatorial demeanor.</p> + +<p>"<i>Dio</i>! I am unfit! Ah, Jesu, I am unfit! But if she cared not—if I +learned"—and he paused, striving now for the purest, most intelligible +speech, while his face beamed with his smiling hope.</p> + +<p>"Listen," interposed Paula, with the dignity of the headsman. "You have +no truer friend than me at this moment, as some day you will discover. +Come, now, will you do me a favor?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Di tutto cuore</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Then leave us to ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Not possible!" cried Luigi, stung with disappointment.</p> + +<p>"What would you do, then? Would you wear her life out? Would you keep +her in a terror? She has said to me that she must go away. It suffocates +one to be pursued in this manner. You are not pleasant to her. Hark. She +dislikes you!" And Paula bent toward him with uplifted finger, and, +having delivered her stroke, after watching its effect a moment, reared +herself and adjusted her gay turban with internal satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Luigi cast his eyes slowly about him; they fell on the smooth +grass-plats rising with webs of shaking sparkle, the opening flowers +half-bowed beneath the weight of the shining spheres they held, the +brilliant garden bathed in dew, the waving boughs tossing off light +spray on every ravaging gust, the far fair sky bending over all. Then he +hid his face against the great gate-post, murmuring only in a dry and +broken sob,—</p><p><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425"></a></p> + +<p>"<i>C' è sole</i>?"</p> + +<p>Paula herself was touched. She put her hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"It is a silly thing," said she. "Do not take it so to heart. Put it out +of sight. There is many a pretty tambourine-tosser to smile upon you, +I'll warrant!"</p> + +<p>But Luigi vouchsafed no response.</p> + +<p>"Come," said she, "pluck up your courage. You will soon be better of +it."</p> + +<p>"<i>Non sarò meglio</i>!" answered Luigi. "I shall never be better."</p> + +<p>He lifted his head and looked at her where she stood in the light, +black, but comely, transfixing her on the burning glances of his bold +eyes. "In your need," said he, "may you find just such friend as I have +found!" The words were of his native language, but the malediction was +universal. Paula half shivered, and fingered the amulet that her +princely Nubian ancestor had fingered before her, while he spoke. Then +he bowed his head to its burden, fastened the straps, and went bent and +stooping upon his way, repeating sadly to himself, "And does the sun +shine?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A week passed. Part of another. Eve saw no more of Luigi, but was yet +all the time uncomfortably conscious of his espionage. He was hardly a +living being to her, but, as soon as night fell, the soft starry nights +now in which there was no moon, she felt him like a darker film of +spirit haunting the shadow. In the daytime, sunshine reassured her, and +she remained almost at peace.</p> + +<p>She was sitting one warm afternoon at the open window up-stairs, looking +over a box of airy trifles, flowers and bows and laces, searching for a +parcel of sheer white love-ribbon, a slip of woven hoarfrost that was +not to be found. There was none like it to be procured; this was the +night of the little masquerade; it was indispensable; and immediately +she proceeded to raise the house. In answer to her descriptive inquiry, +Paula, who every noon nestled as near the sun as possible, responded in +a high key from the attic a descriptive negative; neither had her +mother, waking from a <i>siesta</i> in the garden, seen any white gauze +folderols. The three voices made the air well acquainted with the +affair.</p> + +<p>However, Eve was not to be baffled; she remembered distinctly having had +the love-ribbon in her hands on the day she first proposed the dress; it +must be found, and she sat down again at the open casement, intrenched +behind twenty boxes of like treasure, in any one of which the thing +might have hidden itself away, while her mother came up and established +herself with a fan at the other window, and Paula, descending from her +perch, rummaged the neighboring dressing-room.</p> + +<p>On the opposite side of the street stretched a long strip of shaven +turf, known as the Parade, yet seldom used for anything but +summer-evening strolls, and below its velvet terraces, in a green +dimple, lay a pool, borrowing all manner of umberous stains from the +shore, and yet in its very heart contriving to reflect a part of heaven. +Languishing elm-trees lined its edge, and beneath the boughs, whose +heavily drooping masses seemed like the grapes of Eshcol, rude benches +offered rest to the weary.</p> + +<p>On one of these benches now sat a person profoundly occupied in carving +something into its seat. If he could easily have heard the voices in the +dwelling opposite, he had not once glanced up. Now and then he paused +and leaned his head upon the arm that lay along the rail, then again he +pursued his task. Once, when his progress, perhaps, had exceeded +expectation, or the striking of a clock beneath some distant spire +announced no need of haste, he laid down his knife, left his occupation, +and came to lean against the low fence beneath Eve's window and gaze +daringly up. Eve did not see him. Her mother did, and held her breath +lest Eve should turn that way, and, having directed Eve's glance +elsewhere, shook her fan at the bold boy. But there was no insolence in +Luigi's gaze. He seemed merely wishing that his work should be marked; +and, having <a name="Page_426" id="Page_426"></a>attracted fit attention, he returned quietly to the bench +and the carving once more.</p> + +<p>At length the sun hung high over the west, preparing to fall into his +hidden resting-place that colored all the cloudless heaven with its +mounting tinge. Luigi rose and inspected his work. Then again he crossed +the street and stood below Eve's window. It was a long time that he +leaned with his arms folded on the bar of the low paling. Perhaps he +meant that she should look at him. She had closed the last of her +receptacles, and, dismissing the matter, for want of better employment, +her scissors were tinkering upon a tiny hand-glass with a setting +thickly crusted in crystals, a trifle that one clear day a sailor diving +from her father's ship had found upon the bottom of the sea,—a very +mermaid's glass dropped in some shallow place for Eve herself, a glass +that had reflected the rushing of the storm, the sliding of the keel +above, the face of many a drowning mariner. Careless of all that, at the +moment, she held it up now to the light to see if further furbishing +could brighten it, and as she did so was hastily checked. She had caught +sight of a dark face just framed and mirrored, the sad eyes raised and +resting on her own, luminous no more, but heavy, and longing, and dull +with a weight of woe. At the same moment, Paula, who had by no means +abandoned the lost love-ribbon, cried from within,—</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss, the lutestring has been spirited away, and no less. I've +searched the house through, and nobody has it."</p> + +<p>"<i>Qualcheduno l' ha</i>," breathed a sweet, melancholy tone from below; and +they turned and saw it in Luigi's hands, the frosty film of gossamer. He +held it up a moment, pressed it to his lips, folded it again into his +breast; and if it was plain that somebody had it, it was plainer still +that somebody meant to keep it. And then, as if twin stars were bending +over him out of the bluest deeps of heaven, Luigi kept Eve's eyes awhile +suspended on his despairing gaze, and without other word or gesture +turned and went away.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Many days afterward, when it was certain that the little foreign +image-vender had indeed departed, Eve stole over to the bench beneath +the lofty arches of the elm-tree, all checkered with flickering +sunlight, and endeavored to read the sentence carved thereon. It was at +first undecipherable, and then, the text conquered, not easy for her to +comprehend. But when she had made it hers, she rose, bathed with +blushes, and stole away home again, feeling only as if Luigi had laid a +chain upon her heart.</p> + +<p>Years have fled. The little legend yet remains cut deep into the wood, +though he returns no more, and though, since then, her</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Part in all the pomp that fills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The circuit of the summer hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is that her grave is green."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Rain and snow have not effaced its <i>intaglio</i>, nor summer's dust, nor +winter's wind; and if you ever pass it, you yet may read,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">AMOR QUE A NULLO<br /></span> +<span class="i4">AMATO<br /></span> +<span class="i0">AMAR PERDONA.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="COMMUNICATION" id="COMMUNICATION"></a>COMMUNICATION.</h2> + + +<p><i>Whether virtue can be taught</i> is a question over which Plato lingers +long. And it is a curious illustration of the different eyes with which +different men read, that some students of Plato are confident he answers +the question in the affirmative, while others are equally sure that he +gives it an unqualified negative. "Plato," says Schwegler, "holds fast +to the opinion that virtue is science, and therefore to be imparted by +instruction." "We are told," says Burgess, one of Bohn's translators, +"that, as virtue is not a science, it cannot, like a science, be made a +subject of teaching." Professor Blackie, again, an open-minded and +eloquent scholar, cannot doubt that virtue may be verbally imparted, +nor, therefore, that the great Athenian thinker so believed and +affirmed.</p> + +<p>What is the voice of common sense and the teaching of history touching +this matter? Can a liberal and lofty nature be included in words, and so +passed over to another? Elevation of character, nobility of spirit, +wealth of soul,—is any method known, or probably ever to be known, +among men, whereby these can be got into a text-book, and then out of +the text-book into a bosom wherein they had no dwelling before? Alas, is +not the story of the world too full of cases in which the combined +eloquence of verbal instruction, vital influence, and lustrous example, +aided even by all the inspirations of the most majestic and moving +presence, have failed utterly to shape the character of disciples? Did +Alcibiades profit greatly by the conversation of Socrates? Was Judas +extremely ennobled by the companionship of Jesus? Was it to any +considerable purpose that the pure-minded, earnest, affluent Cicero +strewed the seeds of Stoic culture upon the wayside nature of his son? +Did Faustina learn much from Antoninus Pius, or Commodus from Marcus +Aurelius?</p> + +<p>I think we must assume it as the judgment of common sense that there +neither is nor is likely to be any educational mortar wherein a fool may +be so brayed that he shall come forth a wise man. The broad, unequivocal +sentence of history seems to be that whoever is not noble by nature will +hardly be rendered so by art. Education can do much; it can foster +nobilities, it can discourage vices; but literal conveyance of lofty +qualities, can it effect that? Can it create opulence of soul in a +sterile nature? Can it cause a thin soil to do the work of a deep one? +We have seen harsh natures mellowed, violent natures chastened, rough +ones refined; but who has seen an essentially mean nature made +large-hearted, self-forgetful, fertile of grandest faiths and greatest +deeds? Who has beheld a Thersites transformed into an Achilles? Who a +Shylock, Iago, or Regan changed into an Antonio, Othello, or Cordelia, +or a Simon Magus into a Paul? What virtue of nature is in a man culture +may bring out; but to put nature into any man surpasses her competence.</p> + +<p>Nay, it would even seem that in some cases the finest openings and +invitations for what is best in man must operate inversely, and elicit +only what is worst in him. Every profoundest truth, when uttered with +fresh power in history, polarizes men, accumulating atheism at one pole, +while collecting faith and resolve at the other. As the sun bleaches +some surfaces into whiteness, but tans and blackens others, so the sweet +shining of Truth illumines some countenances with belief, but some it +darkens into a scowl of hate and denial. The American Revolution gave us +George Washington; but it gave us also Benedict Arnold. One and the same +great spiritual emergency in Europe produced Luther's Protestantism and +Loyola's Jesuitism. Our national crisis has converted General Butler; +what has it done for Vallandigham?</p> + +<p>It were easy to show that the deepest <a name="Page_428" id="Page_428"></a>intelligence of the world concurs +with common sense in this judgment. Its declaration ever is, in effect, +that, though Paul plant and Apollos water, yet fruit can come only out +of divine and infinite Nature,—only, that is, out of the native, +incommunicable resources of the soul. "No man can come to me," said +Jesus, "except the Father draw him." "To him that hath shall be given." +The frequent formula, "He that hath ears to hear, let him hear," is a +confession that no power of speech, no wisdom of instruction, can +command results. The grandest teacher, like the humblest, can but utter +his word, sure that the wealthy and prepared spirits will receive it, +and equally sure that shallow, sterile, and inane natures will either +not receive it at all, or do so to extremely little purpose.</p> + +<p>And such, as I read, is the judgment of Plato; though, ever disposed to +explore the remote possibilities of education, he discusses the subject +in a tentative spirit, as if vaguely hoping that more might, through +some discovery in method, be accomplished by means of doctrine. But in +the "Republic" his permanent persuasion is shown. He there bases his +whole scheme of polity, as Goethe in the second part of "Wilhelm +Meister" bases his scheme of education, upon a primary inspection of +natures, in which it is assumed that culture must begin by humbly +accepting the work of Nature, forswearing all attempt to add one jot or +tittle to the native virtue of any human spirit.</p> + +<p>It is always, however, less important for us to know what another thinks +upon any high matter than to know what is our own deepest and inevitable +thought concerning it; for, as the man himself thinketh, not as another +thinketh for him, so is he: his own thoughts are forces and engines in +his nature; those of any other are at best but candidates for these +profound effects. I propose, therefore, that we throw open the whole +question of man's benefit to man by means of words. Let us inquire—if +possible, with somewhat of courage and vigor—what are the limits and +what the laws of instructive communication.</p> + +<p>And our first discovery will be that such communication has adamantine +limitations. The off-hand impression of most persons would probably be +that we are able to make literal conveyance of our thought. But, in +truth, one could as soon convey the life out of his veins into the veins +of another as transfer from his own mind to that of another any belief, +thought, or perception whatsoever.</p> + +<p>Words are simply the signs, they are not the vehicles, of thought. Like +all signs, they convey nothing, but only suggest. Like all signs, they +are intelligible to none but the initiated. One man, having a certain +mental experience, hoists, as it were, a signal, like ships at sea, +whereby he would make suggestion of it to another; and if in the mental +experience of that other be somewhat akin to this, which, by virtue of +that kindred, can interpret its symbol, then only, and to the extent of +such interpretation, does communication occur. But the mental experience +itself, the thought itself, does not pass; it only makes the sign.</p> + +<p>If, for example, I utter the word <i>God</i>, it conveys nothing out of my +mind into the mind of you, the reader; it simply appeals to your +conception of divinity. If I attempt to explain, then every word of the +explanation must be subject to the same conditions; not one syllable of +it can do more than merely appeal to somewhat already in your mind. For +instance, suppose I say, <i>God is love</i>; what then is done? The appeal is +shifted to another sign; that is all. What my own soul, fed from the +vital resources and incited by the vital relationships of my life, has +learned of love, that my thought may connect with the word; but of all +this nothing passes when it is uttered; and the sound, arriving at your +ear, can do no more than invite you to summon and bring before the eye +of your consciousness that which your own soul, out of its divine depths +and through the instruction of vital relationship, has learned and has +privily whispered to you of this sacred <a name="Page_429" id="Page_429"></a>mystery, love. Just so much as +each one, in the inviolable solitudes of his own consciousness, has +learned to connect with this, or with any great word, just that, and +never a grain more, it can summon. And if endeavor be made to explain +any such by others, the explanation can come no nearer; it can only send +words to your ear, each of which performs its utmost office by inviting +you to call up and bring before your cognizance this or that portion of +your mental experience. But always what answers the call is your mental +experience, no less yours, no less wedded to your life, than the blood +in your arteries; it cannot be that of any other.</p> + +<p>And the same is true, or nearly the same, respecting the most obvious +outside matters. Suppose one to make merely this statement, <i>I see a +house</i>. Now, if the person addressed has ever had experience of the act +of vision, if he has ever seen anything, he will know what <i>see</i> means; +otherwise not. If, again, he has ever seen a house, he will know what +<i>house</i> denotes; not otherwise. Or suppose, that, not knowing, he ask +what a house is, and that the first speaker attempt to explain by +telling him that it is such and such a structure, built of brick, wood, +or stone; then it is assumed that he has seen stone, wood, or brick, +that he has seen the act of building, or at least its result;—and in +fine, the explanation, every syllable of it, can do no more than appeal +to perceptions of which the questioner is assumed to have had +experience.</p> + +<p>We do, indeed, gain an approximate knowledge of things we have never +seen. For example, I have an imperfect notion of a banian-tree, though I +have never seen one; but it is only by having seen other trees, and by +having also had the perceptions to which appeal is made in describing +the peculiarities of the banian. So he who is born blind may learn so +much concerning outward objects as the senses of touch, hearing, smell, +and taste can impart to him; and he may profit by verbal information to +such extent as these perceptions enable him. But the perception itself, +and so thought, faith, and in fine all mental experience whatsoever, +whether of high order or low, whether relating to objects within us or +to objects without, take place only in the privacy of our own minds, and +are in their substance not to be transferred.</p> + +<p>Observe with precision what is here said. The mental experience of each +man, if it be of any spiritual depth, has transacted itself in his +nature in virtue, to a most important degree, of spiritual relationship +with other human beings. There never was an act of development in any +man's soul that did not imply a humanity, and involve the virtue of +social affinity. I should be dumb, but for the ears of others; I should +be deaf, that is, my human ear would be closed, but for human voices; +and there is no particle of human energy, and no tint of human coloring, +for which we are not, in part, indebted to vital human fellowship. +Nevertheless, of this experience, though in the absence of social +connection it could not have occurred, not one jot nor tittle can be +made over to another by means of words. It can hoist its verbal signal, +and the like experience in other souls may interpret the sign; it can do +no more.</p> + +<p>Men may, indeed, <i>commune</i>; that is, they may by verbal conference enter +mutually into a sense of an already existing unity of inward experience; +and there are other and eminent uses of words, of which more anon; but +here let it be noted with sufficient emphasis that of minds there can be +no mixture, and that speech can make no substantive conveyance of any +mental product from one mind to another. Each soul must draw from its +native fountains; though we must never forget that without conversation +and social relationship its divine thirst would not have been excited.</p> + +<p>Therefore, in the midst of all warmest and quickest verity of social +nearness, there is a kind of sacred and inviolable solitude of the soul. +We speak across to each other, as out of different planets <a name="Page_430" id="Page_430"></a>in heaven; +and the closest intimacy of souls is like that of double stars which +revolve about each other, not like that of two lumps of clay which are +squeezed and confounded together.</p> + +<p>So much, then, concerning the limits of verbal communication. Words, we +say, are not vehicles. No perception, no mental possession, passes from +mind to mind. You can impart to another no piece of knowledge whose main +elements were not already in his mind, no thought which was not +substantially existent in his consciousness before your voice began to +seek his ear. Instructors may, indeed, put a pupil in the way to obtain +fresh perceptions, and more rarely a wise man may put an apt disciple in +the way to obtain deeper insights; but, after all, the learner must +<i>learn</i>; the learner must for himself behold the fact, with the eyes of +body or of soul; and he must behold it as it is in itself, not merely as +it is in words.</p> + +<p>Hence the new scheme of school-education. Agassiz says, in +substance,—"If you would teach a boy geography, take him out on the +hills, and make the earth herself his instructor. If you would teach him +respecting tigers or turtles, <i>show</i> him tiger or turtle. Take him to a +Museum of Natural History; let him always, so far as possible, learn +about facts from the facts themselves." Judicious and important advice. +And the basis of it we find in what has been set forth above, namely, +that words convey no perception, whether of physical or of spiritual +truth.</p> + +<p>It follows, therefore, that only he whose soul is eloquent within him +will gain much from any eloquence of his fellow. Only he whose heart is +a prophet will hear the prophet. A divine preparation of the nature, +divine activities of the soul, precede all high uses of communication. +Though Demosthenes or Phillips speak, it is the hearer's own spirit that +convinces him. Conviction cannot be forced upon one from without. Hence +the well-known futility of belligerent controversy. No possible logic +will lead a man ahead of his own intelligence; neither will any take +from him the persuasions which correspond to his mental condition. A +good logical <i>pose</i> may sometimes serve to lower the crest of an +obstreperous sophist, as boughs of one species of ash are said to quell +the rattlesnake; but with both these sinuous animals the effect is +temporary, and the quality of the creature remains unchanged.</p> + +<p>Even though one be sincerely desirous of advancing his intelligence, it +is seldom, as Mr. Emerson has somewhere said, of much use for him to +carry his questions to another. He of whom insight is thus asked may be +sage, eloquent, apt to teach; but it will commonly be found, +nevertheless, that his words, for some reason, do not seem to suit the +case in hand: admirable words they are, perhaps, for some cases closely +analogous to this, it may be for all such cases, and it is a thousand +pities that the present one does not come within their scope; but this, +as ill luck will have it, is that other case which they do <i>not</i> fit.</p> + +<p>And yet, despite these iron limits, communication is not only one of the +especial delights, but also one of the chief uses, of human life. As +every spiritual activity implies fellowship, so does almost every +thought, almost every result of spiritual activity, imply some speech of +our fellows. Voices and books,—who would be himself without them? I do +not believe myself to have now in my mind one valuable thought which +owes nothing to the written or spoken thought of other men, living or +dead.</p> + +<p>How, then, is it that the speech of our fellows renders us aid? What are +to us the uses of the words of others?</p> + +<p>And here be it first of all frankly acknowledged, that there is much +speech of no remarkable import, in itself considered, which yet serves +good ends. There is much speech whose office is simply to refresh the +sense of fellowship. It will not make a good leading article; but the +leading article which subserves equal uses is not to be contemned. So +much are men empowered by each other, that any careless, kindly chat +which gives them <a name="Page_431" id="Page_431"></a>the sense of cordial nearness gives also warmth and +invigoration. Better than most ambitious conversation is the light, +happy, bubbling talk which means at bottom simply this:—"We are at home +together; we believe in each other." Words are good, if they only +festoon love and trust. Words are good, if they merely show us that +worthy natures do not suspect us, do not lock their closets when we are +in the house, do not put their souls in dress-costume to meet us, but +leave their thoughts and hearts naked in our presence, and are not +ashamed. Be it mine sometimes to sit with my friend when our mere +nearness and unity of spirit are felt by us both to be so utterly +eloquent, that, without silence, we forbear to set up any rivalry to +them by grave and meditated speech,—observing, it may be, a falling +leaf toyed with by the wind, and speaking words that drop from the lips +like falling leaves, and float down a zephyr that knows not which way to +blow. Some of the sweetest and most fruitful hours of life are these in +which we speak half-articulate nothings, merely airing the sense of +fellowship, and so replete with this wealth of vital intimacy that we +have room for nothing more.</p> + +<p>But our aim is to regard communication as an instruction, and to +consider the more explicit and definite uses of words.</p> + +<p>And of these the first, and one of the chief, is based upon the very +limitations which have been set forth,—upon the very fact that words +are <i>not</i> vehicles. I have said that there is a certain divine solitude +of the soul; and of this solitude the uses are infinitely great. The +absolute soul of humanity, we hold, seeks to insphere itself in each +person, though in each giving itself a peculiar or individual +representation; and only as this insphering takes place are the ends of +creation attained, only so is man made indeed a <i>human</i> life. Therefore +must we draw out of that, out of that alone; therefore truth is +permitted to come to us only out of these infinite depths, albeit +incitement, invitation, and the ability to draw from these native +fountains may be due to social connection. Because our life is really +enriched only as the absolute soul gives itself to us, therefore will it +suffer us no otherwise than by its gift to supply our want. And as it +cannot give itself to us save in response to a felt want, a seeking, an +inward demand, it belongs to the chief economies of our life to bring us +to this attitude of inward request, to this call and claim upon the +resources of our intelligence.</p> + +<p>Now words come to us as empty vessels, which we are to fill from within; +and in making for this purpose a requisition upon the perpetual contents +of reason, conscience, and imagination, we open a valve through which +new spiritual powers enter, and add themselves to our being. If the word +<i>God</i> be sometimes spoken simply and spontaneously, a youth who hears it +will be sure upon some day, when the sense of the infinite and divine +stirs vaguely within him, to ask himself what this word means, to +require his soul to tell him what is the verity corresponding thereto; +and precisely this requisition is what the soul desires, for only when +sought may its riches be found. The utilities of words in this kind are +deserving of very grave estimation. Words teach us much, but they teach +less by what is in them than by what is not in them,—less by what they +give to us than by what they demand from us.</p> + +<p>It is, therefore, one of the grand services of communication to bring us +to the limits of communication, making us feel, that, ere it can go +farther, there must occur in us new stretches of thought, new energies +of hope, faith, and all noble imagining. It were well, therefore, that, +among other things, we should sometimes thank God for our ignorance and +weakness,—thank Him for what we do <i>not</i> understand and are not equal +to; for with every fresh recognition of these, with every fresh approach +to the borders of our intelligence, we are prepared for new requisitions +upon the soul. As in a pump the air is exhausted in order that the water +may rise, so a void in our intelligence<a name="Page_432" id="Page_432"></a> <i>caused by its own energy</i> +precedes every enrichment. Hence he who will not admit to his heart the +sense of ignorance will always be a fool; he who is perpetually filled +with self-sufficiency will never be filled with much else. And from this +point of view one may discern the significance of that doctrine of +humility which belongs equally to Socratic thinking and Christian +believing.</p> + +<p>It follows, too, that we need not laboriously push and foist upon the +young our faith and experience. Aside from direct vital influence, which +is a powerful propagandist, our simple, natural, inevitable speech will +cause them to do much better than learn from us, it will cause them to +learn from their own souls. And however uncertain may be a harvest from +questions asked of others, a great question rightly put to one's self +not only must be fruitful, but carries in it a capacity for infinite +fruitfulness; while the longer and more patiently and persistently one +can wait for an answer, the richer his future is to be. I am sure of him +who can put to his heart the great questions of life, and wait serenely +and vigilantly for a response, one, two, ten years, a lifetime, wellnigh +an eternity, if need be, not falling into despondencies and despairing +skepticisms because the universe forbears to babble and tattle its +secret ere yet he half or a thousandth part guesses how deep and holy +that secret is, but quietly, heroically asking and waiting. And toward +this posture of asking the profound and vital words assist us by being +heard,—which is their first eminent use to us.</p> + +<p>Secondly, they serve us greatly, when they simply cause a preëxisting +community of thought to be mutually recognized. It is much to bring like +to like, brand to brand, believing soul to believing soul. As several +pieces of anthracite coal will together make a powerful heat, but +separately will not burn at all, so in the conjunction of similar faiths +and beliefs there is a wholly new effect; it is not at all the mere sum +of the forces previously in operation, but a pure product of union. "My +confidence in my own belief," said Novalis, "is increased <i>infinitely</i> +the moment another shares it with me. The reason is obvious. You and I +have grown up apart, and have never conferred together; our +temperaments, culture, circumstances are different; we have come to have +certain thoughts which seem to us true and deep, but each of us doubts +whether these thoughts may not be due to his peculiarities of mind, +position, and influence. But to-day we come together, and discover, +that, despite these outward diversities in which we are so widely +unlike, our fundamental faiths are one and the same; the same thoughts, +the same beliefs have sprung into life in our separate souls. Instantly +is suggested a unity underlying our divided being, a law of thought +abiding in mind itself,—not merely in your mind or mine, but in the +mind and soul of man. What we arrive at, therefore, is not merely the +sum of you and me, the aggregate of two men's opinions, but the +universal, the absolute, and spiritually necessary. Such is always the +suggestion which spontaneous unity of faith carries with it; hence it +awakens religion, and gives total peace and rest."</p> + +<p>But the faiths which are to be capable of these divine embraces must +indeed be spontaneous and native. Hence those who create factitious +unity of creed render these fructifications impossible. If we agree, not +because the absolute soul has uttered in both of us the same word, but +because we have both been fed with dust out of the same catechism, our +unity will disgust and weary us rather than invigorate. Dr. Johnson said +he would compel men to believe as he and the Church of England did, +"because," he reasoned, "if another differs from me, he weakens my +confidence in my own scheme of faith, and so injures me." Now this +speech is good just so far as it asserts social dependence in belief; it +is bad, it is idiotic or insane, so far as it advocates the substitution +of a factitious and artificial unity for one of spiritual depth <a name="Page_433" id="Page_433"></a>and +reality. The fruits of the tree of life are not to be successfully +thieved. In dishonest hands they become ashes and bitterness. He who has +more faith in an Act of Parliament than in God and the universe may be a +good conventional believer; but, in truth, the choice he makes is the +essence of all denial and even of all atheism and blasphemy.</p> + +<p>Let each, then, bring up out of his own soul its purest, broadest, +simplest faith; and when any ten or ten thousand find that the same +faith has come to birth in their several souls, each one of them all +will be exalted to a divine confidence, and will make new requisitions +upon the soul which he has so been taught to trust. Thus, though we tell +each nothing new, though we merely demonstrate our unity of +consciousness, yet is the force of each many times multiplied,—dimless +certitude and dauntless courage being bred in hearts where before, +perhaps, were timorous hesitation and wavering.</p> + +<p>The third service of words may be compared to the help which the smith +renders to the fire on his forge. True it is that no blowing can +enkindle dead coals, and make a flame where was no spark. True it is +that both spark and bellows will be vain, if the fuel is stone or clay. +And so no blowing will enkindle a nature which does not bring in itself +the fire to be fanned and the substance that may support it. But in our +being, as at the forge, the flame that languishes may be taught to leap, +and the spark that was hidden may be wrought into blaze.</p> + +<p>Simple attraction and encouragement,—there is somewhat of the +marvellous in their effects. Physiologists tell us, that, if two liquids +in the body are separated by a moist membrane, and if one of these +fluids be in motion and the other at rest, that which rests will of its +own accord force its way through the membrane and join the one which +flows. So it is in history. Any man who represents a spiritual streaming +will command and draw into the current of his soul those whose condition +is one of stagnancy or arrest. Now courage and belief are streamings +forward; skepticism and timidity are stagnancies; panic, fear, and +destructive denial are streamings backward. True, now, it is, that any +swift flowing, forward or backward, attracts; but progressive or +affirmative currents have this vast advantage, that they are health, and +therefore the healthy humanity in every man's being believes in them and +belongs to them; and they accordingly are like rivers, which, however +choked up temporarily and made refluent, are sure in the end to force +their way; while negative and backward currents are like pestilences and +conflagrations, which of necessity limit themselves by exhaustion, if +not mastered by happier means.</p> + +<p>We may, indeed, note it as a nicety, that the membrane must be moist +through which this transudation is to take place; and I admit that there +are men whose enveloping sheath of individualism and egotism is so hard +and dry, so little interpenetrated by candor and the love of truth, as +to be nearly impervious to noble persuasion; and were whole Missouris of +tidings from the highest intelligence rushing past them, they would +still yawn, and say, "Do you get any news?" as innocently as ever.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, history throbs with the mystery of this influence. A +little girl slumping by her mother's side awoke in a severe +thunder-storm, and, nestling in terror near to the mother, and shrinking +into the smallest possible space, said, trembling, "Mother, are you +afraid?" "No, my dear," answered the lady, calmly. "Oh, well," said the +child, assuming her full proportions, and again disposing herself for +sleep, "if you're not afraid, I'm not afraid," and was soon slumbering +quietly. What volumes of gravest human history in that little incident! +So infinitely easy are daring and magnanimity, so easy is transcendent +height of thought and will, when exalted spiritually, when imperial +valor and purpose breathe and blow upon our souls from the lips of a +living fellow! Not, it may be, that anything new is said.<a name="Page_434" id="Page_434"></a> That is not +required. What another now thrills, inspires, transfigures us by saying, +we probably knew before, only dared not let ourselves think that we knew +it. The universe, perhaps, had not a nook so hidden that therein we +could have been solitary enough to whisper that divine suggestion to our +own hearts. But now some childlike man stands up and speaks it to the +common air, in serenest unconsciousness of doing anything singular. He +has said it,—and lo, he lives! By the help of God, then, we too, by +word and deed, will utter our souls.</p> + +<p>Get one hero, and you may have a thousand. Create a grand impulse in +history, and no fear but it will be reinforced. Obtain your champion in +the cause of Right, and you shall have indomitable armies that charge +for social justice.</p> + +<p>More of the highest life is suppressed in every one of us than ever gets +vent; and it is this inward suppression, after making due account of all +outward oppressions and injuries, which constitutes the chief tragedy of +history. Daily men cast to the ground the proffered beakers of heaven, +from mere fear to drink. Daily they rebuke the divine, inarticulate +murmur that arises from the deeps of their being,—inarticulate only +because denied and reproved. And he is greatest who can meet with a +certain pure intrepidity those suggestions which haunt forever the +hearts of men.</p> + +<p>No greater blunder, accordingly, was ever made than that of attempting +to render men brave and believing by addressing them as cowards and +infidels. Garibaldi stands up before his soldiers in Northern Italy, and +says to them, (though I forget the exact words,) "I do not call you to +fortune and prosperity; I call you to hardship, to suffering, to death; +I ask you to give your toil without reward, to spill your blood and lie +in unknown graves, to sacrifice all for your country and kind, and hear +no thanks but the <i>Well done</i> of God in heaven." Did they cower and go +back? Ere the words had spent their echoes, every man's will was as the +living adamant of God's purpose, and every man's hand was as the hand of +Destiny, and from the shock of their onset the Austrians fled as from +the opening jaws of an earthquake. Demosthenes told Athens only what +Athens knew. He merely blew upon the people's hearts with their own best +thoughts; and what a blaze! True, the divine fuel was nearly gone, +Athens wellnigh burnt out, and the flame lasted not long; but that he +could produce such effects, when half he fanned was merest ashes, serves +all the more to show how great such effects may be.</p> + +<p>Before passing to the last and profoundest use of communication, I must +not omit to mention that which is most obvious, but not most +important,—the giving of ordinary informations and instructions. These +always consist in a suggestion to another of new combinations of his +notions, new societies in his mind. Thus, if I say, <i>Fire burns</i>, I +simply assert a connection between fire and burning,—the notion of both +these being assumed as existing in the mind of the person addressed. Or +if I say, <i>God is just</i>, I invite him to associate in his mind the +sentiment of justice and the sense of the infinite and omnipotent. Now +in respect to matters of mere external form we usually confide in the +representations of others, and picture to ourselves, so far as our +existing perceptions enable us, the combinations they affirm,—provided +always these have a certain undefined conformity with our own +experience. But in respect to association, not of mere notions, but <i>of +spiritual elements in the soul</i>,—of truths evolved by the spiritual +nature of man,—the case is quite different Thus, if the fool who once +said in his heart, "There is no God," should now say openly, (of course +by some disguising euphemism,) "God is an egotist," I may indeed shape +an opinion accordingly, and fall into great confusion in consequence; +but my spiritual nature does not consent to this representation; no +<i>real</i> association takes place within <a name="Page_435" id="Page_435"></a>me between the sense of the +divine and the conception of egotism. Such opinion may have immense +energy in history, but it has no efficiency in the eliciting and +outbuilding of our personal being; these representations, however we may +trust and base action upon them, serve us inwardly only to such degree +as our spiritual nature can ally itself with them and find expression in +them. It is simply impossible for any man to associate the idea of +divinity with the conception of selfishness; but he may associate the +notion of Zeus or Allah or the like with that or any other conception of +baseness, and out of the result may form a sort of crust over his +spiritual intelligence, which shall either imprison it utterly, or force +it to oblique and covert expression. And of this last, by the way,—and +we may deeply rejoice over the fact,—history is full.</p> + +<p>Yet in this suggestion toward new societies in the soul, in this formal +introduction to each other of kindred elements in the consciousness, +there may be eminent service. It is only formal, it does not make +friendship, it leaves our spirits to their own action; but it may +prepare the way for inward unities and communities whose blessedness +neither speech nor silence can tell.</p> + +<p>Finally, there is an effect of words profounder and more creative than +any of these. As a brand which burns powerfully may at last ignite even +green wood, so divine faiths, alive and awake in one soul, may appeal to +the mere elements, to mere possibilities, of such faiths in other souls, +and at length evoke them by that appeal. The process is slow; it +requires a celestial heat and persistency in the moving spirit; it is +one of the "all things" that are possible only with God: but it occurs, +and it is the most sacred and precious thing in history.</p> + +<p>Every human soul has the absolute soul, has the whole truth, +significance, and virtue of the universe, as its lawful and native +resource. Therefore says Jesus, "The kingdom of heaven is within you"; +therefore Antoninus, "Look inwards, within is the fountain of truth"; +therefore Eckart, "Ye have all truth potentially within you." All ideas +of truth dwell in every soul, but in every soul they are at first +wrapped in deep sleep, in an infinite depth of sleep; while the base +incense of brutish lives is like chloroform, or the fumes of some +benumbing drug, to steep them ever more and more in oblivion. But to +awaken truth thus sleeping in the soul is the highest use of discipline, +the noblest aim of culture, and the most eminent service which man can +render to man. The scheme of our life is providentially arranged with +reference to that end; and the thousand shocks, agitations, and moving +influences of our experience, the supreme invitations of love, the venom +of calumny, and all toil, trial, sudden bereavement, doubt, danger, +vicissitude, joy, are hands that shake and voices that assail the +lethargy of our deepest powers. Now it is in the power of truth divinely +awakened in one soul to assist its awakening in another. For as nothing +so quickly arouses us from slumber as hearing ourselves called upon by +name, so is it with this celestial inhabitant: whoever by virtue of +elder brotherhood can rightly name him shall cause his spirit to be +stirred and his slumber to be broken.</p> + +<p>Let him, therefore, in whom any great truth is alive and awake, +enunciate, proclaim it steadily, clearly, cheerily, with a serene and +cloudless passion; and wherever a soul less mature than his own lies +open to the access of his tones, there the eye-fast angels of belief and +knowledge shall hear that publication of their own hearts, and, hearing, +lift their lids, and rise into wakefulness and power.</p> + +<p>Seldom, indeed, is any voice, though it be in its origin a genuine voice +of the soul, pure and impartial enough, enough delivered from the masks +of egotism and accident, to be greatly competent for these effects. +Besides which, there are not a few that have closed their ears, lest +they should hear, not a few that are even filled with base astonishment +and terror, <a name="Page_436" id="Page_436"></a>and out of this with base wrath, to find their deafness +assailed. And still further, it must be freely owned that our natures +have mysterious elections, and though one desire openness of soul as +much as folly fears it, yet may it happen that some tint of peculiarity +in the tone of a worthy voice shall render it to him opaque and +unintelligible.</p> + +<p>Yet let us not fear that the product of any sacred and spiritual +sincerity will fail of sufficient uses. If a deep, cordial, and +clarified nature will but give us his heart in a pure and boundless +bravery of confession,—if, like autumn plants, that cast forth their +seeds, winged with down, to the four winds of heaven, or like the +blossoms of spring and early summer, that yield up their preciousness of +pollen to the forage of bees, and even by being so robbed attain to the +hearts of neighbor-blossoms, and accomplish that mystery of +fructification which is to make glad the maturer year,—if so this +inflorescence of eternity that we name a Noble Man will yield up the +golden pollen of his soul, even to those that in visiting him seek but +their own ends, and if so he will intrust winged words, words that are +indeed spiritual <i>seeds</i>, purest, ripest, and most vital products of his +being, to the winds of time,—he will be sure to reach some, and they to +reach others, and there is no telling how far the seminal effect may go; +there is no telling what harvests may yellow in the limitless fields of +the future, what terrestrial and celestial reapers may go home +rejoicing, bearing their sheaves with them, what immortal hungers may be +fed at the feasts of earth and heaven, in final consequence of that +lonely and faithful sowing. As in the still mornings of summer the +earliest awakened bird hesitates to utter, yet utters, his solitary +pipe, timidly rippling the silence, but is not long alone, for quickly +the melodious throb begins to beat in every tree-top, and soon the whole +rapturous grove gushes and palpitates into song,—even so, thus to +appearance alone and unsupported, begins that chant of belief which is +destined to heave and roll in billows of melodious confession over a +continent, over a world. Thus does a faith that has lain long silent in +the hearts of nations suddenly answer to the note of its kind, +astonishing all bystanders, astonishing most of all the heart it +inhabits. For, lo! the tree-tops of human life are full of slumbering +melodies, and if a song-sparrow pipe sincerely on the hill-sides of +Judea, saying, after his own fashion of speech, "Behold, the divine dawn +hath visited my eyes," be sure that the forests of far-off America, then +unknown, will one day reply, and ten thousand thousand throats throbbing +with high response will make it mutually known all round the world that +this auroral beam is not for any single or private eye, but that the +broad amber beauty of spiritual morning belongs to man's being, and that +in man's heart, by virtue of its perennial nature, is prophesied the day +whose sun shall be God and its earth heaven.</p><p><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HOUSE_AND_HOME_PAPERS" id="HOUSE_AND_HOME_PAPERS"></a>HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS.</h2> + +<h3>BY CHRISTOPHER CROWFIELD.</h3> + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + +<p>In the course of my papers various domestic revolutions have occurred. +Our Marianne has gone from us with a new name to a new life, and a +modest little establishment not many squares off claims about as much of +my wife's and Jennie's busy thoughts as those of the proper mistress.</p> + +<p>Marianne, as I always foresaw, is a careful and somewhat anxious +housekeeper. Her tastes are fastidious; she is made for exactitude: the +smallest departures from the straight line appear to her shocking +deviations. She had always lived in a house where everything had been +formed to quiet and order under the ever-present care and touch of her +mother; nor had she ever participated in these cares more than to do a +little dusting of the parlor-ornaments, or wash the best china, or make +sponge-cake or chocolate-caramels. Certain conditions of life had always +appeared so certain that she had never conceived of a house without +them. It never occurred to her that such bread and biscuit as she saw at +the home-table would not always and of course appear at every +table,—that the silver would not always be as bright, the glass as +clear, the salt as fine and smooth, the plates and dishes as nicely +arranged as she had always seen them, apparently without the thought or +care of any one,—for my wife is one of those housekeepers whose touch +is so fine that no one feels it. She is never heard scolding or +reproving,—never entertains her company with her recipes for cookery or +the faults of her servants. She is so unconcerned about receiving her +own personal share of credit for the good appearance of her +establishment, that even the children of the house have not supposed +that there is any particular will of hers in the matter,—it all seems +the natural consequence of having very good servants.</p> + +<p>One phenomenon they had never seriously reflected on,—that, under all +the changes of the domestic cabinet which are so apt to occur in +American households, the same coffee, the same bread and biscuit, the +same nicely prepared dishes and neatly laid table always gladdened their +eyes; and from this they inferred only that good servants were more +abundant than most people had supposed. They were somewhat surprised +when these marvels were wrought by professedly green hands, but were +given to suppose that these green hands must have had some remarkable +quickness or aptitude for acquiring. That sparkling jelly, well-flavored +ice-creams, clear soups, and delicate biscuits could be made by a raw +Irish girl, fresh from her native Erin, seemed to them a proof of the +genius of the race; and my wife, who never felt it important to attain +to the reputation of a cook, quietly let it pass.</p> + +<p>For some time, therefore, after the inauguration of the new household, +there was trouble in the camp. Sour bread had appeared on the +table,—bitter, acrid coffee had shocked and astonished the +palate,—lint had been observed on tumblers, and the spoons had +sometimes dingy streaks on the brightness of their first bridal +polish,—beds were detected made shockingly awry,—and Marianne came +burning with indignation to her mother.</p> + +<p>"Such a little family as we have, and two strong girls," said +she,—"everything ought to be perfect; there is really nothing to do. +Think of a whole batch of bread absolutely sour! and when I gave that +away, then this morning another <a name="Page_438" id="Page_438"></a>exactly like it! and when I talked to +cook about it, she said she had lived in this and that family, and her +bread had always been praised as equal to the baker's!"</p> + +<p>"I don't doubt she is right," said I. "Many families never have anything +but sour bread from one end of the year to the other, eating it +unperceiving, and with good cheer; and they buy also sour bread of the +baker, with like approbation,—lightness being in their estimation the +only virtue necessary in the article."</p> + +<p>"Could you not correct her fault?" suggested my wife.</p> + +<p>"I have done all I can. I told her we could not have such bread, that it +was dreadful; Bob says it would give him the dyspepsia in a week; and +then she went and made exactly the same;—it seems to me mere +wilfulness."</p> + +<p>"But," said I, "suppose, instead of such general directions, you should +analyze her proceedings and find out just where she makes her +mistake,—is the root of the trouble in the yeast, or in the time she +begins it, letting it rise too long?—the time, you know, should vary so +much with the temperature of the weather."</p> + +<p>"As to that," said Marianne, "I know nothing. I never noticed; it never +was my business to make bread; it always seemed quite a simple process, +mixing yeast and flour and kneading it; and our bread at home was always +good."</p> + +<p>"It seems, then, my dear, that you have come to your profession without +even having studied it."</p> + +<p>My wife smiled, and said,—</p> + +<p>"You know, Marianne, I proposed to you to be our family bread-maker for +one month of the year before you married."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma, I remember; but I was like other girls; I thought there was +no need of it. I never liked to do such things; perhaps I had better +have done it."</p> + +<p>"You certainly had," said I; "for the first business of a housekeeper in +America is that of a teacher. She can have a good table only by having +practical knowledge, and tact in imparting it. If she understands her +business practically and experimentally, her eye detects at once the +weak spot; it requires only a little tact, some patience, some clearness +in giving directions, and all comes right. I venture to say that your +mother would have exactly such bread as always appears on our table, and +have it by the hands of your cook, because she could detect and explain +to her exactly her error."</p> + +<p>"Do you know," said my wife, "what yeast she uses?"</p> + +<p>"I believe," said Marianne, "it's a kind she makes herself. I think I +heard her say so. I know she makes a great fuss about it, and rather +values herself upon it. She is evidently accustomed to being praised for +her bread, and feels mortified and angry, and I don't know how to manage +her."</p> + +<p>"Well," said I, "if you carry your watch to a watch-maker, and undertake +to show him how to regulate the machinery, he laughs and goes on his own +way; but if a brother-machinist makes suggestions, he listens +respectfully. So, when a woman who knows nothing of woman's work +undertakes to instruct one who knows more than she does, she makes no +impression; but a woman who has been trained experimentally, and shows +she understands the matter thoroughly, is listened to with respect."</p> + +<p>"I think," said my wife, "that your Bridget is worth teaching. She is +honest, well-principled, and tidy. She has good recommendations from +excellent families, whose ideas of good bread it appears differ from +ours; and with a little good-nature, tact, and patience, she will come +into your ways."</p> + +<p>"But the coffee, mamma,—you would not imagine it to be from the same +bag with your own, so dark and so bitter; what do you suppose she has +done to it?"</p> + +<p>"Simply this," said my wife. "She has let the berries stay a few moments +too long over the fire,—they are burnt, instead of being roasted; and +there are <a name="Page_439" id="Page_439"></a>people who think it essential to good coffee that it should +look black, and have a strong, bitter flavor. A very little change in +the preparing will alter this."</p> + +<p>"Now," said I, "Marianne, if you want my advice, I'll give it to you +gratis:—Make your own bread for one month. Simple as the process seems, +I think it will take as long as that to give you a thorough knowledge of +all the possibilities in the case; but after that you will never need to +make any more,—you will be able to command good bread by the aid of all +sorts of servants; you will, in other words, be a thoroughly prepared +teacher."</p> + +<p>"I did not think," said Marianne, "that so simple a thing required so +much attention."</p> + +<p>"It is simple," said my wife, "and yet requires a delicate care and +watchfulness. There are fifty ways to spoil good bread; there are a +hundred little things to be considered and allowed for that require +accurate observation and experience. The same process that will raise +good bread in cold weather will make sour bread in the heat of summer; +different qualities of flour require variations in treatment, as also +different sorts and conditions of yeast; and when all is done, the +baking presents another series of possibilities which require exact +attention."</p> + +<p>"So it appears," said Marianne, gayly, "that I must begin to study my +profession at the eleventh hour."</p> + +<p>"Better late than never," said I. "But there is this advantage on your +side: a well-trained mind, accustomed to reflect, analyze, and +generalize, has an advantage over uncultured minds even of double +experience. Poor as your cook is, she now knows more of her business +than you do. After a very brief period of attention and experiment, you +will not only know more than she does, but you will convince her that +you do, which is quite as much to the purpose."</p> + +<p>"In the same manner," said my wife, "you will have to give lessons to +your other girl on the washing of silver and the making of beds. Good +servants do not often come to us; they must be made by patience and +training; and if a girl has a good disposition and a reasonable degree +of handiness, and the housekeeper understands her profession, she may +make a good servant out of an indifferent one. Some of my best girls +have been those who came to me directly from the ship, with no +preparation but docility and some natural quickness. The hardest cases +to be managed are not of those who have been taught nothing, but of +those who have been taught wrongly,—who come to you self-opinionated, +with ways that are distasteful to you, and contrary to the genius of +your housekeeping. Such require that their mistress shall understand a +least so much of the actual conduct of affairs as to prove to the +servant that there are better ways than those in which she has hitherto +been trained."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think, mamma," said Marianne, "that there has been a sort of +reaction against woman's work in our day? So much has been said of the +higher sphere of woman, and so much has been done to find some better +work for her, that insensibly, I think, almost everybody begins to feel +that it is rather degrading for a woman in good society to be much tied +down to family-affairs."</p> + +<p>"Especially," said my wife, "since in these Woman's-Rights Conventions +there is so much indignation expressed at those who would confine her +ideas to the kitchen and nursery."</p> + +<p>"There is reason in all things," said I. "Woman's-Rights Conventions are +a protest against many former absurd, unreasonable ideas,—the mere +physical and culinary idea of womanhood as connected only with puddings +and shirt-buttons, the unjust and unequal burdens which the laws of +harsher ages had cast upon the sex. Many of the women connected with +these movements are as superior in everything properly womanly as they +are in exceptional talent and culture. There is no manner of doubt that +the sphere of woman <a name="Page_440" id="Page_440"></a>is properly to be enlarged, and that republican +governments in particular are to be saved from corruption and failure +only by allowing to woman this enlarged sphere. Every woman has rights +as a human being first, which belong to no sex, and ought to be as +freely conceded to her as if she were a man,—and first and foremost, +the great right of doing anything which God and Nature evidently have +fitted her to excel in. If she be made a natural orator, like Miss +Dickenson, or an astronomer, like Mrs. Somerville, or a singer, like +Grisi, let not the technical rules of womanhood be thrown in the way of +her free use of her powers. Nor can there be any reason shown why a +woman's vote in the State should not be received with as much respect as +in the family. A State is but an association of families, and laws +relate to the rights and immunities which touch woman's most private and +immediate wants and dearest hopes; and there is no reason why sister, +wife, and mother should be more powerless in the State than in the home. +Nor does it make a woman unwomanly to express an opinion by dropping a +slip of paper into a box, more than to express that same opinion by +conversation. In fact, there is no doubt, that, in all matters relating +to the interests of education, temperance, and religion, the State would +be a material gainer by receiving the votes of women.</p> + +<p>"But, having said all this, I must admit, <i>per contra</i>, not only a great +deal of crude, disagreeable talk in these conventions, but a too great +tendency of the age to make the education of women anti-domestic. It +seems as if the world never could advance, except like ships under a +head-wind, tacking and going too far, now in this direction, and now in +the opposite. Our common-school system now rejects sewing from the +education of girls, which very properly used to occupy many hours daily +in school a generation ago. The daughters of laborers and artisans are +put through algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and the higher mathematics, +to the entire neglect of that learning which belongs distinctively to +woman. A girl cannot keep pace with her class, if she gives any time to +domestic matters; and accordingly she is excused from them all during +the whole term of her education. The boy of a family, at an early age, +is put to a trade, or the labors of a farm; the father becomes impatient +of his support, and requires of him to care for himself. Hence an +interrupted education,—learning coming by snatches in the winter months +or in the intervals of work. As the result, the females in our +country-towns are commonly, in mental culture, vastly in advance of the +males of the same household; but with this comes a physical delicacy, +the result of an exclusive use of the brain and a neglect of the +muscular system, with great inefficiency in practical domestic duties. +The race of strong, hardy, cheerful girls, that used to grow up in +country-places, and made the bright, neat, New-England kitchens of old +times,—the girls that could wash, iron, brew, bake, tackle a horse and +drive him, no less than braid straw, embroider, draw, paint, and read +innumerable books,—this race of women, pride of olden time, is daily +lessening; and in their stead come the fragile, easily fatigued, languid +girls of a modern age, drilled in book-learning, ignorant of common +things. The great danger of all this, and of the evils that come from +it, is that society by-and-by will turn as blindly against female +intellectual culture as it now advocates it, and, having worked +disproportionately one way, will work disproportionately in the opposite +direction."</p> + +<p>"The fact is," said my wife, "that domestic service is the great problem +of life here in America; the happiness of families, their thrift, +well-being, and comfort, are more affected by this than by any one thing +else. Our girls, as they have been brought up, cannot perform the labor +of their own families, as in those simpler, old-fashioned days you tell +of; and what is worse, they have no practical skill with which to +instruct servants, <a name="Page_441" id="Page_441"></a>and servants come to us, as a class, raw and +untrained; so what is to be done? In the present state of prices, the +board of a domestic costs double her wages, and the waste she makes is a +more serious matter still. Suppose you give us an article upon this +subject in your 'House and Home Papers.' You could not have a better +one."</p> + +<p>So I sat down, and wrote thus on</p> + + +<h4>SERVANTS AND SERVICE.</h4> + +<p>Many of the domestic evils in America originate in the fact, that, while +society here is professedly based on new principles, which ought to make +social life in every respect different from the life of the Old World, +yet these principles have never been so thought out and applied as to +give consistency and harmony to our daily relations. America starts with +a political organization based on a declaration of the primitive freedom +and equality of all men. Every human being, according to this principle, +stands on the same natural level with every other, and has the same +chance to rise according to the degree of power or capacity given by the +Creator. All our civil institutions are designed to preserve this +equality, as far as possible, from generation to generation: there is no +entailed property, there are no hereditary titles, no monopolies, no +privileged classes,—all are to be as free to rise and fall as the waves +of the sea.</p> + +<p>The condition of domestic service, however, still retains about it +something of the influences from feudal times, and from the near +presence of slavery in neighboring States. All English literature, all +the literature of the world, describes domestic service in the old +feudal spirit and with the old feudal language, which regarded the +master as belonging to a privileged class and the servant to an inferior +one. There is not a play, not a poem, not a novel, not a history, that +does not present this view. The master's rights, like the rights of +kings, were supposed to rest in his being born in a superior rank. The +good servant was one who, from childhood, had learned "to order himself +lowly and reverently to all his betters." When New England brought to +these shores the theory of democracy, she brought, in the persons of the +first pilgrims, the habits of thought and of action formed in +aristocratic communities, Winthrop's Journal, and all the old records of +the earlier colonists, show households where masters and mistresses +stood on the "right divine" of the privileged classes, howsoever they +might have risen up against authorities themselves.</p> + +<p>The first consequence of this state of things was a universal rejection +of domestic service in all classes of American-born society. For a +generation or two, there was, indeed, a sort of interchange of family +strength,—sons and daughters engaging in the service of neighboring +families, in default of a sufficient working-force of their own, but +always on conditions of strict equality. The assistant was to share the +table, the family sitting-room, and every honor and attention that might +be claimed by son or daughter. When families increased in refinement and +education so as to make these conditions of close intimacy with more +uncultured neighbors disagreeable, they had to choose between such +intimacies and the performance of their own domestic toil. No wages +could induce a son or daughter of New England to take the condition of a +servant on terms which they thought applicable to that of a slave. The +slightest hint of a separate table was resented as an insult; not to +enter the front-door, and not to sit in the front-parlor on +state-occasions, was bitterly commented on as a personal indignity.</p> + +<p>The well-taught, self-respecting daughters of farmers, the class most +valuable in domestic service, gradually retired from it. They preferred +any other employment, however laborious. Beyond all doubt, the labors of +a well-regulated family are more healthy, more cheerful, more +interesting, because less monotonous, <a name="Page_442" id="Page_442"></a>than the mechanical tolls of a +factory; yet the girls of New England, with one consent, preferred the +factory, and left the whole business of domestic service to a foreign +population; and they did it mainly because they would not take positions +in families as an inferior laboring-class by the side of others of their +own age who assumed as their prerogative to live without labor.</p> + +<p>"I can't let you have one of my daughters," said an energetic matron to +her neighbor from the city, who was seeking for a servant in her summer +vacation; "if you hadn't daughters of your own, maybe I would; but my +girls a'n't going to work so that your girls may live in idleness."</p> + +<p>It was vain to offer money. "We don't need your money, Ma'am, we can +support ourselves in other ways; my girls can braid straw, and bind +shoes, but they a'n't going to be slaves to anybody."</p> + +<p>In the Irish and German servants who took the place of Americans in +families, there was, to begin with, the tradition of education in favor +of a higher class; but even the foreign population became more or less +infected with the spirit of democracy. They came to this country with +vague notions of freedom and equality, and in ignorant and uncultivated +people such ideas are often more unreasonable for being vague. They did +not, indeed, claim a seat at the table and in the parlor, but they +repudiated many of those habits of respect and courtesy which belonged +to their former condition, and asserted their own will and way in the +round, unvarnished phrase which they supposed to be their right as +republican citizens. Life became a sort of domestic wrangle and struggle +between the employers, who secretly confessed their weakness, but +endeavored openly to assume the air and bearing of authority, and the +employed, who knew their power and insisted on their privileges. From +this cause domestic service in America has had less of mutual kindliness +than in old countries. Its terms have been so ill understood and defined +that both parties have assumed the defensive; and a common topic of +conversation in American female society has often been the general +servile war which in one form or another was going on in their different +families,—a war as interminable as would be a struggle between +aristocracy and common people, undefined by any bill of rights or +constitution, and therefore opening fields for endless disputes. In +England, the class who go to service <i>are</i> a class, and service is a +profession; the distance between them and their employers is so marked +and defined, and all the customs and requirements of the position are so +perfectly understood, that the master or mistress has no fear of being +compromised by condescension, and no need of the external voice or air +of authority. The higher up in the social scale one goes, the more +courteous seems to become the intercourse of master and servant; the +more perfect and real the power, the more is it veiled in outward +expression,—commands are phrased as requests, and gentleness of voice +and manner covers an authority which no one would think of offending +without trembling.</p> + +<p>But in America all is undefined. In the first place, there is no class +who mean to make domestic service a profession to live and die in. It is +universally an expedient, a stepping-stone to something higher; your +best servants always have something else in view as soon as they have +laid by a little money,—some form of independence which shall give them +a home of their own is constantly in mind. Families look forward to the +buying of landed homesteads, and the scattered brothers and sisters work +awhile in domestic service to gain the common fund for the purpose; your +seamstress intends to become a dress-maker, and take in work at her own +house; your cook is pondering a marriage with the baker, which shall +transfer her toils from your cooking-stove to her own. Young women are +eagerly rushing into every other employment, till female trades and +callings <a name="Page_443" id="Page_443"></a>are all overstocked. We are continually harrowed with tales of +the sufferings of distressed needle-women, of the exactions and +extortions practised on the frail sex in the many branches of labor and +trade at which they try their hands; and yet women will encounter all +these chances of ruin and starvation rather than make up their minds to +permanent domestic service. Now what is the matter with domestic +service? One would think, on the face of it, that a calling which gives +a settled home, a comfortable room, rent-free, with fire and lights, +good board and lodging, and steady, well-paid wages, would certainly +offer more attractions than the making of shirts for tenpence, with all +the risks of providing one's own sustenance and shelter.</p> + +<p>I think it is mainly from the want of a definite idea of the true +position of a servant under our democratic institutions that domestic +service is so shunned and avoided in America, that it is the very last +thing which an intelligent young woman will look to for a living. It is +more the want of personal respect toward those in that position than the +labors incident to it which repels our people from it. Many would be +willing to perform these labors, but they are not willing to place +themselves in a situation where their self-respect is hourly wounded by +<i>the implication of an inferiority which does not follow any other kind +of labor or service in this country but that of the family</i>.</p> + +<p>There exists in the minds of employers an unsuspected spirit of +superiority, which is stimulated into an active form by the resistance +which democracy inspires in the working-class. Many families think of +servants only as a necessary evil, their wages as exactions, and all +that allowed them as so much taken from the family; and they seek in +every way to get from them as much and to give them as little as +possible. Their rooms are the neglected, ill-furnished, incommodious +ones,—and the kitchen is the most cheerless and comfortless place in +the house. Other families, more good-natured and liberal, provide their +domestics with more suitable accommodations, and are more indulgent; but +there is still a latent spirit of something like contempt for the +position. That they treat their servants with so much consideration +seems to them a merit entitling them to the most prostrate gratitude; +and they are constantly disappointed and shocked at that want of sense +of inferiority on the part of these people which leads them to +appropriate pleasant rooms, good furniture, and good living as mere +matters of common justice.</p> + +<p>It seems to be a constant surprise to some employers that servants +should insist on having the same human wants as themselves. Ladies who +yawn in their elegantly furnished parlors, among books and pictures, if +they have not company, parties, or opera to diversify the evening, seem +astonished and half indignant that cook and chambermaid are more +disposed to go out for an evening gossip than to sit on hard chairs in +the kitchen where they have been toiling all day. The pretty +chambermaid's anxieties about her dress, the time she spends at her +small and not very clear mirror, are sneeringly noticed by those whose +toilet-cares take up serious hours; and the question has never +apparently occurred to them why a serving-maid should not want to look +pretty as well as her mistress. She is a woman as well as they, with all +a woman's wants and weaknesses; and her dress is as much to her as +theirs to them.</p> + +<p>A vast deal of trouble among servants arises from impertinent +interferences and petty tyrannical exactions on the part of employers. +Now the authority of the master and mistress of a house in regard to +their domestics extends simply to the things they have contracted to do +and the hours during which they have contracted to serve; otherwise than +this, they have no more right to interfere with them in the disposal of +their time than with any mechanic whom they employ. They have, indeed, a +right to regulate the hours of their own household, <a name="Page_444" id="Page_444"></a>and servants can +choose between conformity to these hours and the loss of their +situation; but, within reasonable limits, their right to come and go at +their own discretion, in their own time, should be unquestioned.</p> + +<p>As to the terms of social intercourse, it seems somehow to be settled in +the minds of many employers that their servants owe them and their +family more respect than they and the family owe to the servants. But do +they? What is the relation of servant to employer in a democratic +country? Precisely that of a person who for money performs any kind of +service for you. The carpenter comes into your house to put up a set of +shelves,—the cook comes into your kitchen to cook your dinner. You +never think that the carpenter owes you any more respect than you owe to +him because he is in your house doing your behests; he is your +fellow-citizen, you treat him with respect, you expect to be treated +with respect by him. You have a claim on him that he shall do your work +according to your directions,—no more. Now I apprehend that there is a +very common notion as to the position and rights of servants which is +quite different from this. Is it not a common feeling that a servant is +one who may be treated with a degree of freedom by every member of the +family which he or she may not return? Do not people feel at liberty to +question servants about their private affairs, to comment on their dress +and appearance, in a manner which they would feel to be an impertinence, +if reciprocated? Do they not feel at liberty to express dissatisfaction +with their performances in rude and unceremonious terms, to reprove them +in the presence of company, while yet they require that the +dissatisfaction of servants shall be expressed only in terms of respect? +A woman would not feel herself at liberty to talk to her milliner or her +dress-maker in language as devoid of consideration as she will employ +towards her cook or chambermaid. Yet both are rendering her a service +which she pays for in money, and one is no more made her inferior +thereby than the other. Both have an equal right to be treated with +courtesy. The master and mistress of a house have a right to require +respectful treatment from all whom their roof shelters; but they have no +more right to exact it of servants than of every guest and every child, +and they themselves owe it as much to servants as to guests.</p> + +<p>In order that servants may be treated with respect and courtesy, it is +not necessary, as in simpler patriarchal days, that they sit at the +family-table. Your carpenter or plumber does not feel hurt that you do +not ask him to dine with you, nor your milliner and mantua-maker that +you do not exchange ceremonious calls and invite them to your parties. +It is well understood that your relations with them are of a mere +business character. They never take it as an assumption of superiority +on your part that you do not admit them to relations of private +intimacy. There may be the most perfect respect and esteem and even +friendship between them and you, notwithstanding. So it may be in the +case of servants. It is easy to make any person understand that there +are quite other reasons than the assumption of personal superiority for +not wishing to admit servants to the family-privacy. It was not, in +fact, to sit in the parlor or at the table, in themselves considered, +that was the thing aimed at by New-England girls,—these were valued +only as signs that they were deemed worthy of respect and consideration, +and, where freely conceded, were often in point of fact declined.</p> + +<p>Let servants feel, in their treatment by their employers, and in the +atmosphere of the family, that their position is held to be a +respectable one, let them feel in the mistress of the family the charm +of unvarying consideration and good manners, let their work-rooms be +made convenient and comfortable, and their private apartments bear some +reasonable comparison in point of agreeableness to those of other +members of the family, and domestic service will be more frequently +<a name="Page_445" id="Page_445"></a>sought by a superior and self-respecting class. There are families in +which such a state of things prevails; and such families, amid the many +causes which unite to make the tenure of service uncertain, have +generally been able to keep good permanent servants.</p> + +<p>There is an extreme into which kindly disposed people often run with +regard to servants, which may be mentioned here. They make pets of them. +They give extravagant wages and indiscreet indulgences, and, through +indolence and easiness of temper, tolerate negligence and neglect of +duty. Many of the complaints of the ingratitude of servants come from +those who have spoiled them in this way; while many of the longest and +most harmonious domestic unions have sprung from a simple, quiet course +of Christian justice and benevolence, a recognition of servants as +fellow-beings and fellow-Christians, and a doing to them as we would in +like circumstances that they should do to us.</p> + +<p>The mistresses of American families, whether they like it or not, have +the duties of missionaries imposed upon them by that class from which +our supply of domestic servants is drawn. They may as well accept the +position cheerfully, and, as one raw, untrained hand after another +passes through their family, and is instructed by them in the mysteries +of good housekeeping, comfort themselves with the reflection that they +are doing something to form good wives and mothers for the Republic.</p> + +<p>The complaints made of Irish girls are numerous and loud; the failings +of green Erin, alas! are but too open and manifest; yet, in arrest of +judgment, let us move this consideration: let us imagine our own +daughters between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, untaught and +inexperienced in domestic affairs as they commonly are, shipped to a +foreign shore to seek service in families. It may be questioned whether +as a whole they would do much better. The girls that fill our families +and do our house-work are often of the age of our own daughters, +standing for themselves, without mothers to guide them, in a foreign +country, not only bravely supporting themselves, but sending home in +every ship remittances to impoverished friends left behind. If our +daughters did as much for us, should we not be proud of their energy and +heroism?</p> + +<p>When we go into the houses of our country, we find a majority of +well-kept, well-ordered, and even elegant establishments where the only +hands employed are those of the daughters of Erin. True, American women +have been their instructors, and many a weary hour of care have they had +in the discharge of this office; but the result on the whole is +beautiful and good, and the end of it, doubtless, will be peace.</p> + +<p>In speaking of the office of the American mistress as being a missionary +one, we are far from recommending any controversial interference with +the religious faith of our servants. It is far better to incite them to +be good Christians in their own way than to run the risk of shaking +their faith in all religion by pointing out to them the errors of that +in which they have been educated. The general purity of life and +propriety of demeanor of so many thousands of undefended young girls +cast yearly upon our shores, with no home but their church, and no +shield but their religion, are a sufficient proof that this religion +exerts an influence over them not to be lightly trifled with. But there +is a real unity even in opposite Christian forms; and the Roman Catholic +servant and the Protestant mistress, if alike possessed by the spirit of +Christ, and striving to conform to the Golden Rule, cannot help being +one in heart, though one go to mass and the other to meeting.</p> + +<p>Finally, the bitter baptism through which we are passing, the life-blood +dearer than our own which is drenching distant fields, should remind us +of the preciousness of distinctive American ideas. They who would seek +in their foolish pride to establish the pomp of liveried servants in +America are doing that which <a name="Page_446" id="Page_446"></a>is simply absurd. A servant can never in +our country be the mere appendage to another man, to be marked like a +sheep with the color of his owner; he must be a fellow-citizen, with an +established position of his own, free to make contracts, free to come +and go, and having in his sphere titles to consideration and respect +just as definite as those of any trade or profession whatever.</p> + +<p>Moreover, we cannot in this country maintain to any great extent large +retinues of servants. Even with ample fortunes they are forbidden by the +general character of society here, which makes them cumbrous and +difficult to manage. Every mistress of a family knows that her cares +increase with every additional servant. Two keep the peace with each +other and their employer; three begin a possible discord, which +possibility increases with four, and becomes certain with five or six. +Trained housekeepers, such as regulate the complicated establishments of +the Old World, form a class that are not, and from the nature of the +case never will be, found in any great numbers in this country. All such +women, as a general thing, are keeping, and prefer to keep, houses of +their own.</p> + +<p>A moderate style of housekeeping, small, compact, and simple domestic +establishments, must necessarily be the general order of life in +America. So many openings of profit are to be found in this country, +that domestic service necessarily wants the permanence which forms so +agreeable a feature of it in the Old World.</p> + +<p>American women must not try with three servants to carry on life +in the style which in the Old World requires sixteen,—they must +thoroughly understand, and be prepared <i>to teach</i>, every branch of +housekeeping,—they must study to make domestic service desirable, by +treating their servants in a way to lead them to respect themselves and +to feel themselves respected,—and there will gradually be evolved from +the present confusion a solution of the domestic problem which shall be +adapted to the life of a new and growing world.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SERVICE" id="SERVICE"></a>SERVICE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I beheld a lover woo<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A maid unwilling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw what lavish deeds men do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hope's flagon filling,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What vines are tilled, what wines are spilled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And madly wasted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fill the flask that's never filled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rarely tasted:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Devouring all life's heritage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And inly starving;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dulling the spirit's mystic edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The banquet carving;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feasting with Pride, that Barmecide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of unreal dishes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wandering ever in a wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wide world of wishes:<br /></span><p><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447"></a></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For gain or glory lands and seas<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Endlessly ranging,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Safety and years and health and ease<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Freely exchanging;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chiselling Humanity to dust<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of glittering riches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's blood-veined marble to a bust<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Fame's cold niches:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Desire's loose reins, and steed that stains<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rider's raiment;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorrow and sacrifice and pains<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For worthless payment:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, ever as I moved, I saw<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world's contagion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then turned, O Love! to thy sweet law<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And compensation,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well might red shame my cheek consume!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O service slighted!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Bride of Paradise, to whom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I long was plighted!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do I with burning lips profess<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To serve thee wholly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet labor less for blessedness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than fools for folly?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wary worldling spread his toils<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst I was sleeping;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wakeful miser locked his spoils,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Keen vigils keeping:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loosed the latches of my soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To pleading Pleasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who stayed one little hour, and stole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heavenly treasure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A friend for friend's sake will endure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sharp provocations;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And knaves are cunning to secure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By cringing patience,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smiles upon a smarting cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some dear advantage,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swathing their grievances in meek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Submission's bandage.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet for thy sake I will not take<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One drop of trial,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But raise rebellious hands to break<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bitter vial.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At hardship's surly-visaged churl<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My spirit sallies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And melts, O Peace! thy priceless pearl<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In passion's chalice.<br /></span><p><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448"></a></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet never quite, in darkest night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was I forsaken:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down trickles still some starry rill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart to waken.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Love Divine! could I resign<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This changeful spirit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To walk thy ways, what wealth of grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might I inherit!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If one poor flower of thanks to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be truly given,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night thou snowest down to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lilies of heaven!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One task of human love fulfilled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy glimpses tender<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My days of lonely labor gild<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With gleams of splendor!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One prayer,—"Thy will, not mine!"—and bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er all my being,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaks blissful light, that gives to sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A subtler seeing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straightway mine ear is tuned to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ethereal numbers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose secret symphonies insphere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dull earth's slumbers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thy will!"—and I am armed to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Misfortune's volleys;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For every sorrow I have sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, sweetest solace!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thy will!"—no more I hunger sore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For angels feed me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth for days, by peaceful ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They gently lead me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For me the diamond dawns are set<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In rings of beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all my paths are dewy wet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With pleasant duty;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the boughs of calm content<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My hammock swinging,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this green tent my eves are spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Feasting and singing.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MADAME_RECAMIER" id="MADAME_RECAMIER"></a>MADAME RÉCAMIER.</h2> + +<h3>HER LOVERS, AND HER FRIENDS.</h3> + + +<p>As the most beautiful woman of her day, Madame Récamier is widely known; +as the friend of Châteaubriand and De Staël, she is scarcely less so. An +historic as well as literary interest is attached to her name; for she +lived throughout the most momentous and exciting period of modern times. +Her relations with influential and illustrious men of successive +revolutions were intimate and confidential; and though the <i>rôle</i> she +played was but negative, the influence she exerted has closely connected +her with the political history of her country.</p> + +<p>But interesting as her life is from this point of view, in its social +aspect it has a deeper significance. It is the life of a beautiful +woman,—and so varied and romantic, so fruitful in incident and rich in +experience, that it excites curiosity and invites speculation. It is a +life difficult, if not impossible, to understand. Herein lies its +peculiar and engrossing fascination. It is a curious web to unravel, a +riddle to solve, a problem at once stimulating and baffling. Like the +history of the times, it is full of puzzling contradictions and striking +contrasts. The daughter of a provincial notary, Madame Récamier was the +honored associate of princes. A married woman, she was a wife only in +name. A beauty and a belle, she was as much admired by her own as by the +other sex. A coquette, she changed passionate lovers into lifelong +friends. Accepting the open and exclusive homage of married men, she +continued on the best of terms with their wives. One day the mistress of +every luxury that wealth can command,—the next a bankrupt's wife. One +year the reigning "Queen of Society,"—the next a suspected exile. As +much flattered and courted when she was poor as while she was rich. Just +as fascinating when old and blind as while young and beautiful. Loss of +fortune brought no loss of power,—decline of beauty, no decrease of +admiration. Modelled by artists, flattered by princes, adored by women, +eulogized by men of genius, courted by men of letters,—the beloved of +the chivalric Augustus of Prussia, and the selfish, dreamy +Châteaubriand,—with the high-toned Montmorencys for her friends, and +the simple-minded Ballanche for her slave. Such were some of the +triumphs, such some of the contrasts in the life of this remarkable +woman.</p> + +<p>It is hard to conceive of a more brilliant career, or of one more +calculated from its singularity to give rise to contradictory +impressions. This natural perplexity is much increased by the character +of Madame Récamier's memoirs, published in 1859, ten years after her +death. They are from the pen of Madame Lenormant, the niece of Monsieur +Récamier, and the adopted daughter of his wife. To her Madame Récamier +bequeathed her papers, with the request that she should write the +narrative of her life. Madame Lenormant had a delicate and difficult +task to execute. The life she was to portray was strictly a social one. +It was closely interwoven with the lives of other persons still living +or lately dead. She owed heavy obligations to both. It is, therefore, +not surprising, if her narrative is at times broken and obscure, and she +a too partial biographer. Not that Madame Lenormant can be called +untrustworthy. She cannot be accused of misrepresenting facts, but she +does what is almost as bad,—she partially states them. Her vague +allusions and half-and-half statements excite curiosity without +gratifying it. We also crave to know more than she tells us of the +heart-history of this woman who so captivated the world,—to see her +sometimes in the silence of solitude, alone with her own thoughts,—to +gain an insight into the inner, that we may more perfectly comprehend +the outward life which so perplexes <a name="Page_450" id="Page_450"></a>and confounds. Instead of all this, +we have drawing-room interviews with the object of our interest. We see +her chiefly as she appeared in society. We have to be content with what +others say of her, in lieu of what she might say for herself. We hear of +her conquests, her social triumphs, we listen to panegyrics, but are +seldom admitted behind the scenes to judge for ourselves of what is gold +and what is tinsel. We, moreover, seek in vain for those unconscious +revelations so precious in divining character. The few letters of Madame +Récamier that are published have little or no significance. She was not +fond of writing, still she corresponded regularly with several of her +friends; but her correspondence, it seems, has not been obtained by her +biographer. The best insight we get, therefore, into the emotional part +of her nature is from indirect allusions in letters addressed to her, +and from conclusions drawn from her course of conduct in particular +cases. Some of the incidents of her life are so dramatic, that, if fully +and faithfully told, they would of themselves reveal the true character +of the woman, but as it is we have but little help from them. It is +impossible to resist the conviction that Madame Lenormant would not +hesitate to suppress any circumstances that might cast a shadow on the +memory of her aunt. It is true that she occasionally relates facts +tending to injure Madame Récamier, but it is plain to be seen that she +herself is totally unconscious of the nature and tendency of these +disclosures. Upon the publication of her book, these indiscretions +excited the displeasure of Madame Récamier's warm personal friends. One +of them, Madame Möhl, by birth an Englishwoman, undertook her defence. +This lady corrects a few slight inaccuracies of the "Souvenirs," and +since she cannot controvert its more important facts, she attempts to +explain them. Her sketch<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> of Madame Récamier is pleasant, from its +personal recollections, but far inferior to one by Sainte-Beuve,<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> +which is eminently significant. Neither, as sources of information, can +supply the place of the more voluminous and explicit "Souvenirs." It is +a little singular that this work has not been translated into English, +for, in spite of its lack of method, its diffuseness and +disproportionate developments, it is very attractive and interesting. It +is also highly valuable for its large collection of letters from +distinguished people. In the sketch we propose to make of Madame +Récamier's life, we shall rely mainly upon it for our facts, giving in +connection our own view of her character and career.</p> + +<p>The beauty which first won celebrity for Madame Récamier was hers by +inheritance. Her father was a remarkably handsome man, but a person of +narrow capacity, who owed his advancement in life solely to the +exertions of his more capable wife. Madame Bernard was a beautiful +blonde. She was lively and <i>spirituelle</i>, coquettish and designing. +Through her influence with Calonne, minister under Louis XVI., Monsieur +Bernard was made <i>Receveur des Finances</i>. Upon this appointment, in +1784, they came to Paris, leaving their only child, Juliette, then seven +years old, at Lyons, in the care of an aunt, though she was soon +afterward placed in a convent, where she remained three years. Monsieur +and Madame Bernard's style of living in Paris was both elegant and +generous. Their house became the resort of the Lyonnese, and also of +literary men,—the latter being especially courted by Madame Bernard. +But, though seemingly given up to a life of gayety and pleasure, she did +not neglect her own interests. Her cleverness was of the Becky-Sharp +order. She knew how to turn the admiration she excited to her own +advantage. Having a faculty for business, she engaged in successful +speculations and amassed a fortune, which she carried safely through the +Reign of Terror. This is the more remarkable as Monsieur Bernard <a name="Page_451" id="Page_451"></a>was a +known Royalist. He and his family and his wife's friends escaped not +only death, but also persecution; and Madame Lenormant attributes this +rare good-fortune to the agency of the infamous Barrère. Barrère's +cruelty was equalled only by his profligacy, his cunning by his +selfishness. Macaulay said of him, that "he approached nearer than any +person mentioned in history or fiction, whether man or devil, to the +idea of consummate and total depravity"; and everybody must remember the +famous comparison by which he illustrated Barrère's faculty of lying. +But even taking a much milder view of Barrère's character, it is a +matter of history by what terms the unfortunate victims of the +Revolution purchased of him their own lives and those of their friends, +and it is certain that his friendship and protection were no honor to +any woman. This view of their intimacy is confirmed by Madame Möhl. In +speaking of a rumor current in Madame Récamier's lifetime, which +reflected severely upon her mother, she says that Madame Bernard's +reputation had nothing to lose by this story, and mentions the favors +she received at the hands both of Calonne and Barrère.</p> + +<p>Juliette Bernard was ten years old when she joined her parents in Paris, +where she was placed under the care of masters. She played with skill on +the harp and piano, and being passionately fond of music, it became her +solace and amusement at an advanced age. In her youth dancing was +equally a passion with her. The grace with which she executed the +shawl-dance suggested to Madame de Staël the dance-scene in "Corinne." +It is said that great care was bestowed upon her education; but as it is +also stated that long hours were passed at the toilette, that she was +the pet of all her mother's friends, who, as proud of her daughter's +beauty as she was of her own, took her constantly to the theatre and +public assemblies, little time could have been devoted to systematic +instruction. There is no mention made throughout her life of any +favorite studies or favorite books, and she was, moreover, married at +fifteen.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Récamier was forty-four years old when he proposed for the hand +of Juliette Bernard. She accepted him without either reluctance or +distrust. Much sympathy has been lavished upon Madame Récamier on +account of this marriage, and her extreme youth is urged as an excuse +for this false step of her life. Still she did not take it blindly. Her +mother thought it her duty to lay before her all the objections to a +union where there existed such a disparity of age. No undue influence +was exerted, therefore, in favor of the marriage. Nor was Mademoiselle +Bernard as unsophisticated as French girls usually are at that age. Her +childhood had not been passed in seclusion. Since she was ten years old +she had been constantly in the society of men of letters and men of the +world. Under such influences girls ripen early, and in marrying Monsieur +Récamier she at least realized all her expectations. She did not look +for mutual affection; she expected to find in him a generous and +indulgent protector, and this anticipation was not disappointed. If she +discovered too late that she had other and greater needs, she was deeply +to be pitied, but the responsibility of the step must remain with her. +Madame Lenormant says of the union,—"It was simply an apparent one. +Madame Récamier was a wife only in name. This fact is astonishing. But I +am not bound to explain it, only to attest its truth, which all of +Madame Récamier's friends can confirm. Monsieur Récamier's relations to +his wife were strictly of a paternal character. He treated the young and +innocent child who bore his name as a daughter whose beauty charmed him +and whose celebrity flattered his vanity."</p> + +<p>As an explanation of these singular relations, Madame Möhl states that +it was the general belief of Madame Récamier's contemporaries that she +was the own daughter of Monsieur Récamier, whom the unsettled state of +the times had induced him to marry; but there is not a <a name="Page_452" id="Page_452"></a>shadow of +evidence in support of this hypothesis,—though, to make it more +probable, Madame Möhl adds, that "Madame Lenormant rather confirms than +contradicts this rumor." In this she is strangely mistaken. Madame +Lenormant does not allude to the report at all. Still she tacitly +contradicts it. Her account of Monsieur Récamier's course with regard to +the divorce proposed between him and his wife is of itself a sufficient +refutation of this idle story.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Récamier was a tall, vigorous, handsome man, of easy, agreeable +manners. Perfectly polite, he was deficient in dignity, and preferred +the society of his inferiors to that of his equals. He wrote and spoke +Spanish with fluency, had some knowledge of Latin, and was fond of +quoting Horace and Virgil. "It would be difficult to find," says his +niece, "a heart more generous than his, more easily moved, and yet more +volatile. Let a friend need his time, his money, his advice, it was +immediately at his service; but let that same friend be taken away by +death, he would scarcely give two days to regret: '<i>Encore un tiroir +fermé'</i>, he would say, and there would end his sensibility. Always ready +to give and willing to serve, he was a good companion, and benevolent +and gay in his temper. He carried his optimism to excess, and was always +content with everybody and everything. He had fine natural abilities, +and the gift of expression, being a good story-teller." He was married +in 1793, the most gloomy period of the Reign of Terror, and went every +day to see the executions, wishing, he said, to familiarize himself with +the fate he had every reason to fear would be his own.</p> + +<p>The first four years of her marriage were passed by Madame Récamier in +retirement, but when the government was settled under the Consulate she +mingled freely and gayly in society. This was probably the happiest +period of her life. Her husband was at the height of financial +prosperity, and lavished every luxury upon his beautiful wife. Both +their country-seat at Clichy and their town-house in the Rue Mont Blanc +were models of elegant taste. Large dinner-parties and balls were given +at the latter, but all the intimate friends went to Clichy, where Madame +Récamier chiefly resided with her mother. Her husband only dined there, +driving in to Paris every night. She was very fond of flowers, and +filled her rooms with them. At that time floral decorations were a +novelty, and another attraction was added to the charms of Clichy. Not +only there, but in society, Madame Récamier reigned a queen. She had +been pronounced by acclamation "the most beautiful," and she enjoyed her +triumphs with all the gayety and freshness of youth. Madame Lenormant +asserts that she was unconscious of her beauty, and yet, with an amusing +inconsistency, she adds that Madame Récamier always dressed in white and +wore pearls in preference to other jewels, that the dazzling whiteness +of her skin might eclipse their softness and purity. It was, in fact, +impossible to be unconscious of a beauty so ravishing that it +intoxicated all beholders. At the theatre, at the promenade, at public +assemblies, she was followed by admiring throngs.</p> + +<p>"She was sensible," writes one who knew her well, "of every look, every +word of admiration,—the exclamation of a child or a woman of the +people, equally with the declaration of a prince. In crowds from the +side of her elegant carriage, which advanced slowly, she thanked each +for his admiration by a motion of the head and a smile."</p> + +<p>As an instance of the effect she produced, Madame Lenormant gives the +testimony of a contemporary, Madame Regnauld de Saint-Jean d'Angely, +who, talking over her own beauty and that of other women of her youth, +named Madame Récamier. "Others," she said, "were more truly beautiful, +but none produced so much effect. I was in a drawing-room where I +charmed and captivated all eyes. Madame Récamier entered. The brilliancy +of her eyes, which were not, however, very large, the inconceivable +<a name="Page_453" id="Page_453"></a>whiteness of her shoulders, crushed and eclipsed everybody. She was +resplendent. At the end of a moment, however, the true amateurs returned +to me."</p> + +<p>It was not her own countrymen alone who raved about her beauty. The +sober-minded English people were quite as much impressed. When she +visited England during the short peace of Amiens, she created intense +excitement. The journals recorded her movements, and on one occasion in +Kensington Gardens the crowd was so great that she narrowly escaped +being crushed. At the Opera she was obliged to steal away early to avoid +a similar annoyance, and then barely succeeded in reaching her carriage. +Châteaubriand tells us that her portrait, engraved by Bartolozzi, and +spread throughout England, was carried thence to the isles of Greece. +Ballanche, remarking on this circumstance, said that it was "beauty +returning to the land of its birth."</p> + +<p>Years after, when the allied sovereigns were in Paris, and Madame +Récamier thirty-eight years old, the effect of her beauty was just as +striking. Madame de Krüdener, celebrated for her mysticism and the power +she exerted over the Emperor Alexander, then held nightly reunions, +beginning with prayer and ending in a more worldly fashion. Madame +Récamier's entrance always caused distraction, and Madame de Krüdener +commissioned Benjamin Constant to write and beseech her to be less +charming. As this piquant note will lose its flavor by translation, we +give it in the original.</p> + +<p>"Je m'acquitte avec un peu d'embarras d'une commission que Mme. de +Krüdener vient de me donner. Elle vous supplie de venir la moins belle +que vous pourrez. Elle dit que vous éblouissez tout le monde, et que par +là toutes les âmes sont troublées, et toutes les attentions impossibles. +Vous ne pouvez pas déposer votre charme, mais ne le rehaussez pas."</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier's personal appearance at eighteen is thus described by +her niece:—</p> + +<p>"A figure flexible and elegant; neck and shoulders admirably formed and +proportioned; a well-poised head; a small, rosy mouth, pearly teeth, +charming arms, though a little small, and black hair that curled +naturally. A nose delicate and regular, but <i>bien français</i>, and an +incomparable brilliancy of complexion. A countenance full of candor, and +sometimes beaming with mischief, which the expression of goodness +rendered irresistibly lovely. There was a shade of indolence and pride +in her gestures, and what Saint Simon said of the Duchess of Burgundy is +equally applicable to her: 'Her step was that of a goddess on the +clouds.'"</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier retained her beauty longer than is usual even with +Frenchwomen, nor did she seek to repair it by any artificial means. "She +did not struggle," says Sainte-Beuve, "she resigned herself gracefully +to the first touch of Time. She understood, that, for one who had +enjoyed such success as a beauty, to seem yet beautiful was to make no +pretensions. A friend who had not seen her for many years complimented +her upon her looks. 'Ah, my dear friend,' she replied, 'it is useless +for me to deceive myself. From the moment I noticed that the little +Savoyards in the street no longer turned to look at me, I comprehended +that all was over.'" There is pathos in this simple acknowledgment, this +quiet renunciation. Was it the result of secret struggles which taught +her that all regret was vain, and that to contrast the present with the +past was but a useless and torturing thing for a woman?</p> + +<p>But at the time of which we write Madame Récamier had no sad realities +to ponder. She was surrounded by admirers, with the liberty which French +society accords to married women, and the freedom of heart of a young +girl. She was still content to be simply admired. She understood neither +the world nor her own heart. Her life was too gay for reflection, nor +had the time arrived for it: "all analysis comes late."<a name="Page_454" id="Page_454"></a> It is not until +we have in a measure ceased to be actors, and have accepted the more +passive <i>rôle</i> of spectators, that we begin to reflect upon ourselves +and upon life. And Madame Récamier had not tired of herself, or of the +world. She was too young to be heart-weary, and she knew nothing yet of +the burdens and perplexities of life. All her wishes were gratified +before they were fairly expressed, and she had neither anxieties nor +cares.</p> + +<p>Her first vexation came with her first lover. It was in the spring of +1799 that Madame Récamier met Lucien Bonaparte at a dinner. He was then +twenty-four, and she twenty-two. He asked permission to visit her at +Clichy, and made his appearance there the next day. He first wrote to +her, declaring his love, under the name of Romeo, and she, taking +advantage of the subterfuge, returned his letter in the presence of +other friends, with a compliment on its cleverness, while she advised +him not to waste his ability on works of imagination, when it could be +so much better employed in politics. Lucien was not thus to be repulsed. +He then addressed her in his own name, and she showed the letters to her +husband, and asked his advice. Monsieur Récamier was more politic than +indignant. His wife wished to forbid Lucien the house, but he feared +that such extreme measures toward the brother of the First Consul might +compromise, if not ruin, his bank. He therefore advised her neither to +encourage nor repulse him. Lucien continued his attentions for a +year,—the absurd emphasis of his manners at times amusing Madame +Récamier, while at others his violence excited her fears. At last, +becoming conscious that he was making himself ridiculous, he gave up the +pursuit in despair. Some time after he had discontinued his visits he +sent a friend to demand his letters; but Madame Récamier refused to give +them up. He sent a second time, adding menace to persuasion; but she was +firm in her refusal. It was rumored that Lucien was a favored lover, and +he was anxious to be so considered. His own letters were the strongest +proof to the contrary, and as such they were kept and guarded by Madame +Récamier. But the unpleasant gossip to which his attentions gave rise +was a source of great annoyance to her. If it was her first vexation, it +was not the only one of the same kind. Madame Lenormant makes no +allusion, to any other, but in the lately published correspondence of +Madame de Staël<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> we find among the letters to Madame Récamier one +which consoles her under what was probably a somewhat similar trouble. +"I hear from Monsieur Hochet that you have a chagrin. I hope by the time +you have read this letter it will have passed away.... There is nothing +to dread but truth and material persecution; beyond these two things +enemies can do absolutely nothing. And what an enemy! only a +contemptible woman who is jealous of your beauty and purity united."</p> + +<p>It was at a <i>fête</i> given by Lucien that Madame Récamier had her first +and only interview with the First Consul. On entering the drawing-room, +she mistook him for his brother Joseph, and bowed to him. He returned +her salutation with <i>empressement</i> mingled with surprise. Looking at her +closely, he spoke to Fouché, who leaned over her chair and whispered, +"The First Consul finds you charming." When Lucien approached, Napoleon, +who was no stranger to his brother's passion, said aloud, "And I, too, +would like to go to Clichy!" When dinner was announced, he rose and left +the room alone, without offering his arm to any lady. As Madame Récamier +passed out, Eliza (Madame Bacciocchi), who did the honors in the absence +of Madame Lucien, who was indisposed, requested her to take the seat +next to the First Consul. Madame Récamier did not understand her, and +seated herself at a little distance, and on Cambacères, the Second +Consul, occupying the seat by her side, Napoleon <a name="Page_455" id="Page_455"></a>exclaimed, "<i>Ah, ah, +citoyen consul, auprès de la plus belle</i>!" He ate very little and very +fast, and at the end of half an hour left the table abruptly, and +returned to the drawing-room. He afterward asked Madame Récamier why she +had not sat next to him at dinner. "I should not have presumed," she +said. "It was your place," he replied; and his sister added, "That was +what I said to you before dinner." A concert following, Napoleon stood +alone by the piano, but, not fancying the instrumental part of the +performance, at the end of a piece by Jadin, he struck on the piano and +cried, "Garat! Garat!" who then sang a scene from "Orpheus." Music +always profoundly moved Madame Récamier, but whenever she raised her +eyes she found those of the Consul fixed upon her with so much intensity +that she became uncomfortable. After the concert, he came to her and +said, "You are very fond of music, Madame," and would probably have +continued the conversation, had not Lucien interrupted. Madame Récamier +confessed that she was prepossessed by Napoleon at this interview. She +was evidently gratified by his attentions, scanty and slight as they +seem to us. Indeed, his whole conduct during the dinner and concert was +decidedly discourteous, if not positively rude. Madame Lenormant +attributes Napoleon's subsequent attempt to attach Madame Récamier to +his court to the strong impression she made upon him at this interview, +and gives Fouché as her authority. Still, if this were the case, it is +rather strange that Napoleon did not follow up the acquaintance more +speedily. It was not until five years afterwards that he made the +overtures to which Madame Lenormant refers,—and then Madame Récamier +had long been in the ranks of the Opposition. It was Napoleon's policy +to conciliate, if possible, his political opponents. He had succeeded in +gaining over Bernadotte, of whose intrigues against him Madame Récamier +had been the <i>confidante</i>, and he concluded that she also could be as +easily won. He accordingly sent Fouché to her, who, after several +preliminary visits, proposed that she should apply for a position at +court. As Madame Récamier did not heed his suggestions, he spoke more +openly. "He protested that the place would give her entire liberty, and +then, seizing with finesse upon the inducements most powerful with a +generous spirit, he dwelt upon the eminent services she might render to +the oppressed of all classes, and also the good influence so attractive +a woman would exert over the mind of the Emperor. 'He has not yet,' he +added, 'found a woman worthy of him, and no one knows what the love of +Napoleon would be, if he attached himself to a pure person,—assuredly +she would obtain a power over him which would be entirely beneficent.'" +If Madame Récamier listened with politic calmness to these disgraceful +overtures, she gave Fouché no encouragement. But he was not easily +discouraged. He planned another interview with her at the house of the +Princess Caroline, who added her persuasions to his. The conversation +turning on Talma, who was then performing at the French theatre, the +Princess put her box, which was opposite the Emperor's, at Madame +Récamier's disposal; she used it twice, and each time the Emperor was +present, and kept his glass so constantly in her direction that it was +generally remarked, and it was reported that she was on the eve of high +favor. Upon further persistence on the part of Fouché, Madame Récamier +gave him a decided refusal. He was vehemently indignant, and left Clichy +never to return thither. In the St. Helena Memorial, Napoleon attributes +Madame Récamier's rejection of his overtures to personal resentment on +account of her father. In 1800 Monsieur Bernard had been appointed +<i>Administrateur des Postes</i>; being implicated in a Royalist conspiracy, +he was imprisoned, but finally set at liberty through the intercession +of Bernadotte. Napoleon believed that Madame Récamier resented her +father's removal from office, but she was too thankful at his release +from prison to expect any further <a name="Page_456" id="Page_456"></a>favors. Her dislike of the Emperor +was caused by his treatment of her friends, more particularly of the one +dearest to her, Madame de Staël.</p> + +<p>The friendship between these women was highly honorable to both, though +the sacrifices were chiefly on Madame Récamier's side. She espoused +Madame de Staël's cause with zeal and earnestness; and when the latter +was banished forty leagues from Paris, she found an asylum with her. +Among the few fragments of autobiography preserved by Madame Lenormant +is this account of the first interview between the friends.</p> + +<p>"One day, which I count an epoch in my life, Monsieur Récamier arrived +at Clichy with a lady whom he did not introduce, but whom he left alone +with me while he joined some other persons in the park. This lady came +about the sale and purchase of a house. Her dress was peculiar. She wore +a morning-robe, and a little dress-hat decorated with flowers. I took +her for a foreigner, and was struck with the beauty of her eyes and of +her expression. I cannot analyze my sensations, but it is certain I was +more occupied in divining who she was than in paying her the usual +courtesies, when she said to me, with a lively and penetrating grace, +that she was truly enchanted to know me; that her father, Monsieur +Necker.... At these words, I recognized Madame de Staël! I did not hear +the rest of her sentence. I blushed. My embarrassment was extreme. I had +just read with enthusiasm her letters on Rousseau, and I expressed what +I felt more by my looks than by my words. She intimidated and attracted +me at the same time. I saw at once that she was a perfectly natural +person, of a superior nature. She, on her side, fixed upon me her great +black eyes, but with a curiosity full of benevolence, and paid me +compliments which would have seemed too exaggerated, had they not +appeared to escape her, thus giving to her words an irresistible +seduction. My embarrassment did me no injury. She understood it, and +expressed a wish to see more of me on her return to Paris, as she was +then on the eve of starting for Coppet. She was at that time only an +apparition in my life, but the impression was a lively one. I thought +only of Madame de Staël, I was so much affected by her strong and ardent +nature."</p> + +<p>The sweet serenity of Madame Récamier's nature soothed the more restless +and tumultuous spirit of her friend. The unaffected veneration, too, of +one so beautiful touched and gratified the woman of genius. Still, this +intimacy was not unmixed with bitterness for Madame de Staël. But it +troubled only her own heart, not the common friendship. She continually +contrasted Madame Récamier's beauty with her own plain appearance, her +friend's power of fascination with her own lesser faculty of +interesting, and she repeatedly declared that Madame Récamier was the +most enviable of human beings. But in comparing the lives of the two, as +they now appear to us, Madame de Staël seems the more fortunate. If her +married life was uncongenial, she had children to love and cherish, to +whom she was fondly attached. Madame Récamier was far more isolated. +Years had made her entirely independent of her husband, and she had no +children upon whom to lavish the wealth of her affection. Her mother's +death left her comparatively alone in the world, for she had neither +brother nor sister, and her father seems to have had but little hold on +her heart, all her love being lavished on her mother. She had a host of +friends, it is true, but the closest friendship is but a poor substitute +for the natural ties of affection. Both these women sighed for what they +had not. The one yearned for love, the other for the liberty of loving. +Madame Récamier was dependent for her enjoyments on society, while +Madame de Staël had rich and manifold resources within herself, which no +caprice of friends could materially affect, and no reverse of fortune +impair. Her poetic imagination and creative thought were inexhaustible +treasures. Solitude could never be irksome to her. Her genius <a name="Page_457" id="Page_457"></a>brought +with it an inestimable blessing. It gave her a purpose in +life,—consequently she was never in want of occupation; and if at +intervals she bitterly felt that heart-loneliness which Mrs. Browning +has so touchingly expressed in verse,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'My father!'—thou hast knowledge, only thou!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How dreary 't is for women to sit still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On winter nights by solitary fires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear the nations praising them far off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too far! ay, praising our quick sense of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our very heart of passionate womanhood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which could not beat so in the verse without<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Being present also in the unkissed lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eyes undried because there's none to ask<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reason they grew moist,"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>in the excitement and ardor of composition such feelings slumbered, +while in the honest and pure satisfaction of work well done they were +for the time extinguished. Madame Récamier, though beautiful and +beloved, had no such precious compensations. She depended for her +happiness upon her friends, and they who rely upon others for their +chief enjoyments must meet with bitter and deep disappointments. Madame +Récamier had great triumphs which secured to her moments of rapture. +When the crowd worshipped her beauty, she probably experienced the same +delirium of joy, the same momentary exultation, that a <i>prima donna</i> +feels when called before an excited and enthusiastic audience. But +satiety and chagrin surely follow such triumphs, and she lived to feel +their hollowness.</p> + +<p>In a letter to her adopted daughter, she says,—"I hope you will be more +happy than I have been"; and she confessed to Sainte-Beuve, that more +than once in her most brilliant days, in the midst of <i>fêtes</i> where she +reigned a queen, she disengaged herself from the crowd surrounding her +and retired to weep in solitude. Surely so sad a woman was not to be +envied.</p> + +<p>Another friend of Madame Récamier's youth, whose friendship in a marked +degree influenced her life, was Matthieu de Montmorency. He was +seventeen years older than she, and may with emphasis be termed her best +friend. A devout Roman Catholic, he awakened and strengthened her +religious convictions, and constantly warned her of the perils +surrounding her. Much as he evidently admired and loved her, he did not +hesitate to utter unwelcome truths. Vicomte, afterward Duc de +Montmorency, belonged to one of the oldest families of France, but, +espousing the Revolutionary cause, he was the first to propose the +abolition of the privileges of the nobility. He was married early in +life to a woman without beauty, to whom he was profoundly indifferent, +and soon separated from her, though from family motives the tie was +renewed in after-years. In his youth he had been gay and dissipated; but +the death of a favorite brother, who fell a victim to the Revolution, +changed and sobered him. From an over-sensibility, he believed himself +to be the cause of his brother's death on account of the part he had +taken in hastening the Revolution, and he strove to atone for this +mistake, as well as for his youthful follies, by a life of austerity and +piety. While his letters testify his great affection for Madame +Récamier, they are entirely free from those lover-like protestations and +declarations of eternal fidelity so characterise of her other masculine +correspondents. He always addressed her as "<i>amiable amis</i>", and his +nearest approach to gallantry is the expression of a hope that "in +prayer their thoughts had often mingled, and might continue so to do." +He ends a long letter of religious counsel with this grave warning:—"Do +what is good and amiable, what will not rend the heart or leave any +regrets behind. But in the name of God renounce all that is unworthy of +you, and which under no circumstances can ever render you happy."</p> + +<p>Adrien de Montmorency, Duke of Laval, if not so near and dear a friend, +was quite as devoted an admirer of Madame Récamier as his cousin +Matthieu. His <a name="Page_458" id="Page_458"></a>son also wore her chains, and frequently marred the +pleasure of his father's visits by his presence. In reference to the +family's devotion, Adrien wrote to her,—"My son is fascinated by you, +and you know that I am so also. It is the fate of the Montmorencys,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Ils ne mouraient pas tous, mais tout étaient frappés.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Adrien was a man of wit, and he had more ability than Matthieu. "Of all +your admirers," writes Madame de Staël, in a letter given in +Châteaubriand's Memoirs, "you know that I prefer Adrien de Montmorency. +I have just received one of his letters, which is remarkable for wit and +grace, and I believe in the durability of his affections, +notwithstanding the charm of his manners. Besides, this word durability +is becoming in me, who have but a secondary place in his heart. But you +are the heroine of all those sentiments out of which grow tragedies and +romances."</p> + +<p>Other admirers succeeded the Montmorencys. The masked balls, fashionable +under the Empire, were occasions for fresh conquests. Madame Récamier +attended them regularly under the protection of an elder brother of her +husband, and had many piquant adventures. Prince Metternich was devoted +to her one season, and when Lent put an end to festivity, he visited her +privately in the morning, that he might not incur the Emperor's +displeasure. Napoleon's animosity had now become marked and positive. On +one occasion, when three of his ministers met accidentally at her house, +he heard of it, and asked petulantly how long since had the council been +held at Madame Récamier's? He was especially jealous of foreign +ministers, and treated with so much haughtiness any who frequented her +<i>salon</i>, that, as a matter of prudence, they saw her only in society or +visited her by stealth. The Duke of Mecklenburg, whom she met at one of +the masked balls, was extremely anxious to keep up her acquaintance. She +declined the honor, alleging the Emperor's jealousy as reason for her +refusal. He persuaded her, however, to grant him an interview, and she +appointed an evening when she did not generally receive visitors. +Stealing into the house in an undignified manner, the Duke was collared +by the <i>concierge</i>, who mistook him for a thief. This ill-fortune did +not deter him, however, from visiting her frequently. Years after, he +wrote,—"Among the precious souvenirs which I owe to you is one I +particularly cherish. It is the eminently noble and generous course you +pursued toward me, when Napoleon had said openly, in the <i>salon</i> of the +Empress Josephine, that he 'should regard as his personal enemy any +foreigner who frequented the <i>salon</i> of Madame Récamier.'"</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier was to feel yet more severely the effects of the +Emperor's displeasure. In the autumn of 1806 the banking-house of +Monsieur Récamier became embarrassed, through financial disorders in +Spain. Their difficulties would have been temporary, had the Bank of +France granted them a loan on good security. This favor was refused, and +the house failed. While the decision of the bank was yet uncertain, +Monsieur Récamier confided to his wife the desperate state of his +affairs, and deputed her to do, the next day, the honors of a large +dinner-party, which could not be postponed, lest suspicion should be +excited. He went into the country, completely overwhelmed, and awaited +there the result of his application. Madame Récamier forced herself to +appear as usual. No one suspected the agony of her mind. She afterwards +said that she felt the whole evening as though she were a prey to some +horrible nightmare. In contrasting the conduct of the husband and wife, +Madame Lenormant is scarcely just to the former. Acutely as Madame +Récamier dreaded the impending ruin, it could not be to her what it was +to her husband. A fearful responsibility rested upon him. The failure of +his house was not only disaster and possible dishonor, but the ruin of +<a name="Page_459" id="Page_459"></a>thousands who had confided in him. A strong intellect might well be +bowed down under the apprehension of such a catastrophe. Women, too, are +proverbially calmer in such emergencies than men. To them it simply +means sacrifice, but to men it is infinitely more than that.</p> + +<p>When the blow fell, Monsieur Récamier met it manfully. He gave up +everything to his creditors, who had so much confidence in his integrity +that they put him at the head of the settlement of liquidation. Madame +Récamier was equally honorable. She sold all her jewels. They disposed +of their plate, and offered the house in the Rue Mont Blanc for sale. As +a purchaser could not immediately be found, they removed to the +ground-floor and let the other stories. This reverse of fortune involved +more than personal sacrifices. Madame Récamier was both generous and +charitable, and had dispensed her benefits with an open hand. She had, +with the aid of friends, founded a school for orphans, and had numerous +claims upon her bounty. To be restricted in her charities must have been +a sore trial. Further mortifications she was spared, for she was treated +with greater deference than ever. Her friends redoubled their +attentions, her door was besieged by callers, who vied with each other +in showing sympathy and respect. Junot was one of her firmest friends at +this crisis. Witnessing, in Paris, the attentions she received, he spoke +of them to the Emperor, when he rejoined him in Germany. He was checked +by Napoleon, who pettishly remarked that they could not have paid more +homage to the widow of a marshal of France fallen on the field of +battle.</p> + +<p>Junot was not the only general of the Emperor who was concerned at her +reverse of fortune. Bernadotte, whom Sainte-Beuve numbers among her +lovers, and whose letters confirm this idea, wrote to her from Germany, +expressing his sympathy. Madame de Staël was sensibly afflicted. "Dear +Juliette," she writes, "we have enjoyed the luxury which surrounded you. +Your fortune has been ours, and I feel ruined because you are no longer +rich."</p> + +<p>Another anxiety now weighed heavily upon Madame Récamier. Her mother's +health had long been failing, and the misfortunes of her son-in-law were +more than her shattered constitution could bear. She died six months +after the failure, leaving her fortune to her daughter, though her +husband was still living. To the last she was devoted to dress and +society. Throughout her illness she insisted upon being becomingly +dressed every day, and supported to a couch, where she received her +friends for several hours.</p> + +<p>After Madame Bernard's death, her daughter passed six months in +retirement, but, her grief affecting her health, she was induced by +Madame de Staël to visit her at Coppet. Here she met the exiled Prince +Augustus of Prussia, nephew of Frederick the Great. We find in the +"Seaforth Papers," lately published in England, an allusion to this +Prince, who visited London in the train of the allied sovereigns in +1814. A lady writes, "All the ladies are desperately in love with +him,—his eyes are so fine, his moustaches so black, and his teeth so +white." Madame Lenormant describes him as extremely handsome, brave, +chivalric, and loyal. He was twenty-four when he fell passionately in +love with Madame de Staël's beautiful guest, to whom he at once proposed +a divorce and marriage. We give Madame Lenormant's account of his +attachment.</p> + +<p>"Three months passed in the enchantments of a passion by which Madame +Récamier was profoundly touched, if she did not share it. Everything +conspired to favor Prince Augustus. The imagination of Madame de Staël, +easily seduced by anything poetical and singular, made her an eloquent +auxiliary of the Prince. The place itself, those beautiful shores of +Lake Geneva, peopled by romantic phantoms, had a tendency to bewilder +the judgment. Madame Récamier was moved. For a moment she welcomed an +offer of marriage which was not only <a name="Page_460" id="Page_460"></a>a proof of the passion, but of the +esteem of a prince of a royal house, deeply impressed by the weight of +its own prerogatives and the greatness of its rank. Vows were exchanged. +The tie which united the beautiful Juliette to Monsieur Récamier was one +which the Catholic Church itself proclaimed null. Yielding to the +sentiment with which she inspired the Prince, Juliette wrote to Monsieur +Récamier, requesting the rupture of their union. He replied that he +would consent to a divorce, if it was her wish, but he made an appeal to +her feelings. He recalled the affection he had shown her from childhood. +He even expressed regret at having respected her susceptibilities and +repugnances, thus preventing a closer bond of union, which would have +made all thoughts of a separation impossible. Finally he requested, +that, if Madame Récamier persisted in her project, the divorce should +not take place in Paris, but out of France, where he would join her to +arrange matters."</p> + +<p>This letter had the desired effect. Madame Récamier concluded not to +abandon her husband, and returned to Paris, but without undeceiving the +Prince, who started for Berlin. According to her biographer, Madame +Récamier trusted that absence would soften the disappointment she had in +store for him; but, if this was the case, the means she took to +accomplish it were very inadequate. She sent him her portrait soon after +her return to Paris, which the Prince acknowledged in a letter, of which +the following is an extract:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>April 24th</i>, 1808.</p> + +<p>"I hope that my letter of the 31st has already been received. I +could only very feebly express to you the happiness I felt on the +receipt of your last, but it will give you some idea of my +sensations when reading it, and in receiving your portrait. For +whole hours I looked at this enchanting picture, dreaming of a +happiness which must surpass the most delicious reveries of +imagination. What fate can be compared to that of the man whom you +love?"</p></div> + +<p>When Madame Récamier subsequently wrote to him more candidly, the Prince +was astonished. "Your letter was a thunderbolt," he replied; but he +would not accept her decision, and claimed the right of seeing her +again. Three years passed in uncertainty, and in 1811 Madame Récamier +consented to meet him at Schaffhausen; but she did not fulfil her +engagement, giving the sentence of exile which had just been passed upon +her as an excuse. The Prince, after waiting in vain, wrote indignantly +to Madame de Staël, "I hope I am now cured of a foolish love, which I +have nourished for four years." But when the news of her exile reached +him, he wrote to her expressing his sympathy, but at the same time +reproaching her for her breach of faith. "After four years of absence I +hoped to see you again, and this exile seemed to furnish you with a +pretext for coming to Switzerland. But you have cruelly deceived me. I +cannot conceive, if you could not or would not see me, why you did not +condescend to tell me so, and I might have been spared a useless journey +of three hundred leagues."</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier's conduct to the Prince, even viewed in the light of her +biographer's representations, is scarcely justifiable. Madame Möhl +attempts to defend her. She alleges, that, at the time Prince Augustus +was paying his addresses to her, he had contracted a left-handed +marriage at Berlin. Even if this story be true, there is no evidence +that Madame Récamier was then acquainted with the fact, and if she had +been, there was only the more reason for breaking with the Prince at +once, instead of keeping him so long alternating between hope and +despair. In speaking of him to Madame Möhl, Madame Récamier said that he +was desperately in love, but he was very gallant and had many other +fancies. The impression she made upon him, however, seems to have been +lasting. Three months before his death, in 1845, he wrote to her that +the ring she had given him should follow him to the tomb, and her +portrait, painted by Gérard, was, at his death, returned <a name="Page_461" id="Page_461"></a>to her by his +orders. Either the Prince had two portraits of Madame Récamier, or else +Madame Lenormant's statements are contradictory. She says that her aunt +sent him her portrait soon after her return to Paris, and the date of +the Prince's letter acknowledging the favor confirms this statement. It +is afterward asserted that Madame Récamier gave him her portrait in +exchange for one of Madame de Staël, painted by Gérard, as Corinne.</p> + +<p>The next important event in Madame Récamier's life is her exile, caused +by a visit she paid Madame de Staël when the surveillance exercised over +the latter by the government had become more rigorous. Montmorency had +been already exiled for the same offence. But, disregarding this +warning, Madame Récamier persisted in going to Coppet, and though she +only remained one night there, she was exiled forty leagues from Paris.</p> + +<p>She bore her exile with dignity. She would not solicit a recall, and she +forbade those of her friends, who, like Junot, were on familiar terms +with the Emperor, to mention her name in his presence. She doubtless +felt all its deprivations, even more keenly than Madame de Staël, though +she made no complaints. Her means were narrow, as she does not appear to +have been in the full possession of her mother's fortune until after the +Restoration. She had lived, with scarcely an interruption, a life of +society; now she was thrown on her own resources, with little except +music to cheer and enliven her. It was not only the loss of Paris that +exiles under the Empire had to endure. They were subjected to an +annoying surveillance by the police, and even the friends who paid them +any attention became objects of suspicion.</p> + +<p>The first eight months of her exile Madame Récamier passed at Chalons. +She had for companionship a little niece of her husband's, whom she had +previously adopted. At the suggestion of Madame de Staël, she removed to +Lyons, where Monsieur Récamier had many influential relatives. Here she +formed an intimacy with a companion in misfortune, the high-spirited +Duchess of Chevreuse, whose proud refusal to enter into the service of +the captive Spanish Queen was the cause of her exile. "I can be a +prisoner," she replied, when the offer was made to her, "but I will +never be a jailer."</p> + +<p>Though the society of friends offered Madame Récamier many diversions, +she was often a prey to melancholy. The Duchess D'Abrantes, who saw her +here, casually mentions her dejection in her Memoirs, and Châteaubriand +says that the separation from Madame de Staël weighed heavily upon her +spirits. He also alludes to a coolness between the friends, caused by +Madame de Staël's marriage with Monsieur de Rocca. The desire to keep +this connection secret induced Madame de Staël to write to her friend, +declining a proposed visit from her, on the plea that she was about to +leave Switzerland. Châteaubriand asserts that Madame Récamier felt this +slight severely, but Madame Lenormant makes no allusion to the +circumstance.</p> + +<p>At Lyons Madame Récamier met the author, Monsieur Ballanche. He was +presented to her by Camille Jordan, and, in the words of her biographer, +"from that moment Monsieur Ballanche belonged to Madame Récamier." He +was the least exacting of any of her friends. All he asked was to devote +his life to her, and to be allowed to worship her. His friends called +her his Beatrice. As he was an extremely awkward and ugly man, the two +might have been termed with equal propriety "Beauty and the Beast." +Monsieur Ballanche's face had been frightfully disfigured by an +operation, and though his friends thought that his fine eyes and +expression redeemed his appearance, he was, to strangers, particularly +unprepossessing. He was, moreover, very absent-minded. When he joined +Madame Récamier at Rome, she noticed, during an evening walk with him, +that he had no hat. In reply to her questions, he quietly said, "Oh, +yes, he had left it at Alexandria." He had, in fact, forgotten it; and +it never occurred <a name="Page_462" id="Page_462"></a>to him to replace it by another. Madame Lenormant +relates an anecdote of his second interview with Madame Récamier, which +is illustrative of his simplicity.</p> + +<p>"He found her alone, working on embroidery. The conversation at first +languished, but soon became interesting,—for, though Monsieur Ballanche +had no chit-chat, he talked extremely well on subjects which interested +him, such as philosophy, morals, politics, and literature. +Unfortunately, his shoes had an odor about them which was very +disagreeable to Madame Récamier. It finally made her faint, and, +overcoming with difficulty the embarrassment she felt in speaking of so +prosaic an annoyance, she timidly avowed to him that the smell of his +shoes was unpleasant. Monsieur Ballanche apologized, humbly regretting +that she had not spoken before, and then went out of the room. He +returned in a few moments without his shoes, resumed his seat, and +continued the conversation. Other persons came in, and noticing him in +this situation, he said, by way of explanation, 'The smell of my shoes +annoyed Madame Récamier, so I left them in the antechamber.'"</p> + +<p>After the death of his father, Monsieur Ballanche left Lyons, and passed +the rest of his life in the society of her whom he worshipped with so +single-minded a devotion.</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier subsequently left Lyons for Italy, and the next new +admirer whose attentions we have to chronicle is Canova. During her stay +in Rome he wrote a note to her every morning, and the heat of the city +growing excessive, he invited her to share his lodgings at Albano. +Taking with her her niece and waiting-maid, she became his guest for two +months. A Roman artist painted a picture of this retreat, with Madame +Récamier sitting near a window, reading. Canova sent the picture to her +in 1816. When she left Rome for a short absence, Canova modelled two +busts of her from memory, in the hope of giving her a pleasant +surprise,—one with the hair simply arranged, the other with a veil. +Madame Récamier was not pleased, and her annoyance did not escape the +penetrating eye of the artist. She tried in vain to efface the +unfavorable impression he had received, but he only half forgave her. He +added a crown of olives to the one with the veil, and when she asked him +about it, he replied, "It did not please you, so I made a Beatrice of +it."</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier left Rome for Naples when Napoleon's power was on the +decline. The sovereigns Murat and Caroline Bonaparte treated her with +marked distinction, especially the Queen, who was not only gracious, but +confidential. Madame Récamier was with Caroline the day that Murat +pledged himself to the allied cause. He returned to the palace in great +agitation, and, stating the case to her without telling her that he had +already made his decision, asked what course he ought to pursue. She +replied, "You are a Frenchman, Sire. It is to France that you owe +allegiance." Murat turned pale, and, throwing open the window, showed +her the English fleet entering the harbor, and exclaimed, "I am, then, a +traitor!" He threw himself on a couch, burst into tears, covering his +face with his hands. Madame Récamier's candor did not affect their +friendly relations. When the Queen acted as Regent in the absence of her +husband, she signed the pardon of a condemned criminal at her request, +and, upon her return to Rome, wrote, begging her to come back to Naples. +She did so, though her stay was necessarily short. Paris was again open +to her by the overthrow of Napoleon, and she hastened to rejoin her +friends. Still she was not unmindful of the princess who had shown her +such marks of friendship. She did many kind services for her in Paris, +and after the execution of Murat, when Caroline lived in obscurity as +the Countess of Lipona, she paid her a visit, which cheered the +neglected woman whose prosperity had been of such short duration.</p> + +<p>The Restoration was the beginning of a new era in the life of Madame +Récamier, <a name="Page_463" id="Page_463"></a>one even more brilliant and animated, if not so thoughtlessly +gay as that of her youth. Her husband had, in a measure, retrieved his +fallen fortunes. She was in possession of her mother's property, able to +have a box at the Opera, and to keep her carriage, which was a +necessity, as she never walked in the street. Her exile had made her +more famous, while her joy at being restored to Paris and her friends +lent another charm to the seduction of her manners. Her association with +the Montmorencys, who were in high favor with the new court, increased +her political influence. She held nightly receptions after the Opera, +and her <i>salon</i> was neutral ground, the resort of persons of all +parties. Paris was full of foreigners of distinction, who were curious +to know a person of so much celebrity, and they swelled the ranks of her +admirers. Among them was the Duke of Wellington, who, if Madame +Récamier's vanity did not mislead her, was willing and anxious to wear +her chains. But she never forgave his boastful speech after the Battle +of Waterloo. Remembering her personal dislike of the Emperor, and +forgetting that she was a Frenchwoman, he said to her, on his return to +Paris, "<i>Je l'ai bien battu</i>." The next time he called he was not +admitted. The Duke complained to Madame de Staël, and when he next met +Madame Récamier in society treated her with coldness, and devoted +himself to a young English lady. They rarely met afterward, though the +Duke came once to the Abbaye-aux-Bois.</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier had at this time a much more earnest admirer in Benjamin +Constant. As common friends of Madame de Staël, they had been acquainted +for years, and had played together in private theatricals at Coppet. +Still it was not until 1814, when Madame Récamier had an interview with +him in regard to the affairs of the King and Queen of Naples, that the +relations between them assumed a serious aspect. He left her at the end +of this interview violently enamored. According to Madame Lenormant, +Benjamin Constant had not the slightest encouragement to justify his +madness, but it is clear from other testimony that Madame Récamier was +not free from blame in respect to him. Sainte-Beuve hints that the +subject is unpleasant, and summarily dismisses it; and Madame Möhl, ever +ready to defend Madame Récamier, acknowledges that in this case she was +to blame, and that Madame Récamier thought so herself, and wished +Constant's letters to be published after her death, in order to justify +him. She adds, that it was a mistake not to publish them, as their +suppression has given occasion for surmises utterly false. There is +nothing in the "Souvenirs" to explain either the vague hints of +Sainte-Beuve or the obscure allusions of Madame Möhl; and the +biographical sketches of Constant throw no light upon the subject: they +are chiefly narratives of his political career.</p> + +<p>If we except Châteaubriand, who was more loved than loving, Benjamin +Constant stands last on the list of Madame Récamier's conquests; for, +after the author of "Atala" and of the "Genius of Christianity" crossed +her path, we hear of no more flirtations, no more despairing lovers. +Châteaubriand and Madame Récamier first met, familiarly, at the +death-bed of Madame de Staël, whose loss they mutually deplored. It was +not, however, until the next year, 1818, when Madame Récamier had +retired to the Abbaye-aux-Bois, that the acquaintance ripened into +intimacy. A second reverse of fortune was the cause of this retirement, +to which we shall briefly refer before entering upon the more +complicated subject of this friendship.</p> + +<p>New and unfortunate speculations on the part of Monsieur Récamier had +not only left him penniless, but had to some extent involved his wife's +fortune, which she had confided to him. In this emergency, Madame +Récamier acted with her usual promptitude and decision. She had two +objects in view in her plans for the future,—economy, and a separation +from her husband. An asylum in the Abbaye-aux-Bois secured to her both +advantages.<a name="Page_464" id="Page_464"></a> She established her husband and father in the vicinity of +the Convent, and they with Ballanche dined with her every day. From +Monsieur Récamier she exacted a promise to engage in no more +speculations, while she supplied his wants. "She anticipated his needs +with a filial affection, and until the last studied to make his life +mild and pleasant,—a singularly easy task on account of his optimism." +Monsieur Récamier had need to be a philosopher. The nominal husband of a +beautiful woman, with whom he had shared his prosperity, he had not only +to bear her indifference, but to see her form friendships and make plans +from which he was excluded. When his misfortunes left him a dependent +upon her bounty, he was a mere cipher in her household,—kindly treated, +but with a kindness that savored more of toleration than affection. +Monsieur Récamier died at the advanced age of eighty. Shortly before his +death, his wife obtained permission from the Convent to remove him to +the Abbaye, where he was tenderly cared for by her in his last moments.</p> + +<p>The retirement forced upon Madame Récamier by her husband's reverses was +far from being seclusion. "<i>La petite cellule</i>" as Châteaubriand called +her retreat, was as much frequented as her brilliant <i>salons</i> in Paris +had been, and she was even more highly considered. Châteaubriand visited +her regularly at three o'clock; they passed an hour alone, when other +persons favored by him were admitted. In the evening her door was open +to all. She no longer mingled in society, people came to her, and +nothing could be more delightful than her receptions. All parties and +all ranks met there, and her <i>salon</i> gradually became a literary centre +and focus. Delphine Gay (Madame Émile de Girardin) recited her first +verses there, Rachel declaimed there, and Lamartine's "Méditations" were +read and applauded there before publication. Among distinguished +strangers who sought admittance to the Abbaye, we notice the names of +Humboldt, Sir Humphry Davy, and Maria Edgeworth. De Tocqueville, +Monsieur Ampére, and Sainte-Beuve were frequent visitors. Peace and +serenity reigned there, for Madame Récamier softened asperities and +healed dissensions by the mere magnetism of her presence. "It was +Eurydice," said Sainte-Beuve, "playing the part of Orpheus." But while +she was the presiding genius of this varied and brilliant society, +Châteaubriand was the controlling spirit. Everybody deferred to him, if +not for his sake, then for the sake of her whose greatest happiness was +to see him pleased and amused.</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier has frequently been called cold and heartless. English +reviewers have doubted whether she was capable of any warm, deep +attachment. Sainte-Beuve even, with all his insight, believed that the +desire to be loved had satisfied her heart, and that she herself had +never loved. But he formed this opinion before the publication of Madame +Récamier's memoirs. Châteaubriand's letters, together with other +corroborating facts, warrant a totally different conclusion. It is very +evident that Madame Récamier loved Châteaubriand with all the strength +of a reticent and constant nature. That he was the only man she did +love, we think is also clear. Prince Augustus captivated her for a time, +but her conduct toward him, in contrast with that toward Châteaubriand, +proves that her heart had not then been touched. The one she treated +with caprice and coldness, the other with unvarying consideration and +tenderness. There is no reason to conclude that the Prince ever made her +unhappy, while it is certain that Châteaubriand made her miserable, and +a mere friendship, however deep, does not render a woman wretched. This +attachment not only shaped and colored the remainder of Madame +Récamier's life, but it threatened at one time to completely subvert all +other interests. She who was so equable, such a perfect mistress of +herself, so careful to give every one due meed of attention, became +fitful and indifferent. Her friends saw the change with alarm, and<a name="Page_465" id="Page_465"></a> +Montmorency remonstrated bitterly with her. "I was extremely troubled +and ashamed," he writes, "at the sudden change in your manner toward +others and myself. Ah, Madame, the evil that your best friends have been +dreading has made rapid progress in a few weeks! Does not this thought +make you tremble? Ah, turn, while yet there is time, to Him who gives +strength to them who pray for it! He can cure all, repair all. God and a +generous heart are all-sufficient. I implore Him, from the bottom of my +heart, to sustain and enlighten you."</p> + +<p>Ballanche, equally concerned and jealous, strove to interest her in +literature, and urged her to translate Petrarch. Madame Récamier +speedily recovered herself. She listened graciously to the admonitions +of Montmorency, and she consented to undertake Petrarch, but made little +progress in the work. Still, as far as her feelings for Châteaubriand +were concerned, the efforts of her friends were in vain. He occupied the +first place in her affections, and she regulated her time and pursuits +to please and accommodate him, though for a long time he but poorly +repaid her devotion. He admired and perhaps loved her, as well as he was +capable of loving anybody but himself, but it was not until +disappointments had sobered him that he fully appreciated her worth. At +the time their intimacy commenced he was the pet and favorite of the +whole French nation. "The Genius of Christianity" had been received with +acclamations by a people just recovering from the wild skepticism of the +Revolution. The reaction had taken place, the Goddess of Reason was +dethroned, and the burning words and vivid eloquence of Châteaubriand +appealed at once to the heart and the imagination of his countrymen. +They did not criticise, they only admired. Politically he was also a +rising man. The world, or at least the French world, expected great +things from the writer of the pamphlet, "De Buonaparte et des Bourbons." +His manners were courtly and distinguished, and women especially +flattered and courted him. Their attentions fostered his natural vanity, +and his fancy, if not his heart, wandered from Madame Récamier, and she +knew it. The tables were turned: she who had been so passionately +beloved was now to feel some of the pangs she had all her life been +unconsciously inflicting. Wounded and jealous, she stooped to +reproaches. The following extracts from letters addressed to her by +Châteaubriand while he was ambassador at London clearly betray the state +of her mind.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I will not ask you again for an explanation, since you will not +give it. I have written you by the last courier a letter which +ought to content you, if you still love me."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Do not delude yourself with the idea that you can fly from me. I +will seek you everywhere. But if I go to the Congress, it will be +an occasion to put you to the proof. I shall see then if you keep +your promises."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"<i>Allons</i>,—I much prefer to understand your folly than to read +mysterious and angry notes. I comprehend now, or at least I think +I do. It is apparently that woman of whom the friend of the Queen +of Sweden has spoken to you. But, tell me, have I the means to +prevent Vernet, Mademoiselle Levert, who writes me declarations, +and thirty <i>artistes</i>, men and women, from coming to England in +order to get money? And if I have been culpable, do you think that +such fancies can do you the least injury, or take from you +anything which I have given you? You have been told a thousand +falsehoods. Herein I recognize my friends. But tranquillize +yourself: the lady leaves, and will never return to England. But +perhaps you would like me to remain here on that account: a very +useless precaution; for, whatever happens, Congress or no +Congress, I cannot live so long separated from you, and am +determined to see you at any cost."</p></div><p><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466"></a></p> + +<p>The letters from which we quote are very characteristic of their author. +While protesting eternal fidelity, and declaring his intention to +renounce the world and live but for Madame Récamier, he begs her at the +same time to use all her influence to get him sent to the approaching +Congress at Vienna as one of the French representatives,—an appointment +which would necessarily separate him still longer from her. "<i>Songez au +Congrès</i>" is the refrain to all his poetical expressions of attachment.</p> + +<p>It is to be hoped that Madame Récamier did not perceive the +inconsistency of which he was totally unconscious. Though Châteaubriand +was perpetually analyzing himself and his emotions, no man had less +self-knowledge. He was too much absorbed by his "self-study, +self-wonder, and self-worship," as one of his critics styles his +egotism, to be clear-sighted. He had generous impulses, but no uniform +generosity of heart; and while glorying in the few ostentatious +sacrifices he made to pet ideas, he had no perception of the nature of +self-sacrifice. Much, therefore, as he was gratified at the devotion of +a woman of Madame Récamier's position and influence, he did not value it +sufficiently to make any sacrifices to secure it, and consequently she +was continually annoyed and distressed. Her life was also embittered by +his political differences with Mathieu de Montmorency, to whom, by means +which can scarcely be deemed honorable, he had succeeded as Minister of +Foreign Affairs. The confidential friend of both parties, her position +was a very difficult one; but she was equal to the emergency. She +satisfied each, without being false to, or unmindful of, the interests +of either.</p> + +<p>But her relations to Châteaubriand were fast becoming intolerable, and +she resolved to break her chains and leave Paris. He regarded this +resolution as a mere threat. "No," he wrote, "you have not bid farewell +to all earthly joys. If you go, you will return." She did go, however, +taking with her Ballanche and her adopted daughter, whose delicate +health was the ostensible cause of her departure. What it cost her to +leave Paris may well be conjectured, and nothing is more indicative of +her power of self-control than this voluntary withdrawal from a +companionship which fascinated while it tortured her. Châteaubriand sent +letters after her full of protestations and upbraidings; but after a +while he wrote less frequently, and for a year they ceased to +correspond. To a friend who urged her to return Madame Récamier +wrote,—"If I return at present to Paris, I shall again meet with the +agitations that induced me to leave it. If Monsieur Châteaubriand were +unhappy on my account, I should be grieved; if he were not, I should +have another trouble, which I am determined henceforth to avoid. I find +here diversion in art, and a support in religion which shall shelter me +from all these storms. It is painful to me to remain absent six months +longer from my friends; but it is better to make this sacrifice, and I +confess to you that I feel it to be necessary."</p> + +<p>There was much to make a stay in Italy attractive to Madame Récamier, if +she could have forgotten Châteaubriand, Her old admirer, the Duc de +Laval, was ambassador at Rome, and put his horses and servants at her +disposal. She renewed her acquaintance with the celebrated Duchess of +Devonshire, (Lady Elizabeth Foster,) whose career was quite as singular +as her own, while it was more open to reproach. The Duchess was a +liberal patron of the fine arts, and the devoted friend of Cardinal +Gonsalvi, from the shock of whose death she never recovered. Madame +Récamier also found at Rome the Duchess of Saint-Leu, whom she had +slightly known when she was Queen of Holland. For political reasons it +was unwise for them to visit openly, so they contrived private and +romantic interviews. Their friendship seems to have been close and +sincere. Subsequently, Madame Récamier was able, through her political +influence, to serve Hortense in many ways. She also took an interest in +her son Louis Napoleon, <a name="Page_467" id="Page_467"></a>and visited him in prison after his +unsuccessful attempt at Strasbourg, which kindness he afterwards +acknowledged in several notes preserved by Madame Lenormant.</p> + +<p>But while accepting all the diversions offered her by the pleasant +society at, Rome, Madame Récamier was not unmindful of Châteaubriand. +She ordered from the artist Tenerani a bas-relief, the subject to be +taken from Châteaubriand's poem of "The Martyrs." She wrote constantly +to her friends in Paris for intelligence respecting him, and watched his +course from afar with interest and anxiety. It was not one to +tranquillize her. He had quarrelled with the President of the Council, +Villèle; and being also personally disliked by the King, he was +peremptorily dismissed, and he bore this disgrace with neither dignity +nor composure. Turning his pen against the government, he did as much by +his persistent savage opposition, clothed as it was in the language of +superb invective, to bring about the final overthrow of the elder +Bourbon dynasty, as either the stupid arrogance of Charles X. or the +dogged tyranny of Polignac. Yet no man was more concerned and disgusted +than he was at the result of the Revolution of 1830. So far true to his +convictions, he refused office under Louis Philippe, priding himself +greatly on his allegiance to the exiled princes, when neither his +loyalty nor his services could be of any use. The truth is, that, though +Châteaubriand was fond of meddling and making a noise, he had none of +the fundamental qualities of a statesman. By the inspiration of his +genius, he could seize the right moment for making a telling speech, or +he could promulgate in a pamphlet a striking truth, calculated to +electrify and convince. But he could not be calmly deliberate. Always +enthusiastic, he was never temperate. He was the slave of his +partialities and prejudices. Harriet Martineau, who for keen analysis +and nice discrimination of character has few equals among historians, +characterizes him as "the wordy Châteaubriand," and Guizot says of him, +"It was his illusion to think himself the equal of the most consummate +statesmen, and his soul was filled with bitterness because men would not +admit him to be the rival of Napoleon as well as of Milton." It was this +bitterness with which Madame Récamier had to contend, for his literary +successes did not console him for his political disappointments, and his +temper, never very equable, was now more variable and uncertain.</p> + +<p>After an absence of eighteen months she returned to Paris. She apprised +Châteaubriand of her arrival by a note. He came immediately to see her, +and was rapturous with delight. No word of reproach passed between them, +and he fell at once into his old habits. From this time his behavior was +respectful and devoted. Absence and his disappointments had taught him +the inestimable value of such a friend. She daily became more and more +necessary to him. After his resignation of the Roman embassy in 1829, +which had been secured to him through her instrumentality, he no longer +engaged actively in politics, and, deprived of the stimulus of ambition, +he looked to her for excitement. She encouraged his literary exertions, +drew him out from his fits of depression, and soothed his wounded +self-love. This was no light task; for Châteaubriand's self-complacency +was not of that imperturbable sort which, however intolerable to others, +has at least the merit of keeping its possessor content and tranquil. +With him it partook more of the nature of egotism than of self-conceit, +and it therefore made him always restless and continually dissatisfied. +But no effort was too great for Madame Récamier's devotion. Her friends +looked upon her sacrifices with feelings of mingled regret and +admiration, but she herself was unconscious of them. They were simply a +labor of love; and much as her tranquillity must have been disturbed at +times by the caprices and exactions of this moody, melancholy man, she +was probably happy in being allowed to sacrifice herself. Of <a name="Page_468" id="Page_468"></a>the +success of her efforts Sainte-Beuve thus gracefully speaks:—"Madame de +Maintenon was never more ingenious in amusing Louis XIV. than Madame +Récamier in interesting Châteaubriand. 'I have always remarked,' said +Boileau, on returning from Versailles, 'that, when the conversation does +not turn on himself, the King directly gets tired, and is either ready +to yawn or to go away.' Every great poet, when he is growing old, is a +little like Louis XIV. in this respect. Madame Récamier had each day a +thousand pleasant contrivances to excite and flatter him. She assembled +from all quarters friends for him,—new admirers. She chained us all to +the feet of her idol with links of gold."</p> + +<p>One of her most successful efforts in amusing him was the reading of +"Les Mémoires d'Outre-Tombe" to a select and admiring audience at the +Abbaye. He first read them in private to Madame Récamier, who passed +judgment upon them, and they were then read aloud by M. Charles +Lenormant. This device worked like a charm; everybody applauded, and the +author was content. The personal interest attached to the chief parties +concerned, no doubt, made these readings very delightful. But it would +now be impossible for any reader to be enthusiastic about the Memoirs +themselves. Out of France it would be difficult to find a more +egotistical piece of self-portraiture. Châteaubriand is not quite so +ostentatious in his egotism as the Prince de Ligne, who headed the +chapters in his "Mémoires et Mélanges," "De moi pendant le jour," "De +moi pendant la nuit," "De moi encore," "Mémoirs pour mon cœur"; still +he parades himself on every possible occasion, and not always to his own +advantage. His conduct in passing himself off as a single man in an +English family who were kind to him during his exile, thereby engaging +the daughter's affections, is entirely inexcusable. That a person of +Madame Récamier's good judgment did not perceive the discredit that must +attach to such revelations is only to be accounted for by supposing her +blind to Châteaubriand's follies. But with all her partiality, it is +still surprising that she should have given her sanction to his +deliberate and cold analysis of the character of his parents, and his +equally heartless and selfish reflections on his marriage.</p> + +<p>Châteaubriand married simply to please his sisters, feeling that he "had +none of the qualifications of a husband," and for years he seemed +entirely oblivious of his wife's existence. After he gave up his +wandering life, and became distinguished, he treated her with more +consideration. Madame de Châteaubriand was a pretty, delicate woman, of +quick natural intelligence. M. Danielo, Châteaubriand's secretary, has +written an interesting sketch of her, which is affixed to her husband's +memoirs. She was a person of eccentric habits, but of a warm heart and +lively sensibilities, and was devoted to her religious duties and the +Infirmary of Maria Theresa. She professed a great contempt for +literature, and asserted that she had never read a line of her husband's +works; but this was regarded as an affectation. Madame de Châteaubriand +was not an amiable person, but very frank and sincere. She often +reproached herself for her faults and love of contradiction. Though she +appears to have loved her husband, she was not blind to his weaknesses, +and he was afraid of her sallies. So vain and sensitive a man could not +feel comfortable in the society of a woman of her keen penetration, and +her wit was not always tempered by discretion. Madame Récamier gained by +the contrast. She believed in him, and "there are few things so +pleasant," says a writer in Fraser, "as to have a woman at hand that +believes in you." Madame Récamier's insight never disturbed +Châteaubriand, for it was of the heart, not of the intellect. It was not +a critical analysis that probes and dissects, but a sympathy that +cheered and tranquillized. There could be but little in common between +two such women, though they were on friendly terms; and when +Châteaubriand <a name="Page_469" id="Page_469"></a>left his wife in Paris, he always commended her to Madame +Récamier's care. On one occasion he writes,—"I must again request you +to go and see Madame de Châteaubriand, who complains that she has not +seen you. What would you have? Since you have become associated in my +life, it is necessary to share it fully."</p> + +<p>There is nothing to indicate Madame Récamier's sentiments toward the +wife of her friend, except a significant passage in one of +Châteaubriand's letters:—"Your judgments are very severe on the Rue du +Bac.<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> But think of the difference of habit. If you look upon her +occupations as trifles, she may on her side think the same with regard +to yours. It is only necessary to change the point of view."</p> + +<p>Madame de Châteaubriand died in February, 1847, from the effects of +dieting. A few months after her death her husband offered himself in +marriage to Madame Récamier, who rejected him. "Why should we marry?" +she said. "There can be no impropriety in my taking care of you at our +age. If you find solitude oppressive, I am willing to live with you. The +world, I am confident, will do justice to the purity of our friendship, +and sanction all my efforts to render your old age comfortable and +happy. If we were younger, I would not hesitate,—I would accept with +joy the right to consecrate my life to you. Tears and blindness have +given me that right. Let us change nothing."</p> + +<p>We have heard this refusal of Madame Récamier's urged as a proof that +she did not love Châteaubriand; but when we consider their respective +ages at the time, this objection has little weight. Châteaubriand was +seventy-nine; Madame Récamier seventy. The former was tottering on the +brink of the grave. He had lost the use of his limbs, and his mind was +visibly failing. Madame Récamier was keenly sensible of the decay of his +faculties, though she succeeded so well in concealing the fact from +others that few of the habitual visitors at the Abbaye recognized its +extent. The reason she gave to her friends for refusing him was +undoubtedly the true one. She said that his daily visit to her was his +only diversion, and he would lose that, if she married him.</p> + +<p>The record of these last years of Madame Récamier's life is +inexpressibly touching, telling as it does of self-denial, patient +suffering, and silent devotion. To avert the blindness which was +gradually stealing upon her, she submitted to an operation, which might +have been successful, had she obeyed the injunctions of her physicians. +But Ballanche lay dying in the opposite house, and, true to the noble +instincts of her heart, she could not let the friend who had loved her +so long and well die alone. She crossed the street, and took her place +by his bedside, thus sealing her own fate, for all hopes of recovering +her sight were lost. Her health also was extremely delicate; but, much +as she needed quiet and repose, she kept up her relations with society +and held her receptions for Châteaubriand's sake. But both their lives +were fast approaching to a close. Châteaubriand died on the 4th of July, +1848. For some time before his death he was speechless, but kept his +dying eyes fixed upon Madame Récamier. She could not see him, and this +dark, dreary silence filled her soul with despair.</p> + +<p>Madame Récamier shed no tears over her loss, and uttered no +lamentations. She received the condolences of her friends with +gratitude, and strove to interest herself in their pursuits. But a +deadly paleness, which never left her, spread over her face, and "the +sad smile on her lips was heart-breaking." Sightless and sad, it was +time for her to die. Madame de Staël and Montmorency, the friends of her +youth, had long since departed. Ballanche was gone, and now +Châteaubriand. She survived the latter only eleven months. Stricken with +cholera the following summer, her illness was short, but severe, and her +last words to Madame Lenormant, who bent over her, <a name="Page_470" id="Page_470"></a>were, "<i>Nous nous +reverrons,—nous nous reverrons</i>."</p> + +<p>So impalpable was the attraction that brought the world to the feet of +Madame Récamier that it is interesting to analyze it. It did not lie in +her beauty and wealth alone; for she lost the one, while time blighted +the other. Nor was it due to power of will; for she was not great +intellectually. And had she been a person of strong convictions, she +would never have been so universally popular. As it was, she pleased +equally persons of every shade of opinion and principle. Her instinctive +coquetry can partly account for her sway over men, but not over women. +What, then, was the secret of her influence? It lay in the subtile power +of a marvellous tact. This tact had its roots deep in her nature. It was +part and parcel of herself, the distinguishing trait in a rare +combination of qualities. Though nurtured and ripened by experience, it +was not the offspring of art. It was an effect, not a cause,—not simply +the result of an intense desire to please, regulated by a fine intuitive +perception, but of higher, finer characteristics, such as natural +sweetness of temper, kindness of heart, and forgetfulness of self. Her +successes were the triumph of impulse rather than of design. In order to +please she did not study character, she divined it. Keenly alive to +outward influences, and losing in part her own personality when coming +in contact with that of others, she readily adapted herself to their +moods,—and her apprehension was quick, if not profound. It is always +gratifying to feel one's self understood, and every person who talked +with Madame Récamier enjoyed this pleasant consciousness. No one felt a +humiliating sense of inferiority in her presence, and this was owing as +much to the character of her intellect as to her tact. Partial friends +detected genius in her conversation and letters, and tried to excite her +to literary effort; but other and stronger evidence forces us to look +upon such praise as mere delicate flattery. A woman more beautiful than +gifted was far more likely to be gratified by a compliment to her +intellect than to her personal charms, as Madame de Staël was more +delighted at an allusion to the beauty of her neck and arms than to the +merits of "L'Allemagne" or "Corinne." But if Madame Récamier did not +possess genius, she had unerring instincts which stood her in lieu of +it, and her mind, if not original, was appreciative. The genuine +admiration she felt for her literary friends stimulated as well as +gratified them. She drew them out, and, dazzled by their own brilliancy, +they gave her credit for thoughts which were in reality their own. To +this faculty of intelligent appreciation was joined another still more +captivating. She was a good listener. "<i>Bien écouter c'est presque +répondre</i>," quotes Jean Paul from Marivaux, and Sainte-Beuve said of +Madame Récamier that she listened "<i>avec séduction</i>." She was also an +extremely indulgent and charitable person, and was severe neither on the +faults nor on the foibles of others. "No one knew so well as she how to +spread balm on the wounds that are never acknowledged, how to calm and +exorcise the bitterness of rivalry or literary animosity. For moral +chagrins and imaginary sorrows, which are so intense in some natures, +she was, <i>par excellence</i>, the Sister of Charity." The repose of her +manner made this sympathy more effective. Hers was not a stormy nature, +but calm and equable. If she had emotion to master, it was mastered in +secret, and not a ripple on the surface betrayed the agitation beneath. +She had no nervous likes or dislikes, no changeful humors, few unequal +moods. She did not sparkle and then die out. The fire was always kindled +on the hearth, the lamp serenely burning. Some women charm by their +mutability; she attracted by her uniformity. But in her uniformity there +was no monotony. Like the continuous murmur of a brook, it gladdened as +well as soothed.</p> + +<p>It was probably these sweet womanly qualities, together with the +meekness with <a name="Page_471" id="Page_471"></a>which she bore her honors, that endeared her to her +feminine friends. All her life had been a series of triumphs, which were +not won by any conscious effort on her part, but were spontaneous gifts +of fortune,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"As though a shower of fairy wreaths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had fallen upon her from the sky."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Yet her manner was entirely free from pretension or self-assertion.</p> + +<p>It is not one of the least remarkable things about Madame Récamier, that +one who had been so petted from childhood, so exposed to pernicious +influences, should have continued unspoiled by adulation, uncorrupted by +example. The gay life she led was calculated to make her selfish and +arrogant, yet she was to an eminent degree self-sacrificing and gentle. +Constant in her affections, she never lost a friend through waywardness, +or alienated any by indifference. It has been prettily said of her, that +she brought the art of friendship to perfection. Coquettish she +was,—seldom capricious. Her coquetry was owing more to an instinctive +desire to please than to any systematic attempt to swell the list of her +conquests. She had received the gift of fascination at her birth: and +can a woman be fascinating who has not a touch of coquetry? It was as +natural in Madame Récamier to charm as it was to breathe. It was a +necessity of her nature, which her unnatural position developed and +fostered to a reprehensible extent. But while she permitted herself to +be loved, and rejoiced in the consciousness of this power, she never +carried her flirtations so far as to lose her own self-respect or the +respect of her admirers. She was ever dignified and circumspect, though +gracious and captivating. To most of her lovers, therefore, she was more +a goddess whom they worshipped than a woman whom they loved. Ballanche +compared her to the solitary phœnix, nourished by perfumes, and +living in the purest regions of the air,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who sings to the last his own death-lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in music and perfume dies away."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It is a singular fact, that the men who began by loving her passionately +usually ended by becoming her true friends. Still there were exceptions +to this rule, exceptions which her biographer does not care to dwell +upon, but which the more candid Sainte-Beuve acknowledges, giving as his +authority Madame Récamier, who was fond of talking over the past with +her new friends. "'<i>C'est une manière</i>,' disait-elle, '<i>de mettre du +passé devant l'amitié</i>.'" The subtile and piquant critic cannot resist +saying, in regard to these reminiscences, that "<i>elle se souvenait avec +goût</i>." Still, pleasant as her recollections were, she often looked back +self-reproachfully upon passages of her youth; and Sainte-Beuve, though +he calls her coquetry "<i>une coquetterie angelique</i>," recognizes it as a +blemish. "She, who was so good, brought sorrow to many hearts, not only +to indignant and soured men, but to poor feminine rivals, whom she +sacrificed and wounded without knowing it. It is the dark side of her +life, which she lived to comprehend."</p> + +<p>This "dark side" suggests itself. It is impossible to read the record of +Madame Récamier's conquests without thinking of women slighted and +neglected for her sake. The greater number of her admirers were married +men. That their wives did not hate this all-conquering woman is strange +indeed; that they witnessed her triumphs unmoved is scarcely credible. +For, while French society allows great laxity in such matters, and a +domestic husband, as we understand the term, is a rarity, still French +wives, we imagine, differ very little from other women in wishing to be +considered a first object. Public desertion is rarely relished even +where there is no affection to be wounded, for it is not necessary to +love to be jealous. But whatever heart-aches and jealousies were caused +by Madame Récamier's conquests, they do not appear on the surface. In +her voluminous correspondence we find tender letters from husbands side +by side with friendly notes from their wives. Her biographer parades the +latter with some ostentation, as a proof of the friendship <a name="Page_472" id="Page_472"></a>these women +entertained for Madame Récamier. That they respected her is evident; +that they loved her is not so apparent. Mere complimentary notes prove +but little. He must be but a superficial judge of life who draws decided +conclusions simply from appearances. Madame Lucien Bonaparte might +invite Madame Récamier to her <i>fêtes</i>; but the consciousness that all +her world knew that her husband was <i>épris</i> with her beautiful guest did +not tend to make her cordial at heart. Madame Moreau, young and lovely, +might visit her intimately, and even cherish friendship for her; but she +could scarcely be an indifferent spectator, when the great General +demanded a white ribbon from her friend's dress as a favor, and +afterward wrote to her that he had worn it in every battle, and that it +had been the talisman that led him on to victory. Nor is it probable +that Madame de Montmorency and Madame de Châteaubriand, unloved wives, +saw without a pang another woman possess the influence which they +exerted in vain. But, if they suffered, it was in secret; and, moreover, +they did justice to the character of their rival. Madame Récamier's +reputation was compromised neither in their eyes nor in the eyes of the +world. Society is seldom just to any woman whose career in life is +exceptional; but to her it was not only just, but indulgent. When we +reflect upon her peculiar position, so exposed to injurious suspicions, +the doubtful reputation of some of her associates, the character for +gallantry possessed by many of her avowed admirers, it seems scarcely +possible that she should have escaped calumny. The few scandals caused +by some of her early indiscretions were soon dissipated, and she lived +down all unpleasant rumors. She, indeed, seemed to possess some +talisman, as potent as the magic ring that bewitched King Charlemagne, +by whose spell she disarmed envy and silenced detraction. This attaching +power she exercised on every person who came within the sphere of her +influence. Even the gossiping Duchess D'Abrantes has only words of +respectful admiration for her. The preconceived prejudices of Madame +Swetchine, whom Miss Muloch numbers among her "Good Women," vanished at +a first interview. She wrote to her,—"I found myself a captive before I +dreamt of defending myself. I yielded at once to that penetrating and +undefinable charm which you exert even over those persons to whom you +are indifferent." Madame de Genlis, equally prejudiced, was alike +subdued. She made Madame Récamier the heroine of a novel, and addressed +letters to her full of affectionate admiration and extravagant flattery. +"You are one of the phenomena of the age," she writes, "and certainly +the most amiable.... You can look back upon the past without remorse. At +any age this is the most beautiful of privileges, but at our time of +life it is invaluable." Madame Lenormant, even more enthusiastic, calls +her a saint, which she certainly was not, but a gracious woman of the +world. Some acts of her life it is impossible to defend. They tarnish +the lustre of an otherwise irreproachable career. Still, when we think +of the low tone of morals prevalent in her youth, together with her many +and great temptations, it is surprising that she should have preserved +her purity of heart, and earned the respect and love of the best and +wisest of her contemporaries. No woman has ever received more universal +and uniform homage, or has been more deeply lamented. Her death left a +void in French society that has never been filled. The <i>salon</i>, which, +from its origin in the seventeenth century, was so vital an element in +Paris life, no longer exists. That of the Hôtel de Rambouillet was the +first; that of the Abbaye-aux-Bois the last. "<i>On se réunit encore, on +donne des fêtes splendides, on ne cause plus</i>."</p><p><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WELLFLEET_OYSTERMAN" id="THE_WELLFLEET_OYSTERMAN"></a>THE WELLFLEET OYSTERMAN.</h2> + + +<p>Having walked about eight miles since we struck the beach, and passed +the boundary between Wellfleet and Truro, a stone post in the sand,—for +even this sand comes under the jurisdiction of one town or another,—we +turned inland over barren hills and valleys, whither the sea, for some +reason, did not follow us, and, tracing up a hollow, discovered two or +three sober-looking houses within half a mile, uncommonly near the +eastern coast. Their garrets were apparently so full of chambers that +their roofs could hardly lie down straight, and we did not doubt that +there was room for us there. Houses near the sea are generally low and +broad. These were a story and a half high; but if you merely counted the +windows in their gable-ends, you would think that there were many +stories more, or, at any rate, that the half-story was the only one +thought worthy of being illustrated. The great number of windows in the +ends of the houses, and their irregularity in size and position, here +and elsewhere on the Cape, struck us agreeably,—as if each of the +various occupants who had their <i>cunabula</i> behind had punched a hole +where his necessities required it, and according to his size and +stature, without regard to outside effect. There were windows for the +grown folks, and windows for the children,—three or four apiece: as a +certain man had a large hole cut in his barn-door for the cat, and +another smaller one for the kitten. Sometimes they were so low under the +eaves that I thought they must have perforated the plate-beam for +another apartment, and I noticed some which were triangular, to fit that +part more exactly. The ends of the houses had thus as many muzzles as a +revolver; and if the inhabitants have the same habit of staring out of +the windows that some of our neighbors have, a traveller must stand a +small chance with them.</p> + +<p>Generally, the old-fashioned and unpainted houses on the Cape looked +more comfortable, as well as picturesque, than the modern and more +pretending ones, which were less in harmony with the scenery, and less +firmly planted.</p> + +<p>These houses were on the shores of a chain of ponds, seven in number, +the source of a small stream called Herring River, which empties into +the Bay. There are many Herring Rivers on the Cape: they will, perhaps, +be more numerous than herrings soon. We knocked at the door of the first +house, but its inhabitants were all gone away. In the mean while we saw +the occupants of the next one looking out of the window at us, and +before we reached it an old woman came out and fastened the door of her +bulkhead, and went in again. Nevertheless, we did not hesitate to knock +at her door, when a grizzly-looking man appeared, whom we took to be +sixty or seventy years old. He asked us, at first, suspiciously, where +we were from, and what our business was; to which we returned plain +answers.</p> + +<p>"How far is Concord from Boston?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Twenty miles by railroad."</p> + +<p>"Twenty miles by railroad," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you ever hear of Concord of Revolutionary fame?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't I ever hear of Concord? Why, I heard the guns fire at the Battle +of Bunker Hill." (They hear the sound of heavy cannon across the Bay.) +"I am almost ninety: I am eighty-eight year old. I was fourteen year old +at the time of Concord Fight,—and where were you then?"</p> + +<p>We were obliged to confess that we were not in the fight.</p> + +<p>"Well, walk in, we'll leave it to the women," said he.</p> + +<p>So we walked in, surprised, and sat down, an old woman taking our hats +and <a name="Page_474" id="Page_474"></a>bundles, and the old man continued, drawing up to the large, +old-fashioned fireplace,—</p> + +<p>"I am a poor good-for-nothing crittur, as Isaiah says; I am all broken +down this year. I am under petticoat-government here."</p> + +<p>The family consisted of the old man, his wife, and his daughter, who +appeared nearly as old as her mother,—a fool, her son, (a +brutish-looking, middle-aged man, with a prominent lower face, who was +standing by the hearth when we entered, but immediately went out,) and a +little boy of ten.</p> + +<p>While my companion talked with the women, I talked to the old man. They +said that he was old and foolish, but he was evidently too knowing for +them.</p> + +<p>"These women," said he to me, "are both of them poor good-for-nothing +critturs. This one is my wife. I married her sixty-four years ago. She +is eighty-four years old, and as deaf as an adder, and the other is not +much better."</p> + +<p>He thought well of the Bible,—or at least he <i>spoke</i> well, and did not +<i>think</i> ill, of it, for that would not have been prudent for a man of +his age. He said that he had read it attentively for many years, and he +had much of it at his tongue's end. He seemed deeply impressed with a +sense of his own nothingness, and would repeatedly exclaim,—</p> + +<p>"I am a nothing. What I gather from my Bible is just this: that man is a +poor good-for-nothing crittur, and everything is just as God sees fit +and disposes."</p> + +<p>"May I ask your name?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered,—"I am not ashamed to tell my name. My name is ——. +My great-grandfather came over from England and settled here."</p> + +<p>He was an old Wellfleet oysterman, who had acquired a competency in that +business, and had sons still engaged in it.</p> + +<p>Nearly all the oyster-shops and stands in Massachusetts, I am told, are +supplied and kept by natives of Wellfleet, and a part of this town is +still called Billingsgate, from the oysters having been formerly planted +there; but the native oysters are said to have died in 1770. Various +causes are assigned for this, such as a ground frost, the carcasses of +black-fish kept to rot in the harbor, and the like; but the most common +account of the matter is,—and I find that a similar superstition with +regard to the disappearance of fishes exists almost everywhere,—that, +when Wellfleet began to quarrel with the neighboring towns about the +right to gather them, yellow specks appeared in them, and Providence +caused them to disappear. A few years ago sixty thousand bushels were +annually brought from the South and planted in the harbor of Wellfleet +till they attained "the proper relish of Billingsgate"; but now they are +imported commonly full-grown, and laid down near their markets, at +Boston and elsewhere, where the water, being a mixture of salt and +fresh, suits them better. The business was said to be still good and +improving.</p> + +<p>The old man said that the oysters were liable to freeze in the winter, +if planted too high; but if it were not "so cold as to strain their +eyes," they were not injured. The inhabitants of New Brunswick have +noticed that "ice will not form over an oyster-bed, unless the cold is +very intense indeed; and when the bays are frozen over, the oyster-beds +are easily discovered by the water above them remaining unfrozen, or, as +the French residents say, <i>degèle</i>." Our host said that they kept them +in cellars all winter.</p> + +<p>"Without anything to eat or drink?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Without anything to eat or drink," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Can the oysters move?"</p> + +<p>"Just as much as my shoe."</p> + +<p>But when I caught him saying that they "bedded themselves down in the +sand, flat side up, round side down," I told him that my shoe could not +do that, without the aid of my foot in it; at which he said that they +merely settled down as they grew; if put down in a square, they would be +found so; but the <a name="Page_475" id="Page_475"></a>clam could move quite fast. I have since been told by +oystermen of Long Island, where the oyster is still indigenous and +abundant, that they are found in large masses attached to the parent in +their midst, and are so taken up with their tongs; in which case, they +say, the age of the young proves that there could have been no motion +for five or six years at least. And Buckland, in his "Curiosities of +Natural History," (page 50,) says,—"An oyster, who has once taken up +his position and fixed himself when quite young, can never make a +change. Oysters, nevertheless, that have not fixed themselves, but +remain loose at the bottom of the sea, have the power of locomotion; +they open their shells to their fullest extent, and then suddenly +contracting them, the expulsion of the water forwards gives a motion +backwards. A fisherman at Guernsey told me that he had frequently seen +oysters moving in this way."</p> + +<p>Some still entertain the question whether the oyster was indigenous in +Massachusetts Bay, and whether Wellfleet Harbor was a natural habitat of +this fish; but, to say nothing of the testimony of old oystermen, which, +I think, is quite conclusive, though the native oyster may now be +extinct there, I saw that their shells, opened by the Indians, were +strewn all over the Cape. Indeed, the Cape was at first thickly settled +by Indians on account of the abundance of these and other fish. We saw +many traces of their occupancy, after this, in Truro, near Great Hollow, +and at High-Head, near East-Harbor River,—oysters, clams, cockles, and +other shells, mingled with ashes and the bones of deer and other +quadrupeds. I picked up half a dozen arrow-heads, and in an hour or two +could have filled my pockets with them. The Indians lived about the +edges of the swamps, then probably in some instances ponds, for shelter +and water. Moreover, Champlain, in the edition of his "Voyages" printed +in 1613, says that in the year 1606 he and Poitrincourt explored a +harbor (Barnstable Harbor?) in the southerly part of what is now called +Massachusetts Bay, in latitude 42°, about five leagues south, one point +west of <i>Cap Blanc</i>, (Cape Cod,) and there they found many good oysters, +and they named it <i>Le Port aux Huistres</i> (Oyster-Harbor). In one edition +of his map, (1632,) the "<i>R. aux Escailles</i>" is drawn emptying into the +same part of the Bay, and on the map "<i>Novi Belgii</i>" in Ogilby's +"America," (1670,) the words "<i>Port aux Huistres</i>" are set against the +same place. Also William Wood, who left New England in 1633, speaks, in +his "New England's Prospect," published in 1634, of "a great +oyster-bank" in Charles River, and of another in the Mystic, each of +which obstructed the navigation. "The oysters," he says, "be great ones, +in form of a shoe-horn; some be a foot long; these breed on certain +banks that are bare every spring-tide. This fish without the shell is so +big that it must admit of a division before you can well get it into +your mouth." Oysters are still found there. (See, also, Thomas Morton's +"New English Canaan," page 90.)</p> + +<p>Our host told us that the sea-clam, or hen, was not easily obtained; it +was raked up, but never on the Atlantic side, only cast ashore there in +small quantities in storms. The fisherman sometimes wades in water +several feet deep, and thrusts a pointed stick into the sand before him. +When this enters between the valves of a clam, he closes them on it, and +is drawn out. The clam has been known to catch and hold coot and teal +which were preying on it. I chanced to be on the bank of the Acushnet at +New Bedford one day, watching some ducks, when a man informed me, that, +having let out his young ducks to seek their food amid the samphire +(<i>Salicornia</i>) and other weeds along the river-side at low tide that +morning, at length he noticed that one remained stationary amid the +weeds, something preventing it from following the others, and on going +to it he found its foot tightly shut in a quahaug'a shell. He took up +both together, carried them home, and his wife, opening <a name="Page_476" id="Page_476"></a>the shell with +a knife, released the duck and cooked the quahaug. The old man said that +the great clams were good to eat, but that they always took out a +certain part, which was poisonous, before cooking them. "People said it +would kill a cat." I did not tell him that I had eaten a large one +entire that afternoon, but began to think that I was tougher than a cat. +He stated that peddlers came round there, and sometimes tried to sell +the women-folks a skimmer, but he told them that their women had got a +better skimmer than <i>they</i> could make, in the shell of their clams; it +was shaped just right for this purpose. They call them "skim-alls" in +some places. He also said that the sun-squawl was poisonous to handle, +and when the sailors came across it, they did not meddle with it, but +hove it out of their way. I told him that I had handled it that +afternoon, and had felt no ill effects as yet. But he said it made the +hands itch, especially if they had previously been scratched,—or if I +put it into my bosom, I should find out what it was.</p> + +<p>He informed us that ice never formed on the back side of the Cape, or +not more than once in a century, and but little snow lay there, it being +either absorbed or blown or washed away. Sometimes in winter, when the +tide was down, the beach was frozen, and afforded a hard road up the +back side for some thirty miles, as smooth as a floor. One winter, when +he was a boy, he and his father "took right out into the back side +before daylight, and walked to Provincetown and back to dinner."</p> + +<p>When I asked what they did with all that barren-looking land, where I +saw so few cultivated fields,—</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he said.</p> + +<p>"Then why fence your fields?"</p> + +<p>"To keep the sand from blowing and covering up the whole."</p> + +<p>"The yellow sand," said he, "has some life in it, but the white little +or none."</p> + +<p>When, in answer to his questions, I told him that I was a surveyor, he +said that those who surveyed his farm were accustomed, where the ground +was uneven, to loop up each chain as high as their elbows; that was the +allowance they made, and he wished to know if I could tell him why they +did not come out according to his deed, or twice alike. He seemed to +have more respect for surveyors of the old school, which I did not +wonder at. "King George the Third," said he, "laid out a road four rods +wide and straight the whole length of the Cape"; but where it was now he +could not tell.</p> + +<p>This story of the surveyors reminded me of a Long-Islander, who once, +when I had made ready to jump from the bow of his boat to the shore, and +he thought that I underrated the distance and would fall short,—though +I found afterward that he judged of the elasticity of my joints by his +own,—told me, that, when he came to a brook which he wanted to get +over, he held up one leg, and then, if his foot appeared to cover any +part of the opposite bank, he knew that he could jump it. "Why," I told +him, "to say nothing of the Mississippi, and other small watery streams, +I could blot out a star with my foot, but I would not engage to jump +that distance," and asked how he knew when he had got his leg at the +right elevation. But he regarded his legs as no less accurate than a +pair of screw-dividers or an ordinary quadrant, and appeared to have a +painful recollection of every degree and minute in the arc which they +described; and he would have had me believe that there was a kind of +hitch in his hip-joint which answered the purpose. I suggested that he +should connect his two ankles by a string of the proper length, which +should be the chord of an arc measuring his jumping ability on +horizontal surfaces,—assuming one leg to be a perpendicular to the +plane of the horizon, which, however, may have been too bold an +assumption in this case. Nevertheless, this was a kind of geometry in +the legs which it interested me to hear of.</p> + +<p>Our host took pleasure in telling us the names of the ponds, most of +which we <a name="Page_477" id="Page_477"></a>could see from his windows, and making us repeat them after +him, to see if we had got them right. They were Gull Pond, (the largest +and a very handsome one, clear and deep, and more than a mile in +circumference,) Newcomb's, Swett's, Slough, Horse-Leech, Round, and +Herring Ponds,—all connected at high-water, if I do not mistake. The +coast-surveyors had come to him for their names, and he told them of one +which they had not detected. He said that they were not so high as +formerly. There was an earthquake about four years before he was born, +which cracked the pans of the ponds, which were of iron, and caused them +to settle. I did not remember to have read of this. Innumerable gulls +used to resort to them; but the large gulls were now very scarce, for, +as he said, the English robbed their nests far in the North, where they +breed. He remembered well when gulls were taken in the gull-house, and +when small birds were killed by means of a frying-pan and fire at night. +His father once lost a valuable horse from this cause. A party from +Wellfleet having lighted their fire for this purpose, one dark night, on +Billingsgate Island, twenty horses which were pastured there, and this +colt among them, being frightened by it, and endeavoring in the dark to +cross the passage which separated them from the neighboring beach, and +which was then fordable at low tide, were all swept out to sea and +drowned. I observed that many horses were still turned out to pasture +all summer on the islands and beaches in Wellfleet, Eastham, and +Orleans, as a kind of common. He also described the killing of what he +called "wild hens" here, after they had gone to roost in the woods, when +he was a boy. Perhaps they were "Prairie hens" (pinnated grouse).</p> + +<p>He liked the beach pea, (<i>Lathyrus maritimus</i>,) cooked green, as well as +the cultivated. He had seen them growing very abundantly in +Newfoundland, where also the inhabitants ate them, but he had never been +able to obtain any ripe for seed. We read, under the head of Chatham, +that, "in 1555, during a time of great scarcity, the people about +Orford, in Sussex (England) were preserved from perishing by eating the +seeds of this plant, which grew there in great abundance on the +sea-coast. Cows, horses, sheep, and goats eat it." But the writer who +quoted this could not learn that they had ever been used in Barnstable +County.</p> + +<p>He had been a voyager, then?</p> + +<p>Oh, he had been about the world in his day. He once considered himself a +pilot for all our coast; but now, they had changed the names so, he +might be bothered.</p> + +<p>He gave us to taste what he called the Summer Sweeting, a pleasant apple +which he raised, and frequently grafted from, but had never seen growing +elsewhere, except once,—three trees on Newfoundland, or at the Bay of +Chaleur, I forget which, as he was sailing by. He was sure that he could +tell the tree at a distance.</p> + +<p>At length the fool, whom my companion called the wizard, came in, +muttering between his teeth, "Damn book-peddlers,—all the time talking +about books. Better do something. Damn 'em, I'll shoot 'em. Got a doctor +down here. Damn him, I'll get a gun and shoot him"; never once holding +up his head. Whereat the old man stood up and said in a loud voice, as +if he were accustomed to command, and this was not the first time he had +been obliged to exert his authority there,—"John, go sit down, mind +your business,—we've heard you talk before,—precious little you'll +do,—your bark is worse than your bite." But, without minding, John +muttered the same gibberish over again, and then sat down at the table +which the old folks had left. He ate all there was on it, and then +turned to the apples which his aged mother was paring, that she might +give her guests some apple-sauce for breakfast; but she drew them away, +and sent him off.</p> + +<p>When I approached this house the next summer, over the desolate hills +between it and the shore, which are worthy to have been the birthplace +of Ossian,<a name="Page_478" id="Page_478"></a> I saw the wizard in the midst of a cornfield on the +hillside, but, as usual, he loomed so strangely that I mistook him for a +scarecrow.</p> + +<p>This was the merriest old man that we had ever seen, and one of the +best-preserved. His style of conversation was coarse and plain enough to +have suited Rabelais. He would have made a good Panurge. Or rather he +was a sober Silenus, and we were the boys Chromis and Mnasilus who +listened to his story.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Not by Hæmonian hills the Thracian bard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor awful Phœbus was on Pindus heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With deeper silence or with more regard."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There was a strange mingling of past and present in his conversation, +for he had lived under King George, and might have remembered when +Napoleon and the moderns generally were born. He said that one day, when +the troubles between the Colonies and the mother-country first broke +out, as he, a boy of fifteen, was pitching hay out of a cart, one Doane, +an old Tory, who was talking with his father, a good Whig, said to him, +"Why, Uncle Bill, you might as well undertake to pitch that pond into +the ocean with a pitchfork as for the Colonies to undertake to gain +their independence." He remembered well General Washington, and how he +rode his horse along the streets of Boston, and he stood up to show us +how he looked.</p> + +<p>"He was a r-a-ther large and portly-looking man, a manly and +resolute-looking officer, with a pretty good leg, as he sat on his +horse.—There, I'll tell you, this was the way with Washington." Then he +jumped up again, and bowed gracefully to right and left, making show as +if he were waving his hat. Said he, "<i>That</i> was Washington."</p> + +<p>He told us many anecdotes of the Revolution, and was much pleased when +we told him that we had read the same in history, and that his account +agreed with the written.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he said, "I know, I know! I was a young fellow of sixteen, with my +ears wide open; and a fellow of that age, you know, is pretty wide +awake, and likes to know everything that's going on. Oh, I know!"</p> + +<p>He told us the story of the wreck of the Franklin, which took place +there the previous spring: how a boy came to his house early in the +morning to know whose boat that was by the shore, for there was a vessel +in distress; and he, being an old man, first ate his breakfast, and then +walked over to the top of the hill by the shore, and sat down there, +having found a comfortable seat, to see the ship wrecked. She was on the +bar, only a quarter of a mile from him, and still nearer to the men on +the beach, who had got a boat ready, but could render no assistance on +account of the breakers, for there was a pretty high sea running. There +were the passengers all crowded together in the forward part of the +ship, and some were getting out of the cabin-windows and were drawn on +deck by the others.</p> + +<p>"I saw the captain get out his boat," said he; "he had one little one; +and then they jumped into it, one after another, down as straight as an +arrow. I counted them. There were nine. One was a woman, and she jumped +as straight as any of them. Then they shoved off. The sea took them +back, one wave went over them, and when they came up there were six +still clinging to the boat: I counted them. The next wave turned the +boat bottom upward, and emptied them all out. None of them ever came +ashore alive. There were the rest of them all crowded together on the +forecastle, the other parts of the ship being under water. They had seen +all that happened to the boat. At length a heavy sea separated the +forecastle from the rest of the wreck, and set it inside of the worst +breaker, and the boat was able to reach them, and it saved all that were +left, but one woman."</p> + +<p>He also told us of the steamer Cambria's getting aground on his shore a +few months before we were there, and of her English passengers who +roamed over his grounds, and who, he said, thought the prospect from the +high hill by the shore "the most <a name="Page_479" id="Page_479"></a>delightsome they had ever seen," and +also of the pranks which the ladies played with his scoop-net in the +ponds. He spoke of these travellers, with their purses full of guineas, +just as our Provincial fathers used to speak of British bloods in the +time of King George III.</p> + +<p><i>Quid loquar?</i> Why repeat what he told us?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Aut Scyllam Nisi, quam fama secuta est,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Candida succinctam latrantibus inguina monstris,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dulichias vexâsse rates, et gurgite in alto<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah timidos nautas canibus lacerâsse marinis?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In the course of the evening I began to feel the potency of the clam +which I had eaten, and I was obliged to confess to our host that I was +no tougher than the cat he told of; but he answered, that he was a +plain-spoken man, and he could tell me that it was all imagination. At +any rate, it proved an emetic in my case, and I was made quite sick by +it for a short time, while he laughed at my expense. I was pleased to +read afterward, in Mourt's Relation of the Landing of the Pilgrims in +Provincetown Harbor, these words:—"We found great muscles," (the old +editor says that they were undoubtedly sea-clams,) "and very fat and +full of sea-pearl; but we could not eat them, for they made us all sick +that did eat, as well sailors as passengers, ... but they were soon well +again." It brought me nearer to the Pilgrims to be thus reminded by a +similar experience that I was so like them. Moreover, it was a valuable +confirmation of their story, and I am prepared now to believe every word +of Mourt's "Relation." I was also pleased to find that man and the clam +lay still at the same angle to one another. But I did not notice +sea-pearl. Like Cleopatra, I must have swallowed it. I have since dug +these clams on a flat in the Bay, and observed them. They could squirt +full ten feet before the wind, as appeared by the marks of the drops on +the sand.</p> + +<p>"Now I am going to ask you a question," said the old man, "and I don't +know as you can tell me; but you are a learned man, and I never had any +learning, only what I got by natur."—It was in vain that we reminded +him that he could quote Josephus to our confusion.—"I've thought, if I +ever met a learned man, I should like to ask him this question. Can you +tell me how <i>Axy</i> is spelt, and what it means? <i>Axy</i>," says he; "there's +a girl over here is named <i>Axy</i>. Now what is it? What does it mean? Is +it Scriptur? I've read my Bible twenty-five years over and over, and I +never came across it."</p> + +<p>"Did you read it twenty-five years for this object?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>how</i> is it spelt? Wife, how is it spelt?"</p> + +<p>She said,—"It is in the Bible; I've seen it."</p> + +<p>"Well, how do you spell it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. A c h, ach, s e h, seh,—Achseh."</p> + +<p>"Does that spell Axy? Well, do <i>you</i> know what it means?" asked he, +turning to me.</p> + +<p>"No," I replied,—"I never heard the sound before."</p> + +<p>"There was a schoolmaster down here once, and they asked him what it +meant, and he said it had no more meaning than a bean-pole."</p> + +<p>I told him that I held the same opinion with the schoolmaster. I had +been a schoolmaster myself, and had had strange names to deal with. I +also heard of such names as Zoheth, Beriah, Amaziah, Bethuel, and +Shearjashub, hereabouts.</p> + +<p>At length the little boy, who had a seat quite in the chimney-corner, +took off his stockings and shoes, warmed his feet, and went off to bed; +then the fool followed him; and finally the old man. He proceeded to +make preparations for retiring, discoursing meanwhile with Panurgic +plainness of speech on the ills to which old humanity is subject. We +were a rare haul for him. He could commonly get none but ministers to +talk to, though sometimes ten of them at once, and he was glad to meet +some of the laity at leisure. The evening was not long <a name="Page_480" id="Page_480"></a>enough for him. +As I had been sick, the old lady asked if I would not go to bed,—it was +getting late for old people; but the old man, who had not yet done his +stories, said,—</p> + +<p>"You a'n't particular, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said I,—"I am in no hurry. I believe I have weathered the +Clam cape."</p> + +<p>"They are good," said he; "I wish I had some of them now."</p> + +<p>"They never hurt me," said the old lady.</p> + +<p>"But then you took out the part that killed a cat," said I.</p> + +<p>At last we cut him short in the midst of his stories, which he promised +to resume in the morning. Yet, after all, one of the old ladies who came +into our room in the night to fasten the fire-board, which rattled, as +she went out took the precaution to fasten us in. Old women are by +nature more suspicious than old men. However, the winds howled around +the house, and made the fire-boards as well as the casements rattle well +that night. It was probably a windy night for any locality, but we could +not distinguish the roar which was proper to the ocean from that which +was due to the wind alone.</p> + +<p>The sounds which the ocean makes must be very significant and +interesting to those who live near it. When I was leaving the shore at +this place the next summer, and had got a quarter of a mile distant, +ascending a hill, I was startled by a sudden, loud sound from the sea, +as if a large steamer were letting off steam by the shore, so that I +caught my breath and felt my blood run cold for an instant, and I turned +about, expecting to see one of the Atlantic steamers thus far out of her +course; but there was nothing unusual to be seen. There was a low bank +at the entrance of the Hollow, between me and the ocean, and suspecting +that I might have risen into another stratum of air in ascending the +hill, which had wafted to me only the ordinary roar of the sea, I +immediately descended again, to see if I lost the sound; but, without +regard to my ascending or descending, it died away in a minute or two, +and yet there was scarcely any wind all the while. The old man said that +this was what they called the "rut," a peculiar roar of the sea before +the wind changes, which, however, he could, not account for. He thought +that he could tell all about the weather from the sounds which the sea +made.</p> + +<p>Old Josselyn, who came to New England in 1638, has it among his +weather-signs, that "the resounding of the sea from the shore, and +murmuring of the winds in the woods, without apparent wind, sheweth wind +to follow."</p> + +<p>Being on another part of the coast one night afterwards, I heard the +roar of the surf a mile distant, and the inhabitants said it was a sign +that the wind would work round east, and we should have rainy weather. +The ocean was heaped up somewhere at the eastward, and this roar was +occasioned by its effort to preserve its equilibrium, the wave reaching +the shore before the wind. Also the captain of a packet between this +country and England told me that he sometimes met with a wave on the +Atlantic coming against the wind, perhaps in a calm sea, which indicated +that at a distance the wind was blowing from an opposite quarter, but +the undulation had travelled faster than it. Sailors tell of "tide-rips" +and "ground-swells," which they suppose to have been occasioned by +hurricanes and earthquakes, and to have travelled many hundred, and +sometimes even two or three thousand miles.</p> + +<p>Before sunrise the next morning they let us out again, and I ran over to +the beach to see the sun come out of the ocean. The old woman of +eighty-four winters was already out in the cold morning wind, +bare-headed, tripping about like a young girl, and driving up the cow to +milk. She got the breakfast with despatch, and without noise or bustle; +and meanwhile the old man resumed his stories.</p> + +<p>After breakfast we looked at his clock, which was out of order, and +oiled it with <a name="Page_481" id="Page_481"></a>some "hen's grease," for want of sweet oil, for he +scarcely could believe that we were not tinkers or peddlers; meanwhile +he told a story about visions, which had reference to a crack in the +clock-case made by frost one night. He was curious to know to what +religious sect we belonged. He said that he had been to hear thirteen +kinds of preaching in one month, when he was young, but he did not join +any of them,—he stuck to his Bible: there was nothing like any of them +in his Bible. While I was shaving in the next room, I heard him ask my +companion to what sect he belonged, to which he answered,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, I belong to the Universal Brotherhood."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" he asked,—"Sons o' Temperance?"</p> + +<p>Finally, filling our pockets with doughnuts, which he was pleased to +find that we called by the same name that he did, and paying for our +entertainment, we took our departure; but he followed us out of doors, +and made us tell him the names of the vegetables which he had raised +from seeds that came out of the Franklin. They were cabbage, broccoli, +and parsley. As I had asked him the names of so many things, he tried me +in turn with all the plants which grew in his garden, both wild and +cultivated. It was about half an acre, which he cultivated wholly +himself. Besides the common garden-vegetables, there were Yellow-Dock, +Lemon-Balm, Hyssop, Gill-go-over-the-ground, Mouse-ear, Chickweed, Roman +Wormwood, Elecampane, and other plants. As we stood there, I saw a +fish-hawk stoop to pick a fish out of his pond.</p> + +<p>"There," said I, "he has got a fish."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the old man, who was looking all the while, but could see +nothing, "he didn't dive, he just wet his claws."</p> + +<p>And, sure enough, he did not this time, though it is said that they +often do, but he merely stooped low enough to pick him out with his +talons; but as he bore his shining prey over the bushes, it fell to the +ground, and we did not see that he recovered it. That is not their +practice.</p> + +<p>Thus, having had another crack with the old man, he standing bareheaded +under the eaves, he directed us "athwart the fields," and we took to the +beach again for another day, it being now late in the morning.</p> + +<p>It was but a day or two after this that the safe of the Provincetown +Bank was broken open and robbed by two men from the interior, and we +learned that our hospitable entertainers did at least transiently harbor +the suspicion that we were the men.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHARLES_LAMBS_UNCOLLECTED_WRITINGS" id="CHARLES_LAMBS_UNCOLLECTED_WRITINGS"></a>CHARLES LAMB'S UNCOLLECTED WRITINGS.</h2> + +<h3>THIRD PAPER.</h3> + + +<p>"I remember," says "The Spectator," "upon Mr. Baxter's death, there was +published a sheet of very good sayings, inscribed, 'The Last Words of +Mr. Baxter.' The title sold so great a number of these papers that about +a week after there came out a second sheet, inscribed, 'More Last Words +of Mr. Baxter.'" And so kindly and gladly did the public—or at least +that portion of the public that read the "Atlantic Monthly"—receive the +specimens of Charles Lamb's uncollected writings, published somewhile +since in these pages, that I am induced to print another paper on the +same pleasant and entertaining subject.</p><p><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482"></a></p> + +<p>The success of that piece of "ingenious nonsense," that gem of +biographical literature, the unique and veracious "Memoir of Liston," +over which the lovers of wit and the lovers of Charles Lamb have had +many a good laugh, was so great that Lamb was encouraged to try his hand +at another theatrical memoir, and produced a mock and mirthful +autobiography of his old friend and favorite comedian, Munden, whom he +had previously immortalized in one of the best and most admired of the +"Essays of Elia."</p> + +<p>Those who enjoyed the biography of Liston will chuckle over the +autobiography of Munden. It was certainly a happy idea to represent +Munden as writing a sketch of his life,—not to gratify his own vanity, +or for the pleasure and entertainment of the public, but solely and +purposely to prevent the truthful and matter-of-fact biographer of +Liston from making the old player the subject of a biographical work. +The veteran actor's vehement protests against being represented as a +Presbyterian or Anabaptist, and his brief, but pungent comments on +certain passages in the Liston biography, are delightful. Methinks I see +the old man,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The gray-haired man of glee,"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>the great and wonderful impersonator of the "Cobbler of Preston" and +"Old Dozey,"—methinks I see this fine actor, this genial and jovial +comedian, and his son, gravely and carefully examining the great map of +Kent in search of Lupton Magna!</p> + +<p>Leigh Hunt, in his Autobiography, speaking of some of Elia's +contributions to the "London Magazine," thus mentions these two +"he-children" of Lamb's:—</p> + +<p>"He wrote in the same magazine two lives of Liston and Munden, which the +public took for serious, and which exhibit an extraordinary jumble of +imaginary facts and truth of by-painting. Munden he made born at "Stoke +Pogis"; the very sound of which was like the actor speaking and digging +his words."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MR. MUNDEN.</h4> + +<p><i>In a Letter to the Editor of the "London Magazine."</i></p> + +<p>Hark'ee, Mr. Editor. A word in your ear. They tell me you are going to +put me in print,—in print, Sir; to publish my life. What is my life to +you, Sir? What is it to you whether I ever lived at all? My life is a +very good life, Sir. I am insured at the Pelican, Sir. I am threescore +years and six,—six; mark me, Sir: but I can play Polonius, which, I +believe, few of your corre—correspondents can do, Sir. I suspect +tricks, Sir; I smell a rat: I do, I do. You would cog the die upon us: +you would, you would, Sir. But I will forestall you, Sir. You would be +deriving me from William the Conqueror, with a murrain to you. It is no +such thing, Sir. The town shall know better, Sir. They begin to smoke +your flams, Sir. Mr. Liston may be born where he pleases, Sir; but I +will not be born at Lup—Lupton Magna for anybody's pleasure, Sir. My +son and I have looked over the great map of Kent together, and we can +find no such place as you would palm upon us, Sir,—palm upon us, I say. +Neither Magna nor Parva, as my son says; and he knows Latin, +Sir,—Latin. If you write my life true, Sir, you must set down, that I, +Joseph Munden, comedian, came into the world upon Allhallows Day, Anno +Domini 1759,—1759; no sooner nor later, Sir: and I saw the first +light—the first light, remember, Sir—at Stoke Pogis,—Stoke Pogis, +<i>comitatu</i> Bucks, and not at Lup—Lup Magna, which I believe to be no +better than moonshine,—moonshine; do you mark me, Sir? I wonder you can +put such flim-flams upon us, Sir: I do, I do. It does not become you, +Sir: I say it,—I say it. And my father was an honest tradesman, Sir: he +dealt in malt and hops, Sir; and was a Corporation-man, Sir; and of the +Church of England, Sir; and no Presbyterian, nor Ana—Anabaptist, Sir; +however you may be disposed to make honest people believe to the +contrary, Sir. Your bams are found out, Sir. The town will be your +<a name="Page_483" id="Page_483"></a>stale puts no longer, Sir; and you must not send us jolly fellows, +Sir,—we that are comedians, Sir,—you must not send us into groves and +Charn—Charnwoods a-moping, Sir. Neither Charns, nor charnel-houses, +Sir. It is not our constitutions, Sir: I tell it you,—I tell it you. I +was a droll dog from my cradle. I came into the world tittering, and the +midwife tittered, and the gossips spilt their caudle with tittering; and +when I was brought to the font, the parson could not christen me for +tittering. So I was never more than half baptized. And when I was little +Joey, I made 'em all titter; there was not a melancholy face to be seen +in Pogis. Pure nature, Sir. I was born a comedian. Old Screwup, the +undertaker, could tell you, Sir, if he were living. Why, I was obliged +to be locked up every time there was to be a funeral at Pogis. I was, I +was, Sir. I used to <i>grimace</i> at the mutes, as he called it, and put 'em +out with my mops and my mows, till they couldn't stand at a door for me. +And when I was locked up, with nothing but a cat in my company, I +followed my bent with trying to make her laugh; and sometimes she would, +and sometimes she would not. And my schoolmaster could make nothing of +me: I had only to thrust my tongue in my cheek,—in my cheek, Sir,—and +the rod dropped from his fingers; and so my education was limited, Sir. +And I grew up a young fellow, and it was thought convenient to enter me +upon some course of life that should make me serious; but it wouldn't +do, Sir. And I articled to a dry-salter. My father gave forty pounds +premium with me, Sir. I can show the indent—dent—dentures, Sir. But I +was born to be a comedian, Sir: so I ran away, and listed with the +players, Sir; and I topt my parts at Amersham and Gerrard's Cross, and +played my own father to his face, in his own town of Pogis, in the part +of Gripe, when I was not full seventeen years of age; and he did not +know me again, but he knew me afterwards; and then he laughed, and I +laughed, and, what is better, the dry-salter laughed, and gave me up my +articles for the joke's sake: so that I came into court afterwards with +clean hands,—with clean hands; do you see, Sir?</p> + +<p>[Here the manuscript becomes illegible for two or three sheets onwards, +which we presume to be occasioned by the absence of Mr. Munden, jun., +who clearly transcribed it for the press thus far. The rest (with the +exception of the concluding paragraph, which seemingly is resumed in the +first handwriting) appears to contain a confused account of some lawsuit +in which the elder Munden was engaged; with a circumstantial history of +the proceedings on a case of breach of promise of marriage, made to or +by (we cannot pick out which) Jemima Munden, spinster, probably the +comedian's cousin, for it does not appear he had any sister; with a few +dates, rather better preserved, of this great actor's engagements,—as +"Cheltenham, [spelt Cheltnam,] 1776," "Bath, 1779," "London, +1789,"—together with stage-anecdotes of Messrs. Edwin, Wilson, Lee, +Lewis, etc.; over which we have strained our eyes to no purpose, in the +hope of presenting something amusing to the public. Towards the end, the +manuscript brightens up a little, as we have said, and concludes in the +following manner.]</p> + +<p>---- stood before them for six-and-thirty years, [we suspect that Mr. +Munden is here speaking of his final leave-taking of the stage,] and to +be dismissed at last. But I was heart-whole,—heart-whole to the last, +Sir. What though a few drops did course themselves down the old +veteran's cheeks? who could help it, Sir? I was a giant that night, Sir, +and could have played fifty parts, each as arduous as Dozey. My +faculties were never better, Sir. But I was to be laid upon the shelf. +It did not suit the public to laugh with their old servant any longer, +Sir. [Here some moisture has blotted a sentence or two.] But I can play +Polonius still, Sir: I can, I can.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your servant, Sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">JOSEPH MUNDEN.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484"></a></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the "Reflector," a short-lived periodical set up by Leigh Hunt, and +in which Lamb's quaint and beautiful poem, "A Farewell to Tobacco," and +his masterly critical essays on "The Tragedies of Shakspeare," and on +"The Genius of Hogarth," and other of his early writings, appeared, I +find the following characteristic article from Elia's pen.</p> + +<p>The reader will observe (and smile as he observes) that there is a great +difference between the "good clerk" of fifty years ago and the "good +clerk" of to-day. He of yesterday is a wonderfully simple, humble, +automaton-like person, in comparison with the brisk, dashing, +independent "votaries of the desk" of the year eighteen hundred and +sixty-four.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>THE GOOD CLERK: A CHARACTER.</h4> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Good Clerk</span>.—He writeth a fair and swift hand, and is +competently versed in the four first rules of arithmetic, in the Rule of +Three, (which is sometimes called the Golden Rule,) and in Practice. We +mention these things that we may leave no room for cavillers to say that +anything essential hath been omitted in our definition; else, to speak +the truth, these are but ordinary accomplishments, and such as every +understrapper at a desk is commonly furnished with. The character we +treat of soareth higher.</p> + +<p>He is clean and neat in his person, not from a vainglorious desire of +setting himself forth to advantage in the eyes of the other sex,—with +which vanity too many of our young sparks nowadays are infected,—but to +do credit, as we say, to the office. For this reason, he evermore taketh +care that his desk or his books receive no soil; the which things he is +commonly as solicitous to have fair and unblemished as the owner of a +fine horse is to have him appear in good keep.</p> + +<p>He riseth early in the morning,—not because early rising conduceth to +health, (though he doth not altogether despise that consideration,) but +chiefly to the intent that he may be first at the desk. There is his +post, there he delighteth to be, unless when his meals or necessity +calleth him away; which time he alway esteemeth as lost, and maketh as +short as possible.</p> + +<p>He is temperate in eating and drinking, that he may preserve a clear +head and steady hand for his master's service. He is also partly induced +to this observation of the rules of temperance by his respect for +religion and the laws of his country; which things, it may once for all +be noted, do add especial assistances to his actions, but do not and +cannot furnish the main spring or motive thereto. His first ambition, as +appeareth all along, is to be a good clerk; his next, a good Christian, +a good patriot, etc.</p> + +<p>Correspondent to this, he keepeth himself honest, not for fear of the +laws, but because he hath observed how unseemly an article it maketh in +the day-book or ledger when a sum is set down lost or missing; it being +his pride to make these books to agree and to tally, the one side with +the other, with a sort of architectural symmetry and correspondence.</p> + +<p>He marrieth, or marrieth not, as best suiteth with his employer's views. +Some merchants do the rather desire to have married men in their +counting-houses, because they think the married state a pledge for their +servants' integrity, and an incitement to them to be industrious; and it +was an observation of a late Lord-Mayor of London, that the sons of +clerks do generally prove clerks themselves, and that merchants +encouraging persons in their employ to marry, and to have families, was +the best method of securing a breed of sober, industrious young men +attached to the mercantile interest. Be this as it may, such a character +as we have been describing will wait till the pleasure of his employer +is known on this point, and regulateth his desires by the custom of the +house or firm to which he belongeth.</p> + +<p>He avoideth profane oaths and jesting, as so much time lost from his +employ.<a name="Page_485" id="Page_485"></a> What spare time he hath for conversation, which in a +counting-house such as we have been supposing can be but small, he +spendeth in putting seasonable questions to such of his fellows (and +sometimes <i>respectfully</i> to the master himself) who can give him +information respecting the price and quality of goods, the state of +exchange, or the latest improvements in book-keeping; thus making the +motion of his lips, as well as of his fingers, subservient to his +master's interest. Not that be refuseth a brisk saying, or a cheerful +sally of wit, when it comes unforced, is free of offence, and hath a +convenient brevity. For this reason, he hath commonly some such phrase +as this in his mouth,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"It's a slovenly look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To blot your book."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Or,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Red ink for ornament, black for use:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The best of things are open to abuse."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>So upon the eve of any great holiday, of which he keepeth one or two at +least every year, he will merrily say, in the hearing of a confidential +friend, but to none other,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All work and no play'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes Jack a dull boy."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Or,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A bow always bent must crack at last."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But then this must always be understood to be spoken confidentially, +and, as we say, <i>under the rose</i>.</p> + +<p>Lastly, his dress is plain, without singularity,—with no other ornament +than the quill, which is the badge of his function, stuck behind the +dexter ear, and this rather for convenience of having it at hand, when +he hath been called away from his desk, and expecteth to resume his seat +there again shortly, than from any delight which he taketh in foppery or +ostentation. The color of his clothes is generally noted to be black +rather than brown, brown rather than blue or green. His whole deportment +is staid, modest, and civil. His motto is "Regularity."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>This character was sketched in an interval of business, to divert some +of the melancholy hours of a counting-house. It is so little a creature +of fancy, that it is scarce anything more than a recollection of some of +those frugal and economical maxims which about the beginning of the last +century (England's meanest period) were endeavored to be inculcated and +instilled into the breasts of the London apprentices<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a> by a class of +instructors who might not inaptly be termed "The Masters of Mean +Morals." The astonishing narrowness and illiberality of the lessons +contained in some of those books is inconceivable by those whose studies +have not led them that way, and would almost induce one to subscribe to +the hard censure which Drayton has passed upon the mercantile spirit,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The gripple merchant, born to be the curse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this brave isle."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In the laudable endeavor to eke out "a something contracted income," +Lamb, in his younger days, essayed to write lottery-puffs,—(Byron, we +know, was accused of writing lottery-puffs,)—but he did not succeed +very well in the task. His samples were returned on his hands, as "done +in too severe and terse a style." Some Grub-Street hack—a +nineteenth-century Tom Brown or Mr. Dash—succeeded in composing these +popular and ingenious productions; but the man who wrote the Essays of +Elia could not write a successful lottery-puff. At this exult, O +mediocrity! and take courage, man of genius!</p> + +<p>Although Elia was an unsuccessful lottery-puffer, he always took special +interest in lotteries, and was present at the drawing of many of them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bickerstaff, we remember,—though I fear that in these days the +pleasant and profitable pages of "The Father" are hardly more known to +the generality of readers than the lost books of Livy or the missing +cantos of the "Faërie<a name="Page_486" id="Page_486"></a> Queene,"—possibly we may remember, I say, that +the wise, witty, learned, eloquent, delightful Mr. Bickerstaff, in order +to raise the requisite sum to purchase a ticket in the (then) newly +erected lottery, sold off a couple of globes and a telescope (the +venerable Isaac was a Professor of Palmistry and Astrology, as well as +Censor of Great Britain); and finding by a learned calculation that it +was but a hundred and fifty thousand to one against his being worth one +thousand pounds for thirty-two years, he spent many days and nights in +preparing his mind for this change of fortune.</p> + +<p>And albeit I do not believe that Lamb, in his poorest and most needy +days, was ever tempted by any Alnaschar-dreams of wealth to exchange the +raggedest and least valuable of his "midnight darlings" for the +wherewithal to purchase lottery-tickets, I dare say the money which Elia +had saved for the purchase of some choice and long-coveted old folio or +other went into the coffers of the lottery-dealers. Though Lamb drew +nothing but blanks, "or those more vexatious tantalizers of the spirit, +denominated small prizes," yet he held himself largely indebted to the +Lottery, and, upon its abolition in England in 1825, he wrote a long, +eloquent, pathetic discourse on the great departed. It appeared in +Colburn's "New Monthly Magazine," and is, I think, a very pleasant, +entertaining paper, worthy of its subject, and not unworthy of the pen +of Charles Lamb. I take great pleasure in introducing the article to the +readers of the "Atlantic."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEFUNCT.<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Nought but a blank remains, a dead void space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A step of life that promised such a race."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—Dryden.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Napoleon has now sent us back from the grave sufficient echoes of his +living renown: the twilight of posthumous fame has lingered long enough +over the spot where the sun of his glory set; and his name must at +length repose in the silence, if not in the darkness of night. In this +busy and evanescent scene, other spirits of the age are rapidly snatched +away, claiming our undivided sympathies and regrets, until in turn they +yield to some newer and more absorbing grief. Another name is now added +to the list of the mighty departed,—a name whose influence upon the +hopes and fears, the fates and fortunes of our countrymen, has rivalled, +and perhaps eclipsed, that of the defunct "child and champion of +Jacobinism," while it is associated with all the sanctions of legitimate +government, all the sacred authorities of social order and our most holy +religion. We speak of one, indeed, under whose warrant heavy and +incessant contributions were imposed upon our fellow-citizens, but who +exacted nothing without the signet and the sign-manual of most devout +Chancellors of the Exchequer. Not to dally longer with the sympathies of +our readers, we think it right to premonish them that we are composing +an epicedium upon no less distinguished a personage than the Lottery, +whose last breath, after many penultimate puffs, has been sobbed forth +by sorrowing contractors, as if the world itself were about to be +converted into a blank. There is a fashion of eulogy, as well as of +vituperation, and, though the Lottery stood for some time in the latter +predicament, we hesitate not to assert that "<i>multis ille bonis flebilis +occidit</i>." Never have we joined in the senseless clamor which condemned +the only tax whereto we became voluntary contributors, the only +<a name="Page_487" id="Page_487"></a>resource which gave the stimulus without the danger or infatuation of +gambling, the only alembic which in these plodding days sublimized our +imaginations, and filled them with more delicious dreams than ever +flitted athwart the sensorium of Alnaschar.</p> + +<p>Never can the writer forget, when, as a child, he was hoisted upon a +servant's shoulder in Guildhall, and looked down upon the installed and +solemn pomp of the then drawing Lottery. The two awful cabinets of iron, +upon whose massy and mysterious portals the royal initials were +gorgeously emblazoned, as if, after having deposited the unfulfilled +prophecies within, the King himself had turned the lock, and still +retained the key in his pocket,—the blue-coat boy, with his naked arm, +first converting the invisible wheel, and then diving into the dark +recess for a ticket,—the grave and reverend faces of the commissioners +eying the announced number,—the scribes below calmly committing it to +their huge books,—the anxious countenances of the surrounding +populace,—while the giant figures of Gog and Magog, like presiding +deities, looked down with a grim silence upon the whole +proceeding,—constituted altogether a scene which, combined with the +sudden wealth supposed to be lavished from those inscrutable wheels, was +well calculated to impress the imagination of a boy with reverence and +amazement. Jupiter, seated between the two fatal urns of good and evil, +the blind goddess with her cornucopia, the Parcæ wielding the distaff, +the thread of life, and the abhorred shears, seemed but dim and shadowy +abstractions of mythology, when I had gazed upon an assemblage +exercising, as I dreamt, a not less eventful power, and all presented to +me in palpable and living operation. Reason and experience, ever at +their old spiteful work of catching and destroying the bubbles which +youth delighted to follow, have indeed dissipated much of this illusion; +but my mind so far retained the influence of that early impression, that +I have ever since continued to deposit my humble offerings at its +shrine, whenever the ministers of the Lottery went forth with type and +trumpet to announce its periodical dispensations; and though nothing has +been doled out to me from its uudiscerning coffers but blanks, or those +more vexatious tantalizers of the spirit denominated small prizes, yet +do I hold myself largely indebted to this most generous diffuser of +universal happiness. Ingrates that we are, are we to be thankful for no +benefits that are not palpable to sense, to recognize no favors that are +not of marketable value, to acknowledge no wealth unless it can be +counted with the five fingers? If we admit the mind to be the sole +depositary of genuine joy, where is the bosom that has not been elevated +into a temporary Elysium by the magic of the Lottery? Which of us has +not converted his ticket, or even his sixteenth share of one, into a +nest-egg of Hope, upon which he has sat brooding in the secret +roosting-places of his heart, and hatched it into a thousand fantastical +apparitions?</p> + +<p>What a startling revelation of the passions, if all the aspirations +engendered by the Lottery could be made manifest! Many an impecuniary +epicure has gloated over his locked-up warrant for future wealth, as a +means of realizing the dream of his namesake in the "Alchemist":—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My meat shall all come in in Indian shells,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boiled i' the spirit of Sol, and dissolved in pearl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Apicius' diet 'gainst the epilepsy);<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Headed with diamant and carbuncle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My footboy shall eat pheasants, calvered salmons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knots, goodwits, lampreys. I myself will have<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beards of barbels served; instead of salads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oiled mushrooms, and the swelling unctuous paps<br /></span><p><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dressed with an exquisite and poignant sauce,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For which I'll say unto my cook, 'There's gold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go forth, and he a knight.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Many a doting lover has kissed the scrap of paper whose promissory +shower of gold was to give up to him his otherwise unattainable Danaë; +Nimrods have transformed the same narrow symbol into a saddle by which +they have been enabled to bestride the backs of peerless hunters; while +nymphs have metamorphosed its Protean form into</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Rings, gauds, conceits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and all the braveries of dress, to say nothing of the obsequious +husband, the two-footmaned carriage, and the opera-box. By the simple +charm of this numbered and printed rag, gamesters have, for a time at +least, recovered their losses, spendthrifts have cleared off mortgages +from their estates, the imprisoned debtor has leaped over his lofty +boundary of circumscription and restraint and revelled in all the joys +of liberty and fortune, the cottage-walls have swelled out into more +goodly proportion than those of Baucis and Philemon, poverty has tasted +the luxuries of competence, labor has lolled at ease in a perpetual +armchair of idleness, sickness has been bribed into banishment, life has +been invested with new charms, and death deprived of its former terrors. +Nor have the affections been less gratified than the wants, appetites, +and ambitions of mankind. By the conjurations of the same potent spell, +kindred have lavished anticipated benefits upon one another, and charity +upon all. Let it be termed a delusion,—a fool's Paradise is better than +the wise man's Tartarus; be it branded as an <i>ignis-fatuus</i>,—it was at +least a benevolent one, which, instead of beguiling its followers into +swamps, caverns, and pitfalls, allured them on with all the +blandishments of enchantment to a garden of Eden, an ever-blooming +Elysium of delight. True, the pleasures it bestowed were evanescent: but +which of our joys are permanent? and who so inexperienced as not to know +that anticipation is always of higher relish than reality, which strikes +a balance both in our sufferings and enjoyments? "The fear of ill +exceeds the ill we fear"; and fruition, in the same proportion, +invariably falls short of hope. "Men are but children of a larger +growth," who may amuse themselves for a long time in gazing at the +reflection of the moon in the water; but, if they jump in to grasp it, +they may grope forever, and only get the farther from their object. He +is the wisest who keeps feeding upon the future, and refrains as long as +possible from undeceiving himself by converting his pleasant +speculations into disagreeable certainties.</p> + +<p>The true mental epicure always purchased his ticket early, and postponed +inquiry into its fate to the last possible moment, during the whole of +which intervening period he had an imaginary twenty thousand locked up +in his desk: and was not this well worth all the money? Who would +scruple to give twenty pounds interest for even the ideal enjoyment of +as many thousands during two or three months? "<i>Crede quod habes, et +habes</i>"; and the usufruct of such a capital is sorely not dear at such a +price. Some years ago, a gentleman, in passing along Cheapside, saw the +figures 1,069, of which number he was the sole proprietor, flaming on +the window of a lottery-office as a capital prize. Somewhat flurried by +this discovery, not less welcome than unexpected, he resolved to walk +round St. Paul's that he might consider in what way to communicate the +happy tidings to his wife and family; but, upon repassing the shop, he +observed that the number was altered to 10,069, and, upon inquiry, had +the mortification to learn that his ticket was a blank, and had only +been stuck up in the window by a mistake of the clerk. This effectually +calmed his agitation; but he always speaks of himself as having once +possessed twenty thousand pounds, and <a name="Page_489" id="Page_489"></a>maintains that his ten-minutes' +walk round St. Paul's was worth ten times the purchase-money of the +ticket. A prize thus obtained has, moreover, this special advantage: it +is beyond the reach of fate; it cannot be squandered; bankruptcy cannot +lay siege to it; friends cannot pull it down, nor enemies blow it up; it +bears a charmed life, and none of woman born can break its integrity, +even by the dissipation of a single fraction. Show me the property in +these perilous times that is equally compact and impregnable. We can no +longer become enriched for a quarter of an hour; we can no longer +succeed in such splendid failures: all our chances of making such a miss +have vanished with the last of the Lotteries.</p> + +<p>Life will now become a flat, prosaic routine of matter-of-fact; and +sleep itself, erst so prolific of numerical configurations and +mysterious stimulants to lottery-adventure, will be disfurnished of its +figures and figments. People will cease to harp upon the one lucky +number suggested in a dream, and which forms the exception, while they +are scrupulously silent upon the ten thousand falsified dreams which +constitute the rule. Morpheus will stifle Cocker with a handful of +poppies, and our pillows will be no longer haunted by the book of +numbers.</p> + +<p>And who, too, shall maintain the art and mystery of puffing in all its +pristine glory, when the lottery-professors shall have abandoned its +cultivation? They were the first, as they will assuredly be the last, +who fully developed the resources of that ingenious art,—who cajoled +and decoyed the most suspicious and wary reader into a perusal of their +advertisements by devices of endless variety and cunning,—who baited +their lurking schemes with midnight murders, ghost-stories, crim-cons, +bon-mots, balloons, dreadful catastrophes, and every diversity of joy +and sorrow, to catch newspaper-gudgeons. Ought not such talents to be +encouraged? Verily the abolitionists have much to answer for!</p> + +<p>And now, having established the felicity of all those who gained +imaginary prizes, let us proceed to show that the equally numerous class +who were presented with real blanks have not less reason to consider +themselves happy. Most of us have cause to be thankful for that which is +bestowed; but we have all, probably, reason to be still more grateful +for that which is withheld, and more especially for our being denied the +sudden possession of riches. In the Litany, indeed, we Call upon the +Lord to deliver us "in all time of our wealth"; but how few of us are +sincere in deprecating such a calamity! Massinger's <i>Luke</i>, and Ben +Jonson's <i>Sir Epicure Mammon</i>, and Pope's <i>Sir Balaam</i>, and our own +daily observation, might convince us that the Devil "now tempts by +making rich, not making poor." We may read in the "Guardian" a +circumstantial account of a man who was utterly ruined by gaining a +capital prize; we may recollect what Dr. Johnson said to Garrick, when +the latter was making a display of his wealth at Hampton Court,—"Ah, +David! David! these are the things that make a death-bed terrible"; we +may recall the Scripture declaration as to the difficulty a rich man +finds in entering into the kingdom of heaven; and, combining all these +denunciations against opulence, let us heartily congratulate one another +upon our lucky escape from the calamity of a twenty or thirty thousand +pound prize! The fox in the fable, who accused the unattainable grapes +of sourness, was more of a philosopher than we are generally willing to +allow. He was an adept in that species of moral alchemy which turns +everything to gold, and converts disappointment itself into a ground of +resignation and content. Such we have shown to be the great lesson +inculcated by the Lottery, when rightly contemplated; and if we might +parody M. de Châteaubriand's jingling expression, "<i>Le Roi est mort: +vive le Roi</i>!" we should be tempted to exclaim, "The Lottery is no more: +long live the Lottery!"</p><p><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490"></a></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The foregoing article, as the reader may possibly remember, was not +Lamb's only contribution to the "New Monthly Magazine." Indeed, it was +in that pleasant and popular periodical,—then at the height of its +popularity, with many of the most admired writers in Great Britain among +its contributors, and edited by the elegant and polished poet who sang +the "Pleasures of Hope,"—it was in this magazine that Elia's admirable +"Popular Fallacies" were first given to the world. (I fear, however, +that the exquisite grace, beauty, and polish of these delightful papers +were hardly appreciated by the readers of the "New Monthly.") And it was +for this publication that he undertook to write a novel. Although Elia +had but little fancy for novels himself, and in the writing of them +would not have done justice, perhaps, to his rare genius, yet, +nevertheless, I suspect that all admirers of "Rosamund Gray," if not all +readers of novels, regret that he did not complete the work of fiction +he began for the "New Monthly Magazine." Judging from the specimen that +was published, it would have been, had the author seen fit to finish it, +quite an original and very characteristic production. Here is the first +chapter of the story. Though advertised to be continued, this is all of +it that ever appeared.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>REMINISCENCES OF JUKE JUDKINS, ESQ., OF BIRMINGHAM</h4> + +<p>I am the only son of a considerable brazier in Birmingham, who, dying in +1803, left me successor to the business, with no other incumbrance than +a sort of rent-charge, which I am enjoined to pay out of it, of +ninety-three pounds sterling <i>per annum</i>, to his widow, my mother, and +which the improving state of the concern, I bless God, has hitherto +enabled me to discharge with punctuality. (I say, I am enjoined to pay +the said sum, but not strictly obligated: that is to say, as the will is +worded, I believe the law would relieve me from the payment of it; but +the wishes of a dying parent should in some sort have the effect of +law.) So that, though the annual profits of my business, on an average +of the last three or four years, would appear to an indifferent +observer, who should inspect my shop-books, to amount to the sum of one +thousand three hundred and three pounds, odd shillings, the real +proceeds in that time have fallen short of that sum to the amount of the +aforesaid payment of ninety-three pounds sterling annually.</p> + +<p>I was always my father's favorite. He took a delight, to the very last, +in recounting the little sagacious tricks and innocent artifices of my +childhood. One manifestation thereof I never heard him repeat without +tears of joy trickling down his cheeks. It seems, that, when I quitted +the parental roof, (August 27th, 1788,) being then six years and not +quite a month old, to proceed to the Free School at Warwick, where my +father was a sort of trustee, my mother—as mothers are usually +provident on these occasions—had stuffed the pockets of the coach, +which was to convey me and six more children of my own growth that were +going to be entered along with me at the same seminary, with a +prodigious quantity of gingerbread, which I remember my father said was +more than was needed: and so, indeed, it was; for, if I had been to eat +it all myself, it would have got stale and mouldly before it had been +half spent. The consideration whereof set me upon my contrivances how I +might secure to myself as much of the gingerbread as would keep good for +the next two or three days, and yet none of the rest in a manner be +wasted. I had a little pair of pocket-compasses, which I usually carried +about me for the purpose of making draughts and measurements, at which I +was always very ingenious, of the various engines and mechanical +inventions in which such a town as Birmingham abounded. By the means of +these, and a small penknife which my father had given me, I cut out the +one half of the cake, calculating that the remainder would reasonably +<a name="Page_491" id="Page_491"></a>serve my turn; and subdividing it into many little slices, which were +curious to see for the neatness and niceness of their proportion, I sold +it out in so many pennyworths to my young companions as served us all +the way to Warwick, which is a distance of some twenty miles from this, +town: and very merry, I assure you, we made ourselves with it, feasting +all the way. By this honest stratagem, I put double the prime cost of +the gingerbread into my purse, and secured as much as I thought would +keep good and moist for my next two or three days' eating. When I told +this to my parents, on their first visit to me at Warwick, my father +(good man) patted me on the cheek, and stroked my head, and seemed as if +he could never make enough of me; but my mother unaccountably burst into +tears, and said "it was a very niggardly action," or some such +expression, and that "she would rather it would please God to take +me"—meaning, God help me, that I should die—"than that she should live +to see me grow up a <i>mean man</i>": which shows the difference of parent +from parent, and how some mothers are more harsh and intolerant to their +children than some fathers,—when we might expect quite the contrary. My +father, however, loaded me with presents from that time, which made me +the envy of my school-fellows. As I felt this growing disposition in +them, I naturally sought to avert it by all the means in my power; and +from that time I used to eat my little packages of fruit and other nice +things in a corner, so privately that I was never found out. Once, I +remember, I had a huge apple sent me, of that sort which they call +<i>cats'-heads</i>. I concealed this all day under my pillow; and at night, +but not before I had ascertained that my bed-fellow was sound +asleep,—which I did by pinching him rather smartly two or three times, +which he seemed to perceive no more than a dead person, though once or +twice he made a motion as if he would turn, which frightened me,—I say, +when I had made all sure, I fell to work upon my apple; and though it +was as big as an ordinary man's two fists, I made shift to get through +it before it was time to get up. And a more delicious feast I never +made,—thinking all night what a good parent I had (I mean my father) to +send me so many nice things, when the poor lad that lay by me had no +parent or friend in the world to send him anything nice; and thinking of +his desolate condition, I munched and munched as silently as I could, +that I might not set him a-longing, if he overheard me. And yet, for all +this considerateness and attention to other people's feelings; I was +never much a favorite with my school-fellows; which I have often +wondered at, seeing that I never defrauded any one of them of the value +of a halfpenny, or told stories of them to their master, as some little +lying boys would do, but was ready to do any of them all the services in +my power that were consistent with my own well-doing. I think nobody can +be expected to go further than that.—But I am detaining my reader too +long in the recording of my juvenile days. It is time that I should go +forward to a season when it became natural that I should have some +thoughts of marrying, and, as they say, settling in the world. +Nevertheless, my reflections on what I may call the boyish period of my +life may have their use to some readers. It is pleasant to trace the man +in the boy, to observe shoots of generosity in those young years, and to +watch the progress of liberal sentiments, and what I may call a genteel +way of thinking, which is discernible in some children at a very early +age, and usually lays the foundation of all that is praiseworthy in the +manly character afterwards.</p> + +<p>With the warmest inclinations towards that way of life, and a serious +conviction of its superior advantages over a single one, it has been the +strange infelicity of my lot never to have entered into the respectable +estate of matrimony. Yet I was once very near it. I courted a young +woman in my twenty-seventh year,—for so early I began to feel symptoms +of the <a name="Page_492" id="Page_492"></a>tender passion! She was well to do in the world, as they call +it, but yet not such a fortune as, all things considered, perhaps I +might have pretended to. It was not my own choice altogether; but my +mother very strongly pressed me to it. She was always putting it to me, +that I "had comings-in sufficient,—that I need not stand upon a +portion"; though the young woman, to do her justice, had considerable +expectations, which yet did not quite come up to my mark, as I told you +before. She had this saying always in her mouth: that I "had money +enough; that it was time I enlarged my housekeeping, and to show a +spirit befitting my circumstances." In short, what with her +importunities, and my own desires <i>in part</i> coöperating,—for, as I +said, I was not yet quite twenty-seven, a time when the youthful +feelings may be pardoned, if they show a little impetuosity,—I +resolved, I say, upon all these considerations, to set about the +business of courting in right earnest. I was a young man then, and +having a spice of romance in my character, (as the reader doubtless has +observed long ago,) such as that sex is apt to be taken with, I had +reason in no long time to think my addresses were anything but +disagreeable.</p> + +<p>Certainly the happiest part of a young man's life is the time when he is +going a-courting. All the generous impulses are then awake, and he feels +a double existence in participating his hopes and wishes with another +being. Return yet again for a brief moment, ye visionary views, +transient enchantments! ye moonlight rambles with Cleora in the Silent +Walk at Vauxhall,—(N.B.—About a mile from Birmingham, and resembling +the gardens of that name near London, only that the price of admission +is lower,)—when the nightingale has suspended her notes in June to +listen to our loving discourses, while the moon was overhead! (for we +generally used to take our tea at Cleora's mother's before we set out, +not so much to save expenses as to avoid the publicity of a repast in +the gardens,—coming in much about the time of half-price, as they call +it)—ye soft intercommunions of soul, when, exchanging mutual vows, we +prattled of coming felicities! The loving disputes we have had under +those trees, when this house (planning our future settlement) was +rejected, because, though cheap, it was dull, and the other house was +given up, because, though agreeably situated, it was too +high-rented,—one was too much in the heart of the town, another was too +far from business. These minutiæ will seem impertinent to the aged and +the prudent. I write them only to the young. Young lovers, and +passionate as being young, (such were Cleora and I then,) alone can +understand me. After some weeks wasted, as I may now call it, in this +sort of amorous colloquy, we at length fixed upon the house in the High +Street, No. 203, just vacated by the death of Mr. Hutton of this town, +for our future residence. I had till that time lived in lodgings (only +renting a shop for business) to be near to my mother,—near, I say: not +in the same house with her, for that would have been to introduce +confusion into our housekeeping, which it was desirable to keep +separate. Oh, the loving wrangles, the endearing differences I had with +Cleora, before we could quite make up our minds to the house that was to +receive us!—I pretending, for argument's sake, that the rent was too +high, and she insisting that the taxes were moderate in proportion, and +love at last reconciling us in the same choice. I think at that time, +moderately speaking, she might have had anything out of me for asking. I +do not, nor shall ever, regret that my character at that time was marked +with a tinge of prodigality. Age comes fast enough upon us, and, in its +good time, will prune away all that is inconvenient in these excesses. +Perhaps it is right that it should do so. Matters, as I said, were +ripening to a conclusion between us, only the house was yet not +absolutely taken. Some necessary arrangements, which the ardor of my +youthful impetuosity could hardly brook at that time (love and youth +will be precipitate)—some preliminary arrangements,<a name="Page_493" id="Page_493"></a> I say, with the +landlord, respecting fixtures,—very necessary things to be considered +in a young man about to settle in the world, though not very accordant +with the impatient state of my then passions,—some obstacles about the +valuation of the fixtures,—had hitherto precluded (and I shall always +think providentially) my final closes with his offer, when one of those +accidents, which, unimportant in themselves, often arise to give a turn +to the most serious intentions of our life, intervened, and put an end +at once to my projects of wiving and of housekeeping.</p> + +<p>I was never much given to theatrical entertainments,—that is, at no +time of my life was I ever what they call a regular play-goer; but on +some occasion of a benefit-night, which was expected to be very +productive, and indeed turned out so, Cleora expressing a desire to be +present, I could do no less than offer, as I did very willingly, to +squire her and her mother to the pit. At that time it was not customary +in our town for tradesfolk, except some of the very topping ones, to +sit, as they now do, in the boxes. At the time appointed I waited upon +the ladies, who had brought with them a young man, a distant relation, +whom it seems they had invited to be of the party. This a little +disconcerted me, as I had about me barely silver enough to pay for our +three selves at the door, and did not at first know that their relation +had proposed paying for himself. However, to do the young man justice, +he not only paid for himself, but for the old lady besides,—leaving me +only to pay for two, as it were. In our passage to the theatre, the +notice of Cleora was attracted to some orange-wenches that stood about +the doors vending their commodities. She was leaning on my arm; and I +could feel her every now and then giving me a nudge, as it is called, +which I afterwards discovered were hints that I should buy some oranges. +It seems, it is a custom at Birmingham, and perhaps in other places, +when a gentleman treats ladies to the play, especially when a full night +is expected, and that the house will be inconveniently warm, to provide +them with this kind of fruit, oranges being esteemed for their cooling +property. But how could I guess at that, never having treated ladies to +a play before, and being, as I said, quite a novice at these kind of +entertainments? At last she spoke plain out, and begged that I would buy +some of "those oranges," pointing to a particular barrow. But when I +came to examine the fruit, I did not think that the quality of it was +answerable to the price. In this way I handled several baskets of them; +but something in them all displeased me. Some had thin rinds, and some +were plainly over-ripe, which is as great a fault as not being ripe +enough; and I could not (what they call) make a bargain. While I stood +haggling with the women, secretly determining to put off my purchase +till I should get within the theatre, where I expected we should have +better choice, the young man, the cousin, (who, it seems, had left us +without my missing him,) came running to us with his pockets stuffed out +with oranges, inside and out, as they say. It seems, not liking the look +of the barrow-fruit any more than myself, he had slipped away to an +eminent fruiterer's, about three doors distant, which I never had the +sense to think of, and had laid out a matter of two shillings in some of +the best St. Michael's, I think, I ever tasted. What a little hinge, as +I said before, the most important affairs in life may turn upon! The +mere inadvertence to the fact that there was an eminent fruiterer's +within three doors of us, though we had just passed it without the +thought once occurring to me, which he had taken advantage of, lost me +the affections of my Cleora. From that time she visibly cooled towards +me, and her partiality was as visibly transferred to this cousin. I was +long unable to account for this change in her behavior; when one day, +accidentally discoursing of oranges to my mother, alone, she let drop a +sort of reproach to me, as if I had offended Cleora by my <i>nearness</i>, as +she called it, that <a name="Page_494" id="Page_494"></a>evening. Even now, when Cleora has been wedded some +years to that same officious relation, as I may call him, I can hardly +be persuaded that such a trifle could have been the motive to her +inconstancy; for could she suppose that I would sacrifice my dearest +hopes in her to the paltry sum of two shillings, when I was going to +treat her to the play, and her mother too, (an expense of more than four +times that amount,) if the young man had not interfered to pay for the +latter, as I mentioned? But the caprices of the sex are past finding +out: and I begin to think my mother was in the right; for doubtless +women know women better than we can pretend to know them.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>WORKS AND DAYS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i13">—"Ritorna a tua scienza!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Che vuol, quanto la cosa è più perfetta,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Più senta il bene, e così la doglienza."—DANTE.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Record, O Muse! and let the record stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, when Bellona ravaged half the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When even these groves, from bloody fields afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft shook and shuddered at the sounds of war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the drum drowned the music of the flail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And midnight marches broke the peace of Yale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then gathered here amid these vacant bowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A band of scholars, men of various powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Various in motion, but with one desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through wreck and war to watch the sacred fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The authentic fire that great forethoughted Mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stole from the gods for good of humankind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say, Terebinthia, from thy tree of pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nymph of New England! Muse beyond the Nine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Berkeley's goddess! giver oftentimes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of strength to him, and now and then of rhymes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose tears were balsam to the Bishop's brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cheer, but not infuriate his vein,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell me, sad virgin, who came after terms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In these dry fields to stir the slumbering germs?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their names were few,—but Agassiz was one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Peirce, the lord of numbers, and alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arithmeticians many more will be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when another to outrival thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then those Professors,—Philadelphian pair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winlock, the wise, and watchful as a hare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright Benjamin that bears the golden name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Apthorp the quick,) Augustus of the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that strict student, evermore exact,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One of the Wymans,—both such men of fact,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If observation with extensive view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More such observers can observe, they're few.<br /></span><p><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495"></a></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye sacred shades where Silliman made gray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those hairs that greet him eighty-five to-day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good names be these! good names to stand with his,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fit to record with Yale's old histories,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When sage Timotheus woke the Western lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Hillhouse touched, and Percival with fire!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Declare now, Clio! 'mid this gifted band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who held the reins?—what scientific hand?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did He preside? did Franklin's honored heir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wonted influence possess the chair?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No: bowed with cares, a servant of the State,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In loftier fields he held his watch sedate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bache could not come,—for us a mighty void!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet well for him,—for he was best employed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High on his tented mountain's breezy slope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might but those maidens meet him—Health and Hope!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet wouldst thou know who stood superior there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all seemed equal, this I may declare:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all the wise that wandered from the East<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or West or South to sit in solemn feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two men did mostly fascinate the Muse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Differing in genius, but with equal views:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One measuring heaven, in starry lore supreme;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other lighting, like the morning beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Ocean's bed, or his fresh Alpine snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reading the laws whereby the glacier grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or life, through some half-intimated plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose from a star-fish to the race of man:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Choose thine own monarch! either well might reign!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew but one before,—and now but twain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Now shut the gates,—the fields have drunk enough<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time demands a Muse of sterner stuff;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more one bard, exempt from vulgar throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May sing through Roman towns the Ascræan song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or court in Learning's elmy bowers relief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From individual shame or general grief:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silence is music to a soul outworn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the wild clangor of the warlike horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The paltry fife, the brain-benumbing drum.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, white Astræa! will thy kingdom come,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chaster period that our boyhood saw,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arts above arms, and without conquest, Law,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rights well maintained without the strength of steel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And milder manners for the gentle weal,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Freedom's promise may not come to blight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Wisdom fail, and Knowledge end in night?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">New Haven</span>, <i>August 8</i>.</p><p><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PAUL_JONES_AND_DENIS_DUVAL" id="PAUL_JONES_AND_DENIS_DUVAL"></a>PAUL JONES AND DENIS DUVAL.</h2> + + +<p>Ingham and his wife have a habit of coming in to spend the evening with +us, unless we go there, or unless we both go to Haliburton's, or unless +there is something better to do elsewhere.</p> + +<p>We talk, or we play besique, or Mrs. Haliburton sings, or we sit on the +stoup and hear the crickets sing; but when there is a new Trollope or +Thackeray,—alas, there will never be another new Thackeray!—all else +has always been set aside till we have read that aloud.</p> + +<p>When I began the last sentence of the last Thackeray that ever was +written, Ingham jumped out of his seat, and cried,—</p> + +<p>"There, I said I remembered this <i>Duval</i>, and you made fun of me. Go +on,—and I will tell you all about him, when you have done."</p> + +<p>So I read on to the sudden end:—</p> + +<p>"We had been sent for in order to protect a fleet of merchantmen that +were bound to the Baltic, and were to sail under the convoy of our ship +and the Countess of Scarborough, commanded by Captain Piercy. And thus +it came about, that, after being twenty-five days in His Majesty's +service, I had the fortune to be present at one of the most severe and +desperate combats that have been fought in our or in any time.</p> + +<p>"I shall not attempt to tell that story of the battle of the 23d of +September, which ended in our glorious captain striking his own colors +to our superior and irresistible enemy." (This enemy, as Mr. Thackeray +has just said, is "Monsieur John Paul Jones, afterwards Knight of His +Most Christian Majesty's Order of Merit.") "Sir Richard [Pearson, of the +English frigate Serapis] has told the story of his disaster in words +nobler than any I could supply, who, though indeed engaged in that fatal +action, in which our flag went down before a renegade Briton and his +motley crew, saw but a very small portion of the battle which ended so +fatally for us. It did not commence till nightfall. How well I remember +the sound of the enemy's gun, of which the shot crashed into our side in +reply to the challenge of our captain who hailed her! Then came a +broadside from us,—the first I had ever heard in battle."<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a></p> + +<p>Ingham did not speak for a little while. None of us did. And when we +did, it was not to speak of Denis Duval, so much as of the friend we +lost, when we lost the monthly letter, or at least, Roundabout Paper, +from Mr. Thackeray. How much we had prized him,—how strange it was that +there was ever a day when we did not know about him,—how strange it was +that anybody should call him cynical, or think men must apologize for +him:—of such things and of a thousand more we spoke, before we came +back to Denis Duval.</p> + +<p>But at last Fausta said,—"What do you mean, Fred, by saying you +remember Denis Duval?"</p> + +<p>And I,—"Did you meet him at the Battle of Pavia, or in Valerius +Flaccus's Games in Numidia?" For we have a habit of calling Ingham "The +Wandering Jew."</p> + +<p>But he would not be jeered at; he only called us to witness, that, from +the first chapter of Denis Duval, he had said the name was +familiar,—even to the point of looking it out in the Biographical +Dictionary; and now that it appeared Duval fought on board the Serapis, +he said it all came back to him. His grandfather, his mother's father, +was a "volunteer"-boy, preparing to be midshipman, on the Serapis,—and +he knew he had heard him speak of Duval!</p> + +<p>Oh, how we all screamed! It was so like Ingham! Haliburton asked him if +his grandfather was not <i>best-man</i> when Denis married Agnes. Fausta +asked him <a name="Page_497" id="Page_497"></a>if he would not continue the novel in the "Cornhill." I said +it was well known that the old gentleman advised Montcalm to surrender +Quebec, interpreted between Cook and the first Kamehameha, piloted La +Pérouse between the Centurion and the Graves in Boston harbor, and +called him up with a toast at a school-dinner;—that I did not doubt, +therefore, that it was all right,—and that he and Duval had sworn +eternal friendship in their boyhood, and now formed one constellation in +the southern hemisphere. But after we had all done, Ingham offered to +bet Newport for the Six that he would substantiate what he said. This is +by far the most tremendous wager in our little company; it is never +offered, unless there be certainty to back it; it is, therefore, never +accepted; and the nearest approach we have ever made to Newport, as a +company, was one afternoon when we went to South-Boston Point in the +horse-car, and found the tide down. Silence reigned, therefore, and the +subject changed.</p> + +<p>The next night we were at Ingham's. He unlocked a ravishing old black +mahogany secretary he has, and produced a pile of parchment-covered +books of different sizes, which were diaries of old Captain Heddart's. +They were often called log-books,—but, though in later years kept on +paper ruled for log-books, and often following to a certain extent the +indications of the columns, they were almost wholly personal, and +sometimes ran a hundred pages without alluding at all to the ship on +which he wrote. Well! the earliest of these was by far the most elegant +in appearance. My eyes watered a little, as Ingham showed me on the +first page, in the stiff Italian hand which our grandmothers wrote in, +when they aspired to elegance, the dedication,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">To my dear Francis</span>,</p> + +<p><i>who will write something here every day, because he loves his</i> +<span class="smcap">Mother</span>."</p></div> + +<p>That old English gentleman, whom I just remember, when Ingham first went +to sea, as the model of mild, kind old men, at Ingham's mother's +house,—then he went to sea once himself for the first time,—and he had +a mother himself,—and as he went off, she gave him the best album-book +that Thetford Regis could make,—and wrote this inscription in ink that +was not rusty then!</p> + +<p>Well, again! in this book, Ingham, who had been reading it all day, had +put five or six newspaper-marks.</p> + +<p>The first was at this entry,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A new boy came into the mess. They said he was a French boy, but +the first luff says he is the Capptain's own nef-few."</p></div> + +<p>Two pages on,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The French boy fought Wimple and beat him. They fought seeventeen +rounds."</p></div> + +<p>Farther yet,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Toney is offe on leave. So the French boy was in oure watch. He +is not a French boy. His name is Doovarl."</p></div> + +<p>In the midst of a great deal about the mess, and the fellows, and the +boys, and the others, and an inexplicable fuss there is about a +speculation the mess entered into with some illicit dealer for an +additional supply, not of liquor, but of sugar,—which I believe was +detected, and which covers pages of badly written and worse spelled +manuscript, not another distinct allusion to the French boy,—not near +so much as to Toney or Wimple or Scroop, or big Wallis or little Wallis. +Ingham had painfully toiled through it all, and I did after him. But in +another volume, written years after, at a time when the young officer +wrote a much more rapid, though scarcely more legible hand, he found a +long account of an examination appointed to pass midshipmen, and, to our +great delight, as it began, this exclamation:—</p><p><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498"></a></p> + +<p>"When the Amphion's boat came up, who should step up but old Den, whom I +had not seen since we were in the Rainbow. We were together all +day,—and it was very good to see him."</p> + +<p>And afterwards, in the detail of the examination, he is spoken of as +"Duval." The passage is a little significant.</p> + +<p>Young Heddart details all the questions put to him, as thus:—</p> + +<p>"'Old Saumarez asked me which was the narrowest part of the Channel, and +I told him. Then he asked how Silly [<i>sic</i>] bore, if I had 75 fathom, +red sand and gravel. I said, 'About N.W.,' and the old man said, 'Well, +yes,—rather West of N.W., is not it so, Sir Richard?' And Sir Richard +did not know what they were talking about, and they pulled out +Mackenzie's Survey," etc., etc., etc.,—more than any man would delve +through at this day, unless he were searching for Paul Jones or Denis +Duval, or some other hero. "What is the mark for going into Spithead?" +"What is the mark for clearing Royal Sovereign Shoals?"—let us hope +they were all well answered. Evidently, in Mr. Heddart's mind, they were +more important than any other detail of that day, but fortunately for +posterity then comes this passage:—</p> + +<p>"After me they called up Brooke, and Calthorp, and Clements,—and then +old Wingate, Tom Wingate's father, who had examined them, seemed to get +tired, and turned to Pierson, and said, 'Sir Richard, you ought to take +your turn." And so Sir Richard began, and, as if by accident, called up +Den.</p> + +<p>"'Mr. Duval,' said he, 'how do you find the variation of the compass by +the amplitudes or azimuths?'</p> + +<p>"Of course any fool knew that. And of course he could not ask all such +questions. So, when he came on <i>practice</i>, he said,—</p> + +<p>"'Mr. Duval, what is the mark for Stephenson's Shoal?'</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! what fun it was to hear Den answer,—Lyd Church and the ruins +of Lynn Monastery must come in one. The Shoal was about three miles from +Dungeness, and bore S.W. or somewhere from it. The Soundings were red +sand—or white sand or something,—very glib. Then—</p> + +<p>"'How would you anchor under Dungeness, Mr. Duval?'</p> + +<p>"And Duval was not too glib, but very certain. He would bring it to bear +S.W. by W., or, perhaps, W.S.W.; he would keep the Hope open of Dover, +and he would try to have twelve fathoms water.</p> + +<p>"'Well, Mr. Duval, how does Dungeness bear from Beachy Head?'—and so +on, and so on.</p> + +<p>"And Den was very good and modest, but quite correct all the same, and +as true to the point as Cocker and Gunter together. Oh, dear! I hope the +post-captains did not know that Sir Richard was Den's uncle, and that +Den had sailed in and out of Winchelsea harbour, in sight of Beachy Head +and Dungeness, ever since the day after he was born!</p> + +<p>"But he made no secret of it when we passed-mids dined at the Anchor.</p> + +<p>"A jolley time we had! I slept there."</p> + +<p>With these words, Denis Duval vanishes from the Diary.</p> + + +<p>Of course, as soon as we had begged Ingham's pardon, we turned back to +find the battle with the Bon Homme Richard. Little enough was there. The +entry reads thus,—this time rather more in log-book shape.</p> + +<p>On the left-hand page, in columns elaborately ruled,—</p> + +<pre> +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days. |Sept. 1779.|Wind.|Courses. |Dist.|Lat. |Long. | Bearings. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"> | | |Waiting for | | | | Flamboro.</span> +Wednesday,\| 22.23. | S.E.|Convoy till |None.|54° 9'|0°5' E.| H. +Thursday. /| | |11 of | | | | N. by W. +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"> | | |Thursday. | | | |</span> +--------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /> +</pre> + +<p>The rest of that page is blank. The right page, headed, "<i>Remarks, &c., +on board H.M.S. Serapis</i>," in the boy's best copy-hand, goes on with +longer entries than any before.</p> + +<p>"42 vessels reported for the convoy. Mr. Mycock says we shall not wait +for the rest."</p> + +<p>"10 o'clock, A.M. Thursday. Two men came on board with news of the +pirate Jones. Signal for a coast-pilot,—weighed and sailed as soon as +he came. As we pass Flamboro' Head, two sails in sight S.S.W., which the +men say are he and his consort."</p> + +<p>Then, for the next twenty-four hours,—</p> + +<pre> +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days.|Sept. 1779.|Wind. |Courses.|Dist. |Lat. |Long. | Bearings. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"> | | | | | | |Flamb. H.</span> +Thursday,\| 23.24. |S.S.W.| E.S.E. |Nothing.|52.13.|0.11. E.|W. aftern. +Friday. /| | | W.S.W. | | | |W. by N. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +</pre> + +<p>"Foggy at first,—clear afterwards.</p> + +<p>"At 1 P.M. beat to quarters. All my men at quarters but West, who was on +shore when we sailed, the men say on leave,—and Collins in the sick +bay. (MEM. <i>shirked</i>.) The others in good spirits. Mr. Wallis made us a +speech, and the men cheered well. Engaged the enemy at about 7.20 P.M. +Mr. Wallis had bade me open my larboard ports, and I did so; but I did +not loosen the stern-guns, which are fought by my crew, when necessary. +The captain hailed the stranger twice, and then the order came to fire. +Our gun No. 2 (after-gun but one) was my first piece. No. 1 flashed, and +the gunner had to put on new priming. Fired twice with those guns, but +before we had loaded the second time, for the third fire, the enemy ran +into us. One of my men (Craik) was badly jammed in the shock,—squeezed +between the gun and the deck. But he did not leave the gun. Tried to +fire into the enemy, but just as we got the gun to bear, and got a new +light, he fell off. It was very bad working in the dark. The lanthorns +are as bad as they can be. Loaded both guns, got new portfires, and we +ran into the enemy. We were wearing, and I believe our jib-boom got into +his mizzen rigging. The ships were made fast by the men on the upper +deck. At first I could not bring a gun to bear, the enemy was so far +ahead of me. But as soon as we anchored, our ship forged ahead a +little,—and by bringing the hind axle-trucks well aft, I made both my +starboard guns bear on his bows. Fired right into his forward ports. I +do not think there was a man or a gun there. In the second battery, +forward of me, they had to blow our own ports open, because the enemy +lay so close. Stopped firing three times for my guns to cool. No. 2 +cools quicker than No. 1, or I think so. Forward we could hear +musket-shot, and grenadoes,—but none of these things fell where we were +at work. A man came into port No. 5, where little Wallis was, and said +that the enemy was sinking, and had released him and the other +prisoners. But we had no orders to stop firing. Afterwards there was a +great explosion. It began at the main hatch, but came back to me and +scalded some of my No. 2 men horribly. Afterwards Mr. Wallis came and +took some of No. 2's men to board. I tried to bring both guns to bear +with No. 1's crew. No. 2's crew did not come back. At half-past ten all +firing stopped on the upper deck. Mr. Wallis went up to see if the enemy +had struck. He did not come down,—but the master came down and said we +had struck, and the orders were to cease firing.</p> + +<p>"We had struck to the Richard, 44, Commodore Jones, and the Alliance, +40, which was the vessel they saw from the quarter-deck. Our consort, +the Countess Scarborough, had struck to the enemy's ship Pallas. The +officers and crew of the Richard are on board our ship. The mids talk +English well, and are good fellows. They are very sorry for Mr. Mayrant, +who was stabbed with a pike in boarding us, and Mr. Potter, another +midshipman, who was hurt.</p><p><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500"></a></p> + +<pre> +----------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days.|Sept., 1779.|Wind. |Courses.|Dist.|Lat. |Long. |Bearings. +----------------------------------------------------------------------- +Friday, \|24th, 25th. |S.S.W.| |None.|As |As |As above. +Saturday./| | | | |above. |above. |<br /> +----------------------------------------------------------------------- +</pre> + +<p>"The enemy's sick and wounded and prisoners were brought on board. At +ten on the 25th, his ship, the Richard, sank. Played chess with Mr. +Merry, one of the enemy's midshipmen. Beat him twice out of three.</p> + +<p>"There is a little French fellow named Travaillier among their +volunteers. When I first saw him he was naked to his waist. He had used +his coat for a wad, and his shirt wet to put out fire. Plenty of our men +had their coats burnt off, but they did not live to tell it."</p> + +<p>Then the diary relapses into the dreariness of most ship-diaries, till +they come into the Texel, when it is to a certain extent relieved by +discussions about exchanges.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Such a peep at the most remarkable frigate-action in history, as that +action was seen by a boy in the dark, through such key-hole as the +after-ports of one of the vessels would give him, stimulated us all to +"ask for more," and then to abuse Master Robert Heddart, "volunteer," a +little, that he had not gone into more detail. Ingham defended his +grandfather by saying that it was the way diaries always served you, +which is true enough, and that the boy had literally told what he saw, +which was also true enough, only he seemed to have seen "mighty little," +which, I suppose, should be spelled "mity little." When we said this, +Ingham said it was all in the dark, and Haliburton added, that "the +battle-lanterns were as bad as they could be," Ingham said, however, +that he thought there was more somewhere,—he had often heard the old +gentleman tell the story in vastly more detail.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, a few days after, he sent me a yellow old letter on long +foolscap sheets, in which the old gentleman had written out his +recollections for Ingham's own benefit, after some talk of old times on +Thanksgiving evening. It is all he has ever found in his grandfather's +rather tedious papers about the battle, and one passing allusion in it +drops the curtain on Denis Duval.</p> + +<p>Here it is.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Jamaica Plain, Nov</span>. 29, 1824.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Boy</span>,—I am very glad to comply with your request +about an account of the great battle between the Serapis and the +Bon Homme Richard and her consort. I had rather you should write +out what I told you all on Thanksgiving evening at your mother's, +for you hold a better pen than I do. But I know my memory of the +event is strong, for it was the first fight I ever saw; and +although it does not compare with Rodney's great fight with De +Grasse, which I saw also, yet there are circumstances connected +with it which will always make it a remarkable fight in history.</p> + +<p>"You said, at your mother's, that you had never understood why the +men on each side kept inquiring if the others had struck. The +truth is, we had it all our own way below. And, as it proved, when +our captain, Pearson, struck, most of his men were below. I know, +that, in all the confusion and darkness and noise, I had no idea, +aft on the main deck, that we were like to come off second best. +On the other hand, at that time, the Richard probably had not a +man left between-decks, unless some whom they were trying to keep +at her pumps. But on her upper deck and quarter-deck and in her +tops she had it all her own way. Jones himself was there; by that +time Dale was there; and they had wholly cleared our upper deck, +as we had cleared their main deck and gun-room. This was the +strangeness of that battle. We were pounding through and through +her, while she did not fight a gun of her main battery. But Jones +was working his quarter-deck <a name="Page_501" id="Page_501"></a>guns so as almost to rake our deck +from stem to stern. You know, the ships were foul and lashed +together. Jones says in his own account he aimed at our main-mast +and kept firing at it. You can see that no crew could have lived +under such a fire as that. There you have the last two hours of +the battle: Jones's men all above, our men all below; we pounding +at his main deck, he pelting at our upper deck. If there had not +been some such division, of course the thing could not have lasted +so long, even with the horrid havoc there was. I never saw +anything like it, and I hope, dear boy, you may never have to."</p> + +<p>[<i>Mem.</i> by Ingham. I had just made my first cruise as a midshipman +in the U.S. navy on board the Intrepid, when the old gentleman +wrote this to me. He made his first cruise in the British navy in +the Serapis. After he was exchanged, he remained in that service +till 1789, when he married in Canso, N.S., resigned his +commission, and settled there.]</p></div> + +<p>The letter continues:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I have been looking back on my own boyish journal of that time. +My mother made me keep a log, as I hope yours does. But it is +strange to see how little of the action it tells. The truth is, I +was nothing but a butterfly of a youngster. To save my conceit, +the first lieutenant, Wallis, told me I was assigned to keep an +eye on the after-battery, where were two fine old fellows as ever +took the King's pay really commanding the crews and managing the +guns. Much did I know about sighting or firing them! However, I +knew enough to keep my place. I remember tying up a man's arm with +my own shirt-sleeves, by way of showing I was not frightened, as +in truth I was. And I remember going down to the cockpit with a +poor wretch who was awfully burned with powder,—and the sight +there was so much worse than it was at my gun that I was glad to +get back again. Well, you may judge, that, from two +after-portholes below, first larboard, then starboard, I <i>saw</i> +little enough of the battle. But I have talked about it since, +with Dale, who was Jones's first lieutenant, and whom I met at +Charlestown when he commanded the yard there. I have talked of it +with Wallis many times. I talked of it with Sir Richard Pearson, +who was afterwards Lt.-Gov. of Greenwich, and whom I saw there. +Paul Jones I have touched my hat to, but never spoke to, except +when we all took wine with him one day at dinner. But I have met +his niece, Miss Janet Taylor, who lives in London now, and +calculates nautical tables. I hope you will see her some day. Then +there is a gentleman named Napier in Edinburgh, who has the +Richard's log-book. Go and see it, if you are ever there,—Mr. +George Napier. And I have read every word I could find about the +battle. It was a remarkable fight indeed. 'All of which I was, +though so little I saw.'"</p> + +<p>[<i>Mem.</i> by F.C. And dear Ingham's nice old grandfather is a little +slow in getting into action, <i>me judice</i>. It was a way they had in +the navy before steam.]</p></div> + +<p>The letter continues:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I do not know that Captain Pearson was a remarkable man; but I do +know he was a brave man. He was made Sir Richard Pearson by the +King for his bravery in this fight. When Paul Jones heard of that, +he said Pearson deserved the knighthood, and that he would make +him an earl the next time he met him. Of course, I only knew the +captain as a midshipman (we were 'volunteers' then) knows a +post-captain, and that for a few months only. We joined in summer +(the Serapis was just commissioned for the first time). We were +taken prisoners in September, but it was mid-winter before we were +exchanged. He was very cross all the time we were in Holland. I do +not suppose he wrote as good a letter as Jones did. I have heard +that he could not spell well. But what I know is that he was a +brave man.</p> + +<p>"Paul Jones is one of the curiosities of history. He certainly was +of immense value to your struggling cause.<a name="Page_502" id="Page_502"></a> He kept England in +terror; he showed the first qualities as a naval commander; he +achieved great successes with very little force. Yet he has a +damaged reputation. I do not think he deserves this reputation; +but I know he has it. Now I can see but one difference between him +and any of your land-heroes or your water-heroes whom all the +world respects. This is, that he was born on our side, and they +were born on the American side. This ought not to make any +difference. But in actual fact I think it did. Jones was born in +the British Islands. The popular feeling of England made a +distinction between the allegiance which he owed to King George +and that of born Americans. It ought not to have done so, because +he had in good faith emigrated to America before the Rebellion, +and took part in it with just the same motives which led any other +American officer.<a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a></p> + +<p>"He had a fondness for books and for society, and thought himself +gifted in writing. I should think he wrote too much. I have seen +verses of his which were very poor."</p> + +<p>[<i>Mem</i>. by F.C. I should think Ingham's grandfather wrote too +much. I have seen letters of his which were very long, before they +came to their subject.]</p></div> + +<p>The letter continues:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"To return. The Serapis, as I have said, was but just built. She +had been launched that spring. She was one of the first 44-gun +frigates that were ever built in the world. We (the English) were +the first naval power to build frigates, as now understood, at +all. I believe the name is Italian, but in the Mediterranean it +means a very different thing. We had little ships-of-the-line, +which were called fourth-rates, and which fought sixty, and even +as low as fifty guns; they had two decks, and a quarter-deck +above. But just as I came into the service, the old Phœnix and +Rainbow and Roebuck were the only 44s we had: they were successful +ships, and they set the Admiralty on building 44-gun frigates, +which, even when they carried 50 guns, as we did, were quite +different from the old fourth-rates. Very useful vessels they +proved. I remember the Romulus, the Ulysses, the Actæon, and the +Endymion: the Endymion fought the President forty years after. As +I say, the Serapis was one of a batch of these vessels launched in +the spring of 1779.</p> + +<p>"We had been up the Cattegat that summer, waiting for what was +known as the Baltic fleet.<a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a> If there were room and time, I could +tell you good stories of the fun we had at Copenhagen. At last we +got the convoy together, and got to sea,—no little job in that +land-locked sailing. We got well across the North Sea, and, for +some reason, made Sunderland first, and afterwards Scarborough.</p> + +<p>"We were lying close in with Scarborough, when news came off that +Paul Jones, with a fleet, was on the coast. Captain Pearson at +once tried to signal the convoy back,—for they were working down +the coast towards the Humber,—but the signals did no good till +they saw the enemy themselves, and then they scud fast enough, +passing us, and running into Scarborough harbor. We had not a +great deal of wind, and the other armed vessel we had, the +Countess of Scarborough, was slow, so that I remember we lay to +for her. Jones was as anxious as we were to fight. We neared each +other steadily till seven in the evening or later. The sun was +down, but it was full moon,—and as we came near enough to speak, +we could see everything on his ship. At that time the Poor Richard +was the only ship we had to do with. His other ships were after +our consort. The Richard was a queer old French Indiaman, <a name="Page_503" id="Page_503"></a>you +know. She was the first French ship-of-war I had ever seen. She +had six guns on her lower deck, and six ports on each side +there,—meaning to fight all these guns on the same side. On her +proper gun-deck, above these, she had fourteen guns on each +side,—twelves and nines. Then she had a high quarter, and a high +forecastle, with eight more guns on these,—having, you know, one +of those queer old poops you see in old pictures. She was, +therefore, a good deal higher than we; for our quarter-deck had +followed the fashion and come down. We fought twenty guns on our +lower deck, twenty on our upper deck, and on the forecastle and +quarter-deck we had ten little things,—fifty guns,—not unusual, +you know, in a vessel rated as a forty-four. We had twenty-two in +broadside. I remember I supposed for some time that all French +ships were black, because the Richard was.</p> + +<p>"As I said, I was on the main deck, aft. We were all lying +stretched out in the larboard ports to see and hear what we could, +when Captain Pearson himself hailed, "What ship is that?" I could +not hear their answer, and he hailed again, and then said, if they +did not answer, he would fire. We all took this as good as an +order, and, hearing nothing, tumbled in and blazed away. The Poor +Richard fired at the same time. It was at that first broadside of +hers, as you remember, that two of Jones's heavy guns, below his +main deck, burst. We could see that as we sighted for our next +broadside, because we could see how they hove up the gun-deck +above them. As for our shot, I suppose they all told. We had ten +eighteen-pounders in that larboard battery below. I do not see why +any shot should have failed.</p> + +<p>"However, he had no thought of being pounded to pieces by his own +firing and ours, and so he bore right down on us. He struck our +quarter, just forward of my forward gun,—struck us hard, too. We +had just fired our second shot, and then he closed, so I could not +bring our two guns to bear. This was when he first tried to fasten +the ships together. But they would not stay fastened. He could not +bring a gun to bear,—having no forward ports that served +him,—till we fell off again, and it was then that Captain Pearson +asked, in that strange stillness, if he had struck. Jones +answered, 'I have not begun to fight.' And so it proved. Our sails +were filled, he backed his top-sails, and we wore short round. As +he laid us athwart-hawse, or as we swung by him, our jib-boom ran +into his mizzen-rigging. They say Jones himself then fastened our +boom to his mainmast. Somebody did, but it did not hold, but one +of our anchors hooked his quarter, and so we fought, fastened +together, to the end,—both now fighting our starboard batteries, +and being fixed stern to stem.</p> + +<p>"On board the Serapis our ports were not open on the starboard +side, because we had been firing on the other. And as we ran +across and loosened those guns, the men amidships actually found +they could not open their ports, the Richard was so close. They +therefore fired their first shots right through our own port-lids, +and blew them off. I was so far aft that my port-lids swung free.</p> + +<p>"What I said, in beginning this letter, will explain to you the +long continuance of the action after this moment, when, you would +say, it must be ended by boarding, or in some other way, very +soon. As soon as we on our main deck got any idea of the Richard's +main deck, we saw that almost nobody replied to us there. In +truth, two of the six guns which made her lower starboard battery +had burst, and Jones's men would not fight what were left, nor do +I blame them. Above, their gun-deck had been hoisted up, and, as +it proved the next day, we were cutting them right through. We +pounded away at what we could see,—and much more at what we could +not see,—for it was now night, and there was a little smoke, as +you may fancy. But above, the Richard's upper deck was a good deal +higher than ours, and there Jones had dragged across upon his +quarter a piece <a name="Page_504" id="Page_504"></a>from the larboard battery, so that he had three +nine-pounders, with which he was doing his best, almost raking us, +as you may imagine. No one ever said so to me, that I know, but I +doubt whether we could get elevation enough from any of our light +guns on our upper deck (nines) to damage his battery much, he was +so much higher than we. As for musketry, there is not much +sharp-shooting when you are firing at night in the smoke, with the +decks swaying under you.</p> + +<p>"Many a man has asked me why neither side boarded,—and, in fact, +there is a popular impression that Jones took our ship by +boarding, as he did not. As to that, such questions are easier +asked than answered. This is to be said, however: about ten +o'clock, an English officer, who had commanded the Union +letter-of-marque, which Jones had taken a few days before, came +scrambling through one of our ports from the Richard. He went up +aft to Captain Pearson at once, and told him that the Richard was +sinking, that they had had to release all her prisoners (and she +had hundreds) from the hold and spar-deck, himself among them, +because the water came in so fast, and that, if we would hold on a +few minutes more, the ship was ours. Every word of this was true, +except the last. Hearing this, Captain Pearson—who, if you +understand, was over my head, for he kept the quarter-deck almost +throughout—hailed to ask if they had struck. He got no answer, +Jones in fact being at the other end of his ship, on his quarter, +pounding away at our main-mast. Pearson then called for boarders; +they were formed hastily, and dashed on board to take the prize. +But the Richard had not struck, though I know some of her men had +called for quarters. Her men were ready for us,—under cover, +Captain Pearson says in his despatch,—Jones himself seized a pike +and headed his crew, and our men fell back again. One of the +accounts says we tried to board earlier, as soon as the vessels +were made fast to each other. But of this I knew nothing.</p> + +<p>"Meanwhile Jones's people could not stay on his lower deck,—and +could not do anything, if they had stayed there. They worked their +way above. His main deck (of twelves) was fought more +successfully, but his great strength was on his upper deck and in +his tops. To read his own account, you would almost think he +fought the battle himself with his three quarter-deck cannon, and +I suppose it would be hard to overstate what he did do. Both he +and Captain Pearson ascribe the final capture of the Serapis to +this strange incident.</p> + +<p>"The men in the Richard's tops were throwing hand-grenades upon +our decks, and at last one fellow worked himself out to the end of +the main-yard with a bucket filled with these missiles, lighted +them one by one, and threw them fairly down our main hatchway. +Here, as our ill luck ordered, was a row of our eighteen-gun +cartridges, which the powder-boys had left there as they went for +more,—our fire, I suppose, having slackened there:—cartridges +were then just coming into use in the navy. One of these grenades +lighted the row, and the flash passed—bang—bang—bang—back to +me. Oh, it was awful! Some twenty of our men were fairly blown to +pieces. There were other men who were stripped naked, with nothing +on but the collars of their shirts and their wristbands. Farther +aft there was not so much powder, perhaps, and the men were +scorched or burned more than they were wounded. I do not know how +I escaped, but I do know that there was hardly a man forward of my +guns who did escape,—some hurt,—and the groaning and shrieking +were terrible. I will not ask you to imagine all this,—in the +utter darkness of smoke and night below-decks, almost every +lantern blown out or smashed. But I assure you I can remember it. +There were agonies there which I have never trusted my tongue to +tell. Yet I see, in my journal, in a boy's mock-man way, this is +passed by, as almost nothing. I did not think so or feel so, I can +tell you.</p> + +<p>"It was after this that the effort was made to board. I know I had +filled some <a name="Page_505" id="Page_505"></a>buckets of water from our lee ports, and had got some +of the worst hurt of my men below, and was trying to understand +what Brooks, who was jammed, but not burned, thought we could do, +to see if we could not at least clear things enough to fight one +gun, when boarders were called, and he left me. Cornish, who had +really been captain of the other gun, was badly hurt, and had gone +below. Then came the effort to board, which, as I say, failed; and +that was really our last effort. About half-past ten, Captain +Pearson struck. He was not able to bring a gun to bear on the +Alliance, had she closed with us; his ship had been on fire a +dozen times, and the explosion had wholly disabled our main +battery, which had been, until this came, our chief strength. But +so uncertain and confused was it all, that I know, when I heard +the cry, 'They've struck,' I took it for granted it was the +Richard. In fact, Captain Pearson had struck our flag with his own +hands. The men would not expose themselves to the fire from the +Richard's tops. Mr. Mayrant, a fine young fellow, one of Jones's +midshipmen, was wounded in boarding us after we struck, because +some of our people did not know we had struck. I know, when +Wallis, our first lieutenant, heard the cry, he ran +up-stairs,—supposing that Jones had struck to us, and not we to +him.</p> + +<p>"It was Lieutenant Dale who boarded us. He is still living, a fine +old man, at Philadelphia. He found Captain Pearson on the lee of +our quarter-deck again, and said,—</p> + +<p>"'Sir, I have orders to send you on board the ship along-side.'</p> + +<p>"Up the companion comes Wallis, and says to Captain Pearson,—</p> + +<p>"'Have they struck?'</p> + +<p>"'No, Sir,' said Dale,—'the contrary: he has struck to us.'</p> + +<p>"Wallis would not take it, and said to Pearson,—</p> + +<p>"'Have you struck, Sir?'</p> + +<p>"And he had to say he had. Wallis said, 'I have nothing more to +say,' and turned to come down to us, but Dale would not let him. +Wallis said he would silence the lower-deck guns, but Dale sent +some one else, and took them both aboard the Richard. Little +Duval—a volunteer on board, not yet rated as midshipman—went +with them. Jones gave back our captain's sword, with the usual +speech about bravery,—but they quarrelled awfully afterwards.</p> + +<p>"I suppose Paul Jones was himself astonished when daylight showed +the condition of his ship. I am sure we were. His ship was still +on fire: ours had been a dozen times, but was out. Wherever our +main battery could hit him, we had torn his ship to +pieces,—knocked in and knocked out the sides. There was a +complete breach from the main-mast to the stern. You could see the +sky and sea through the old hulk anywhere. Indeed, the wonder was +that the quarter-deck did not fall in. The ship was sinking fast, +and the pumps would not free her. For us, our jib-boom had been +wrenched off at the beginning; our main-mast and mizzentop fell as +we struck, and at day-break the wreck was not cleared away. Jones +put Lieutenant Lunt on our vessel that night, but the next day he +removed all his wounded, and finally all his people, to the +Serapis, and at ten the Poor Richard went to the bottom. I have +always wondered that your Naval Commissioners never named another +frigate for her.</p> + +<p>"And so, my dear boy, I will stop. I hope in God, it will never be +your fate to see such a fight, or any fight, between an English +and an American frigate.</p> + +<p>"We drifted into Holland. Our wounded men were sent into hospital +in the fort of the Texel. At last we were all transferred to the +French Government as prisoners, and that winter we were exchanged. +The Serapis went into the French navy, and the only important +result of the affair in history was that King George had to make +war with Holland. For, as soon as we were taken into the Texel, +the English minister claimed us <a name="Page_506" id="Page_506"></a>of the Dutch. But the Dutch +gentlemen said they were neutrals, and could not interfere in the +Rebel quarrel. "Interfere or fight," said England,—and the first +clause of the manifesto which makes war with Holland states this +grievance, that the Dutch would not surrender us when asked for. +That is the way England treats neutrals who offer hospitality to +rebels."</p></div> + +<p>So ends the letter. I suppose the old gentleman got tired of writing. I +have observed that the end of all letters is more condensed than the +beginning. Mr. Weller, indeed, pronounces the "sudden pull-up" to be the +especial charm of letter-writing. I had a mind to tell what the old +gentleman saw of Kempenfelt and the Royal George, but this is enough. As +Denis Duval scrambles across to Paul Jones's quarter-deck, at eleven +o'clock of that strange moonlight night, he vanishes from history.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FUTURE_SUMMER" id="THE_FUTURE_SUMMER"></a>THE FUTURE SUMMER.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Summer in all! deep summer in the pines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And summer in the music on the sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And summer where the sea-flowers rise and fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the gloomy foreheads of stern rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the green wonders of our circling sphere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Can mockery be hidden in such guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To peep, like sunlight, behind shifting leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dye the purple berries of the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or gleam like moonlight upon juniper,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wear the gems outshining jewelled pride?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can mockery do this, and we endure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Nature's rounded palace of the world?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where, then, has fled the summer's wonted peace?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeter than breath borne on the scented seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over fresh fields, and brought to weary shores,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It should await the season's worshipper;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as a star shines on the daisy's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shines great Conscience on the face of Peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lends it calmer lustre with the dew:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When that star dims, the paling floweret fades!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet there be those who watch a serpent crawl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, blackening, sleep within a blossom's heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who will not slay, but call their gazing "Peace."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even thus within the bosom of our land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creeps, serpent-like, Sedition, and hath gnawed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence, while a timid crowd stood still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O suffering land! O dear long-suffering land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slay thou the serpent ere he slime the core!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take thou our houses and amenities,<br /></span><p><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Take thou the hand that parting clings to ours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And going bears our heart into the fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take thou, but slay the serpent ere he kill!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, as a lonely watcher on the strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hemmed by the mist and the quick coming waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hears but one voice, the voice of warning bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That solemn speaks, "Beware the jaws of death!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death on the sea, and warning on the strand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is our life, while Summer, mocking, broods.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O mighty heart! O brave, heroic soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hid in the dim mist of the things that be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We call thee up to fill the highest place!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether to till thy corn and give the tithe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether to grope a picket in the dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, having nobly served, to be cast down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, unregarded, passed by meaner feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, happier thou, to snatch the fadeless crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And walk in youth and beauty to God's rest,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The purpose makes the hero, meet thy doom!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We call to thee, where'er thy pillowed head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rests lonely for the brother who has gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fix thy gaze on Freedom's chrysolite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which rueful fate can neither crack nor mar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, hand in hand indissolubly bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thy next fellow, hand and purpose one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretch thus, a living wall, from the rock coast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Home to our ripe and yellow heart of the West,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impenetrable union triumphing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The solemn Autumn comes, the gathering-time!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand we now ripe, a harvest for the Right!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, when fair Summer shall return to earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace may inhabit all her sacred ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lap in the waves upon melodious sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And linger in the swaying of the corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sit with clouds upon the ambient skies,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summer and Peace brood on the grassy knolls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where twilight glimmers over the calm dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While clustered children chant heroic tales.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DEMOCRACY_AND_THE_SECESSION_WAR" id="DEMOCRACY_AND_THE_SECESSION_WAR"></a>DEMOCRACY AND THE SECESSION WAR.</h2> + + +<p>The interest which foreign peoples take in our civil war proceeds from +two causes chiefly, though there are minor causes that help swell the +force of the current of feeling. The first of these causes is the +contemplation of the check which has been given by the war's occurrence +to our march to universal American dominion. For about seventy-two years +our "progress," as it was called, was more marvellous than the dreams of +other nations. In spite of Indian wars, of wars with France and England +and Mexico, of depredations on our commerce by France and England and +Barbary, of a currency that seemed to have been created for the +promotion of bankruptcy and the organization of instability, of biennial +changes in our tariffs and systems of revenue, of competition that ought +to have been the death of trade,—in spite of these and other evils, +this country, in the brief term of one not over-long human life, +increased in all respects at a rate to excite the gravest fears in the +minds of men who had been nursed on the balance-of-power theory. A new +power had intruded itself into the old system, and its disturbing force +was beyond all calculation. Between the day on which George Washington +took the Presidential oath and the day when South Carolina broke her +oath, our population had increased from something like three millions to +more than thirty-one millions; and in all the elements of material +strength our increase had far exceeded our growth in numbers. When the +first Congress of the old Union met, our territory was confined to a +strip of land on the western shore of the Atlantic,—and that territory +was but sparsely settled. When the thirty-sixth Congress broke up, our +territory had extended to the Pacific, on which we had two States, while +other communities there were preparing to become States. It did seem as +if Coleridge's "august conception" was about to become a great fact. +"The possible destiny of the United States of America," said that mighty +genius, "as a nation of a hundred millions of freemen, stretching from +the Atlantic to the Pacific, living under the laws of Alfred, and +speaking the language of Shakspeare and Milton, is an august +conception." To all appearance in 1860, there would be a hundred +millions of freemen here, and not far from twenty millions of slaves, at +the close of the nineteenth century; and middle-aged men were not +unreasonable in their expectation of seeing the splendid spectacle. The +rate of increase in population that we had known warranted their most +sanguine hopes. Such a nation,—a nation that should grow its own food, +make its own cloths, dig or pick up its own gold and silver and +quicksilver, mine its own coal and iron, supply itself, and the rest of +the world too, with cotton and tobacco and rice and sugar, and that +should have a mercantile tonnage of not less than fifteen millions, and +perhaps very much more,—such a nation, we say, it was reasonable to +expect the United States would become by the year 1900. But because the +thought of it was pleasing to us, we are not to conclude that it would +be so to European sovereigns and statesmen. On the contrary, they had +abundant reason to dread the accumulation of so much strength in one +empire. Even in 1860 we had passed the point at which it was possible +for us to have any fear of European nations, or of a European alliance. +We had but to will it, and British America, and what there was left of +Spanish America and Mexico, would all have been gathered in, reaped by +that mowing-machine, the American sword. Had our rulers of that year +sought to stave off civil war by plunging us into a foreign war, we +could have made ourselves masters of all North America, despite the +opposition of all Europe, had all Europe <a name="Page_509" id="Page_509"></a>been ready to try the question +with us, whether the Monroe doctrine were a living thing or a dirty +skeleton from the past. But all Europe would not have opposed us, seeing +that England would have been the principal sufferer from our success; +and England is unpopular throughout Continental Europe,—in France, in +Germany, and in Russia. Probably the French Emperor would have preferred +a true cordial understanding with us to a nominal one with England, and, +confining his labors to Europe and the East, would have obtained her +"natural boundaries" for France, and supremacy over Egypt. The war might +have left but three great powers in the world, namely, France, Russia, +and America, or the United States, the latter to include Canada and +Mexico, with the Slave-Power's ascendency everywhere established in +North America. It was on the cards that we might avoid dissension and +civil strife by extending the Union, and by invading and conquering the +territories of our neighbors. Why this course was not adopted it is not +our purpose now to discuss; but that it would have been adopted, if the +Secession movement had been directed from the North against the rule of +the Democratic party, we are as firmly convinced as we are of the +existence of the tax-gatherer,—and no man in this country can now +entertain any doubt of his existence, or of his industry and exactions.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, our Union was severed in twain by the action of the +Southern Secessionists, and the Confederacy was established, it was the +most natural thing in the world that most European governments, and by +far the larger part of the governing classes in most European nations, +should sympathize with the Rebels: not because they altogether approved +of what the Rebels avowed to be their principles, or of their scandalous +actions in the cause of lawlessness; but because their success would +break down a nation that was becoming too strong to have any regard for +European opinion, and the continuance and growth of which were believed +to be incompatible with the safety of Europe, and the retention of its +controlling position in the world. England was relieved of her fears +with regard to her North-American possessions; and Spain saw an end put +to those insulting demands that she should sell Cuba, which for years +had proceeded from Democratic administrations,—President Buchanan, in +the very last days of his term, and while the Union was falling to +pieces around him, persisting in a demand which then had become as +ridiculous as it had ever been wicked. Austria and Prussia could have no +objection to the breaking-up of a nation which had sympathized with +Poland, Hungary, and Italy, and which, so far as it acted at all, had +acted in behalf of European Liberalism. France, which would have been +willing to act with us, had we remained in condition to render our +action valuable, had no idea of risking anything in our behalf, and +turned her attention to Mexico, as a field well worthy of her +cultivation, and which our troubles had laid open to her enterprise and +ambition. The kingdom of Italy was of too recent birth to have much +influence; and, though its sympathies were with us, it was forced by +circumstances to conform to the example of France and England. Even +Russia, though unquestionably our friend, and sincerely anxious for our +success, probably did not much regret that something had here occurred +which might teach us to become less ready to prompt Poles to rebel, and +not so eager to help them when in rebellion. Most of the lesser +governments of Europe saw our difficulties with satisfaction, because +generally they are illiberal in their character, and our example was +calculated to render their subjects disaffected.</p> + +<p>The feeling of which we speak is one that arose from the rapid growth of +this country, and of the fears that that growth had created as to the +safety of European States. It had nothing to do with the character of +our national polity, or with the political opinions of our people. It +<a name="Page_510" id="Page_510"></a>would have existed all the same, if we had been governed by an Autocrat +or a Stratocrat, instead of having a movable President for our chief. It +would have been as strong, if our national legislature had been as +quiescent as Napoleon I.'s Senate, instead of being a reckless and an +undignified Congress. It owed its existence to our power, our growth, +our ambition, our "reannexing" spirit, our disposition to meddle with +the affairs of others, our restlessness, and our frequent avowals of an +intention to become masters of all the Occident. We might have been +regarded as even more dangerous than we were, had our government been as +firmly founded as that of Russia, or had it, like that of France, the +power that proceeds at once from the great intellect and the great name +of its chief. A Napoleon or a Nicholas at the head of a people so +intelligent and so active as Americans would indeed have been a most +formidable personage, and likely to employ his power for the disturbance +of mankind.</p> + +<p>But in addition to the fear that was created by our rapid growth in +greatness, the rulers of foreign nations regarded us with apprehension +because of our political position. We stood at the head of the popular +interest of Christendom, and all that we effected was carried to the +credit of popular institutions. We stood in antagonism to the +monarchical and aristocratical polities of Europe. The greater our +success, the stronger was the testimony borne by our career against the +old forms of government. Our example was believed to have brought about +that French movement which had shaken the world. The French Revolution +was held to be the child of the American Revolution; and if we had +accomplished so much in our weak youth, what might not be expected from +our example when we should have passed into the state of ripened +manhood? Our existence in full proportions would be a protest against +hereditary rule and exclusiveness. Imitation would follow, and every +existing political interest in Europe was alarmed at the thought of the +attacks to which it was exposed, and which might be precipitated at any +moment. On the other hand, if our "experiment" should prove a failure, +if democracy should come to utter grief in America, if civil war, debt, +and the lessening of the comforts of the masses should be the final +result of our attempt to establish the sovereignty of the people, would +not the effect be fatal to the popular cause in Europe? Certainly there +would be a great reaction, perhaps as great, and even as permanent, as +that Catholic reaction which began in the generation that followed the +death of Luther, and which has been so forcibly painted by the greatest +literary artists of our time. This was the second cause of that interest +in our conflict which has prevailed in Europe, which still prevails +there, and which has compelled Europeans of all classes, our foes as +well as our friends, to turn their attention to our land. "The eyes of +the world are upon us!" is a common saying with egotistical communities +and parties, and mostly it is ridiculously employed; but it was the +soberest of facts for the three years that followed the Battle of Bull +Run. If that gaze has latterly lost some of its intensity, it is because +the thought of intervention in our quarrel has, to appearance, been +abandoned even by the most inveterate of Tories who are not at the same +time fools or the hireling advocates of the Confederate cause. +Intervention in Mexico, too, whatever its success, has proved a more +difficult and a more costly business than was expected, and has +indisposed men who wish our fall to be eager in taking any part in +bringing it about. It may be, too, that the opinion prevails in Europe +that the Rebels are quite equal to the work which there it is desired +should here be wrought, and that policy requires that both parties +should be allowed to bleed to death, perishing by their own hands. If +American democracy is bent upon suicide, why should European aristocrats +interfere openly in the conflict?</p> + +<p>We admit that the inference which <a name="Page_511" id="Page_511"></a>the European foes of freedom are +prepared to draw from our unhappy quarrel would be perfectly correct, if +they started from a correct position. If our polity is a democratic +polity, and if the end thereof is disunion, civil war, debt, immense +suffering, and the fear of the conflict assuming even a social character +before it shall have been concluded and peace restored, then is the +conclusion inevitable that a democracy is no better than any other form +of government, and is as bad as aristocracy or pure monarchy, under both +of which modes of governing states there have been civil wars, heavy +expenditures, much suffering for all classes of men, and great +insecurity for life and property. Assuredly, democracy never could hope +for a fairer field than has here existed; and if here it has failed, the +friends of democracy must suffer everywhere, and the cause of democracy +receive a check from which it cannot hope to recover for generations. As +"the horrors of the French Revolution" have proved most prejudicial to +the popular cause for seventy years, so must the failure of the American +"experiment" prove prejudicial to that cause throughout Christendom. Our +failure must be even more prejudicial than that of France; for the +French movement was undertaken under circumstances that rendered failure +all but certain, whereas ours was entered upon amid the most favoring +conditions, such as seemed to make failure wellnigh impossible. But we +do not admit that the position assumed by our European enemies is a +sound one, and therefore we hold that the conclusion to which they have +come, and from which they hope to effect so much for the cause of +oppression, is entirely erroneous. Whether we have failed or not, the +democratic principle remains unaffected. As we never have believed that +our example was fairly quotable by European democrats, even when we +appeared to be, and in most respects were, the most successful of +constitutionally governed nations, so do we now deny that our failure to +preserve peace in the old Union can be adduced in evidence against the +excellence of democracy, as that is understood by the advanced liberals +of Europe. As there is nothing in the history of the French Revolution +that should make reflecting men averse to constitutional liberty, so is +there nothing in the history of our war that should cause such men to +become hostile to that democratic idea which, as great observers assure +us, is to overcome and govern the world.</p> + +<p>If we have failed, <i>if</i> our conflict is destined to end in a "general +break-down," so unhappy a close to a grand movement will not be due to +the ascendency of democracy here, but rather to democracy having by us +been kept down and depressed. Our polity is not a democratic polity. It +was never meant that it should be a democratic polity. Judging from the +history of the doings of the national convention which made the Federal +Constitution, and of the State conventions which ratified it, we should +be justified in saying that the chief object of "the fathers" was to +prevent the existence of a democracy in America. Their words and deeds +are alike adverse to the notion that democracy had many friends here in +the years that followed the achievement of our nationality. What might +have happened, had the work of constitution-making been entered upon two +or three years later, so that we should have had to read of Frenchmen +and Americans engaged at the same time in the same great business, it +might be interesting to inquire, as matter of curiosity; but our +government under the Constitution had been fairly organized some days +before the last States-General of France met, and, much as this country +was subsequently influenced by considerations that proceeded from the +French Revolution, they did not affect our polity, while they largely +affected our policy. Some eminent men, who were much under the influence +of French ideas, and others who were democratically inclined by their +mental constitution, did not altogether approve <a name="Page_512" id="Page_512"></a>of the polity which had +been formed and ratified, and they represented the extreme left of the +country,—as others, who thought that polity too liberal, (too feeble, +they would have said,) represented the extreme right. These men agreed +in nothing but this, that the Federal Constitution was but a temporary +contrivance, and destined to last only until one extreme party or the +other should succeed in overthrowing it, and substituting for it a +polity in which either liberty or power should embody a complete +triumph. Probably not one of their number ever dreamed that it would +have seventy-two years of unbroken existence, or that the first serious +attack made on it would proceed from the quarter whence that attack was +destined to come.</p> + +<p>That our polity ever should have been looked upon as democratical in its +character, as well at home as abroad, is one of the strangest facts in +political history. Probably it is owing to some popular expressions in +the Constitution itself. "We, the People of the United States," are the +first words of the instrument, and they are represented as ordaining and +establishing the Constitution. Some of the provisions of the +Constitution are of a popular character, beyond doubt; but they are, in +most instances, not inspirations, but derived from English +experience,—and it will hardly be pretended that England was an armory +from which democracy would think of drawing special weapons. Our +fathers, as it were, codified English ideas and practices, because they +knew them well, and knew them to be good. The two legislative chambers, +the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus, the good-behavior tenure of +judges, and generally the modes of procedure, were taken from England; +and they are not of democratic origin, while they are due to the action +of aristocrats. The English Habeas-Corpus Act has been well described as +"the most stringent curb that ever legislation imposed on tyranny"; and +that act was the work of the English Whigs, the most aristocratical +party that ever existed, and it was as dear to Tories as to Whigs. +Democracy had no more to do with its existence than with the existence +of the earth. No democratic movement has ever aimed to extend this +blessing to other countries. In forming our judicial system, the men of +1787-'91 paid little regard to democracy, making judges practically +independent. There have been but two Chief Justices of the United States +for wellnigh sixty-four years, though it is well known that +Chief-Justice Marshall was as odious to the Jeffersonians of the early +part of the century as Chief-Justice Taney is to the ascendent party of +the last four years. Mansfield did not hold his seat more securely in +England than Marshall held his in America, though Mansfield was as +emphatically a favorite of George III. as Marshall was detestable in the +eyes of President Jefferson, who seems to have looked upon the Federal +Supreme Court with feelings not unlike to those with which James II. +regarded the Habeas-Corpus Act. Had he been the head of a democratic +polity, as he was the head of the democratic party, President Jefferson +would have got rid of the obnoxious Chief Justice as summarily as ever a +Stuart king ridded himself of an independent judge. And he would have +been supported by his political friends,—democrats being quite as ready +to support tyranny, and to punish independent officials, as ever were +aristocrats or monarchists.</p> + +<p>The manner in which Congress is constituted ought alone to suffice to +show that our polity is thoroughly anti-democratic. The House of +Representatives has the appearance of being a popular body; but a +popular body it is not, in any extended sense. The right to vote for +members of the House is restricted, in some States essentially so. As +matters stood during the whole period between the first election of +Representatives and the closing days of 1860, a large number of members +were chosen as representatives of property in men, a number sufficiently +large to decide the<a name="Page_513" id="Page_513"></a> issue of more than one great political question. In +the Congress that met in December, 1859, the last Congress of the old +<i>régime</i>, one eleventh part of the Representatives, or thereabout, +represented slaves! Could anything be more opposed to democratic ideas +than such a basis of representation as that? Does any one suppose it +would be possible to incorporate into a democratic constitution that +should be formed for a European nation a provision giving power in the +legislature to men because they were slaveholders, allowing them to +treat their slaves as beasts from one point of view, and to regard them +as men and women from another point of view? Even in the Free States, +and down to recent times, large numbers of men have been excluded from +voting for Members of Congress because of the closeness of State laws. +At this very time, the State of Rhode Island—a State which in opinion +has almost invariably been in advance of her sisters—maintains a +suffrage-system that is considered illiberal, if not odious, in +Massachusetts; and Massachusetts herself is very careful to guard the +polls so jealously that she will not allow any man to vote who does not +pay roundly for the "privilege" of voting, while she provides other +securities that operate so stringently as sometimes to exclude even men +who have paid their money. Universal suffrage exists nowhere in the +United States, nor has its introduction ever been proposed in any part +of this country. The French imperial system of voting approaches much +nearer to universality than anything that ever has been known in +America; and yet England manages to get along tolerably well with her +imperial and democratic neighbor. Perhaps imperialism sweetens democracy +for her, just as democracy salts imperialism in France.</p> + +<p>But our House of Representatives, as originally constituted, was a +democratic body, when compared with "the upper chamber," the Senate. The +very existence of an "upper chamber" was an invasion of democratic +ideas. If the people are right, why institute a body expressly for the +purpose of checking their operations? Yet, in making our Constitution, +not only was such a body instituted, but it was rendered as +anti-democratic and as aristocratical as it could possibly be made. Its +members were limited to two from each State, so that perfect equality +between the States existed in the Senate, though one State might have +four million inhabitants, and its neighbor not one hundred thousand. How +this worked in practice will appear from the statement of a few facts. +The year before the war began, the three leading States of the Union, +New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio, had, in round numbers, ten millions of +people, and they sent six members to the Senate, or the same number with +Delaware, Florida, and Oregon, which had not above a twelfth part as +many. Massachusetts had seven times as many people as Rhode Island, and +each had two Senators. And so on through the whole roll of States. The +Senators are not popularly elected, but are chosen by the State +legislatures, and for the long term of six years, while Representatives +are elected by the people, every two years. The effect was, that the +Senate became the most powerful body in the Republic, which it really +ruled during the last twelve years of the old Union's existence, when +our Presidents were of the Forcible-Feeble order of men. The English +have Mr. Mason in their country, and they make much of him; and he will +tell them, if asked, that the Senate was the chief power of the American +State in its last days. That it was so testifies most strongly to the +fact that our polity is not democratic. Yet it was to the peculiar +constitution of the Senate that the seventy-two years of the Union were +due; and had nothing occurred to disturb its formation, we should have +had no Secession War. There was no danger that Secession could happen +but what came from the existence of Slavery; and so long as the number +of Slave States and of Free States remained the same, it was impossible +to convince <a name="Page_514" id="Page_514"></a>any large portion of the slaveholders that their beloved +institution could be put in danger. But latterly the Free States got +ahead of the Slave States, and then the Secessionists had an opportunity +to labor to some purpose, and that opportunity they did not neglect. It +was to preserve the relative position of the two "sections" that the +Missouri Compromise was repealed in 1854, in the hope and expectation +that several new States might be made that should set up Slavery, and be +represented by slaveholders. Had this nefarious scheme succeeded, it +would have saved us from the Secession War; but it would have brought +other evils upon the country, which, in the long run, might have proved +as great as those under which we are now suffering. We were reduced to a +choice of evils; and though we chose blindly, it is by no means certain +that we did not choose wisely. As in all other cases, the judgment must +depend upon the event,—and the judges are gentlemen who sit in +courts-martial.</p> + +<p>The manner in which the President and Vice-President of the United +States were chosen was the reverse of democratical. Each State had the +right to cast as many Electoral votes as it had Representatives in +Congress, which was a democratic arrangement up to a certain point; but +as a score and upward of the Representatives owed their existence to the +existence of Slavery, the equality of the arrangement was more apparent +than real. Yet farther in the direction of inequality: each State was +allowed two Electors who answered to its Senators, which placed New +Jersey on a footing with New York, Delaware with Pennsylvania, and +Florida with Ohio, in utter disregard of all democratic ideas. The +simple creation of Electoral Colleges was an anti-democratic proceeding. +The intention of the framers of the Constitution was that the Electors +of each State should be a perfectly independent body, and that they +should vote according to their own sense of duty. We know that they +never formed an independent body, and that they became at once mere +agents of parties. This failure was in part owing to a sort of +Chalcedonian blindness in the National Convention of 1787. That +convention should have placed the choice of Electors where it placed the +choice of Senators,—in the State legislatures. This would not have made +the Electors independent, but it would have worked as well as the plan +for choosing Senators, which has never been changed, and which it has +never been sought to change. The mode of choosing a President by the +National House of Representatives, when the people have failed to elect +one, is thoroughly anti-democratic. The voting is then by States, the +small States being equal to the great ones. Delaware then counts for as +much as New York, though Delaware has never had but one Representative, +and during one decennial term New York's Representatives numbered forty! +Twice in our history—in 1801 and in 1825—have Presidents been chosen +by the House of Representatives.</p> + +<p>The manner in which it is provided that amendments to the Constitution +shall be effected amounts to a denial of the truth of what is considered +to be an American truism, namely, that the majority shall rule. +Two-thirds of both Houses of Congress, or two-thirds of the legislatures +of the several States, must unite in the first instance, before +amendments can be proposed, or a convention called in which to propose +them. If thus far effected, they must be ratified by three-fourths of +the States, before they can be incorporated into the Constitution. The +process is as difficult as that which awaited the proposer of an +amendment to the legislation of the Locrian lawgiver, who made his +motion with a rope round his neck, with which he was strangled, if that +motion was negatived. The provisions of Article V. pay no more attention +to the mere majority of the people than Napoleon III would pay to a +request from the majority of Frenchmen to abdicate that imperial +<a name="Page_515" id="Page_515"></a>position which he won for himself, and which it is his firm purpose +shall remain in his family.</p> + +<p>It would be no difficult matter to point out other anti-democratic +provisions in our National Constitution; and it would be easy to show +that in the Constitutions of most of our States, if not in all of them, +there are provisions which flagrantly violate the democratic principle, +and of which European democrats never could approve. All through the +organic laws of the Nation and the States there are to be found +restraints on numbers, as if the leading idea of the Constitution-makers +of America were aversion to mere majorities, things that fluctuate from +year to year,—almost from day to day,—and therefore are not to be +trusted. We are stating the fact, and it does not concern our purpose to +discuss the wisdom of what has here been done. How happened it, then, +that our polity was so generally regarded as purely democratical in its +character? Partly this was owing to the extremely popular nature of all +our political action, and to the circumstances of the country not +admitting of any struggle between the rich and the poor. Because there +was no such struggle, it was inferred that the rich had been conquered +by the poor, when the truth was, that, outside of the cities and large +towns, there were no poor from whom to form a party. Degrees of wealth, +and of means below wealth, there were, and there were poor men; but +there was no class of poor people, and hence no material from which to +form a proletarian party. In all our great party-conflicts the wealth +and talents of the country were not far from equally divided, the wealth +and ability of the South being mostly with the democratic party, while +those of the North were on the side of their opponents; but to this rule +there were considerable exceptions. Foreigners could not understand +this; and their conclusion was that the masses had their own way in +America, and that property was at their mercy, as it is said by some +writers to have been at the mercy of the democracy of Athens.<a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a> We +were said to have established universal suffrage, when in fact suffrage +was limited in every State, and in some States essentially limited, the +abuses that from time to time occurred happening in great towns for the +most part. Most citizens were legal voters in the larger number of the +States; but this was owing, not altogether to the liberal character of +our polity or legislation, but to the general prosperity of the country, +which made tax-paying easy and intelligence common, and hence caused +myriads of men to take a warm interest in politics who in other +countries never would have thought of troubling themselves about +politics, save in times of universal commotion. The political appearance +presented by the country was that of a democracy, beyond all question. +America seemed to be a democratic flat to the foreigner. To him the +effect was much the same as follows from looking upon a map. Look upon a +map, and there is nothing but flatness to be seen, the most perfect +equality between all parts of the earth. There are neither mountains nor +villages, neither elevations <a name="Page_516" id="Page_516"></a>nor chasms, nothing but conventional marks +to indicate the existence of such things. The earth is a boundless +plain, on which the prairie is as high as Chimborazo. The observer of +the real earth knows that such is not the case, and that inequality is +the physical world's law. So was it here, to the foreign eye. All +appeared to be on the same level, when he looked upon us from his home; +but when he came amongst us, he found that matters here differed in no +striking respect from those of older nations. Yet so wedded were +foreigners to the notion that we were all democrats, and that here the +majority did as it pleased them to do, that, but a short time before his +death,—which took place just a year before the beginning of the +Secession movement,—Lord Macaulay wrote a letter in which he expressed +his belief that we should fall because of a struggle between the rich +and the poor, for which we had provided by making suffrage universal! He +could not have been more ignorant of the real sources of the danger that +threatened us, if he had been an American who resolutely closed his +eyes, and then would not believe in what he would not see. When such a +man could make such a mistake, and supposed that we were to perish from +an agrarian revolt,—we being then on the eve of a revolt of the +slaveholders,—it cannot be matter for wonder that the common European +belief was that the United States constituted a pure and perfect +democracy, or that most Europeans of the higher classes should have +considered that democracy as the most impure and imperfect of political +things.<a name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a></p> + +<p>The long and almost unbroken ascendency of the democratic party in this +country had much to do with creating the firm impression that our system +was democratic in its character,—men not discriminating closely between +that party and the polity of which it had charge. Originally, some +reproach attached to the word <i>Democrat</i>, considered as a party-name; +and it was not generally accepted until after the Jeffersonian time had +passed away. Men who would now be called <i>Democrats</i> were known as +<i>Republicans</i> in the early part of the century. But the word conquered a +great place for itself, and became the most popular of political names, +so that even respectable Whigs did not hesitate to appropriate it to +their own use. Whatever name it was known by, the democratic party took +possession of the Federal Government in 1801, and held it through an +unbroken line of Virginia Presidents for twenty-four years. The +Presidential term of Mr. J.Q. Adams was no breach of democratic +party-rule in fact, whatever it was in name, for almost every man who +held high office under Mr. Adams was a Jeffersonian democrat. In 1829 +the new democratic party came into power, and held office for twelve +successive years. The Whig victory of 1840 hardly interrupted that rule, +as President Harrison's early death threw power into the hands of Mr. +Tyler, who was an ultra-Jeffersonian democrat, a Pharisee of the +Pharisees. Mr. Polk, a Jacksonian democrat, was President from 1845 to +1849. The four years that followed saw the Presidential chair filled by +Whigs, General Taylor and Mr. Fillmore; and those four <a name="Page_517" id="Page_517"></a>years form the +only time in which men who had had no connection with the democratic +party wielded the executive power of the United States. General Pierce +and Mr. Buchanan, both democrats, were at the head of the Government for +the eight years that followed Mr. Fillmore's retirement. Thus, during +the sixty years that followed Mr. Jefferson's inauguration in 1801, the +Presidency was held by democrats for fifty-six years, President Harrison +himself being a democrat originally,—and if he is to be counted on the +other side, the counting would not amount to much, as he was President +less than five weeks. Even in those years in which the democrats did not +have the Presidency, they were powerful in Congress, and generally +controlled Federal legislation. It was natural, when the democratic +party was so successful under our polity, that that polity should itself +be considered democratic. In point of fact, the polity was as democratic +as the party,—our democrats seldom displaying much sympathy with +liberal ideas, and in their latter days becoming even servilely +subservient to Slavery. It is but fair to add, that down to 1854 their +sins with respect to Slavery were rather those of position than of +principle, and that their action was no worse than would have been that +of their opponents, had the latter been the ruling party. But, as the +democratic party did rule here, and was supposed to hold to democratic +principles, the conclusion was not unreasonable that we were living +under a democratic polity, the overthrow of which would be a warning to +the Liberals of Europe.</p> + +<p>Our polity was constitutional in its character, strictly so; and if it +has failed,—which we are far indeed from admitting,—the inference +would seem fairly to be, that Constitutionalism has received a blow, not +Democracy. As England is the greatest of constitutional countries, our +failure, supposing it to have occurred, tells with force against her, +from whose system we have drawn so much, and not adversely to the cause +of European democracy, from whose principles and practice we have taken +little. To us it seems that our war bears hard upon no government but +our own, upon no people but ourselves, upon no party but American +parties. It is as peculiar in its origin as in its modes. It had its +origin in the existence of Slavery, and Slavery here existed in the +worst form ever known among men. Until Slavery shall be found elsewhere +in combination with Constitutionalism or Democracy, it would be unfair +to quote our contest as a warning to other liberally governed lands. We +were a nation with a snake in its bosom; and as no other nation is +similarly afflicted, our misfortune cannot be cited in the case of any +other community. Free institutions are to be judged by their effect when +they have had fair play, and not by what has happened in a republic +which sought to have them in an unnatural alliance with the most +detestable form of tyrannical oppression. <a name="Page_518" id="Page_518"></a>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</p> + + +<p><i>A Summer Cruise on the Coast of New England.</i> By Robert Carter. Boston: +Crosby & Nichols, pp. 261.</p> + +<p>In these days, when the high price of paper makes it easy for authors to +sell by the pound what no one would take by the single copy, he is +luckiest who has made the heaviest book. Our morning newspaper nowadays +is a kind of palimpsest, and one cannot help wondering how many dead +volumes, how many hopes and disappointments, lie buried under that +surface made smooth for the Telegraph (sole author who is sure of +readers) to write upon. We seem to detect here and there a flavor of +Jones's Poem or Smith's History, something like the rhythm of the one +and the accuracy of the other. <i>Quot libras autore summo invenies?</i> is +the question for booksellers now.</p> + +<p>In a metaphysical sense, one is apt to find many heavy books for one +weighty one, and it is as difficult to make light reading that shall +have any nutriment in it as to make light bread. Mr. Carter has +succeeded in giving us something at once entertaining and instructive. +One who introduces us to a new pleasure close by our own doors, and +tells us how we may have a cheap vacation of open air, with fresh +experience of scenery and adventure at every turn, deserves something of +the same kind of gratitude as he who makes two blades of grass grow +where one grew before. Americans, above all other men, need to be taught +to take a vacation, and how to spend one so as to find in it the rest +which mere waste of time never gives. Mr. Carter teaches us how we may +have all the pleasure without any of the responsibilities of yachting, +and, reversing the method of our summer migration, shows us the shore +from the sea.</p> + +<p>Hakluyt and Purchas have made us familiar with, the landscape of our +coast to the early voyagers,—with its fringe of forest to the water's +edge, its fair havens, its swarms of wild fowl, its wooded islets +tangled with grape-vines, its unknown mountains looming inland, and its +great rivers flowing out of the realm of dream; but its present aspect +is nearly as unfamiliar to us as to them. We know almost as little of +the natives as Gosnold. Mr. Carter's voyage extends from Plymouth to +Mount Desert, and he lands here and there to explore a fishing-village +or seaport town, with all the interest of an outlandish man. He +describes scenery with the warmth of a lover of Nature and the accuracy +of a geographer. Acting as a kind of volunteer aide-de-camp to a +naturalist, he dredges and fishes both as man of science and amateur, +and makes us more familiarly acquainted with many queer denizens of +fin-land. He mingles with our fishermen, and finds that the schoolmaster +has been among them also. His book is lively without being flippant, and +full of information without that dulness which is apt to be the evil +demon of statistics. The moral of it is, that, as one may travel from +Dan to Beersheba and see nothing, so one needs but to open his eyes to +the life and Nature around him to find plenty of entertainment and +knowledge.</p> + + +<p><i>Azarian</i>: An Episode. By Harriet E. Prescott, Author of "The Amber +Gods," etc. Boston: Ticknor & Fields.</p> + +<p>If one opened the costly album of some rare colorist, and became +bewildered amid successive wreaths of pictured flowers, with hues that +seemed to burn, and freshness that seemed fragrant, one could hardly +quarrel with a few stray splashes of purple or carmine spilt heedlessly +on the pages. Such a book is "Azarian"; and if few are so lavish and +reckless with their pigments as Harriet Prescott, it is because few have +access to such wealth. If one proceeds from the theory that all life in +New England is to be pictured as bare and pallid, it must seem very +wrong in her to use tints so daring; but if one believes that life here, +as elsewhere, may be passionate as Petrarch and deep as Beethoven, there +appears no reason why all descriptive art should be Quaker-colored.</p> + +<p>Nature and cultivation gave to this writer a rare inventive skill, an +astonishing subtilty in the delineation of character, and a style +perhaps unequalled among contemporaries in a certain Keats-like +affluence. Yet her plots have usually been <a name="Page_519" id="Page_519"></a>melodramatic, her characters +morbid, and her descriptions overdone. These are undoubtedly great +offences, and have grievously checked her growing fame. But the American +public, so ready to flatter early merit, has itself to thank, if that +flattery prove a pernicious atmosphere. That fatal cheapness of +immediate reputation which stunts most of our young writers, making the +rudiments of fame so easy to acquire, and fame itself so +difficult,—which dwarfs our female writers so especially that not one +of them, save Margaret Fuller, has ever yet taken the pains to train +herself for first-class literary work,—has no doubt had a transient +influence on Harriet Prescott. Add to this, perhaps, the common and +fatal necessity of authorship which pushes even second-best wares into +the market. It is evident, that, with all the instinct of a student and +an artist, she has been a sensation-writer against her will. The whole +structure of "Azarian," which is evidently a work of art and of love, +indicates these higher aspirations, and shows that she is resolved to +nourish them, not by abandoning her own peculiar ground, but by training +her gifts and gradually exorcising her temptations. Like her "Amber +Gods," the book rests its strength on its descriptive and analytic +power, not on its events; but, unlike that extraordinary story, it is +healthful in its development and hopeful in its ending. The name of "An +Episode" seems to be given to it, not in affectation, but in humility. +It is simply a minute study of character, in the French style, though +with a freshness and sweetness which no Frenchman ever yet succeeded in +transferring into language, and which here leave none of that bad taste +in the mouth of which Charlotte Brontè complained. The main situation is +one not new in fiction, being simply unequal love and broken troth, but +it is one never to be portrayed too often or too tenderly, and it is not +desecrated, but ennobled by the handling. It is refreshing to be able to +say for Miss Prescott that she absolutely reaches the end of the book +without a suicide or a murder, although the heroine for a moment +meditates the one and goes to the theatre to behold the other. The +dialogue, usually a weak point with this writer, is here for better +managed than usual, having her customary piquancy, with less of +disfigurement from flippancy and bad puns. The plot shows none of those +alarming pieces of incongruity and bathos which have marred some of her +stories. And one may fancy that it is not far to seek for the originals +of Azarian, Charmian, and Madame Sarator.</p> + +<p>It is the style of the book, however, to which one must revert with +admiration, not unmingled with criticism, and, it may be, a trifle of +just indignation. There are not ten living writers in America of whom it +can be said that their style is in itself a charm,—that it has the +range, the flexibility, the delicacy, the ease, the strength, which +constitute permanent power,—that it is so saturated with life, with +literary allusion, with the symbolism of Nature, as to make us dwell on +the mere sentences with delight, apart from all thought of argument or +theme. This it is to be a literary artist; and as Miss Prescott may +justly claim to rank among these favored ones, she must be tried by the +code which befits her station. There is not, perhaps, another individual +among us who could have written the delicious descriptions of external +Nature which this book contains,—not one of the multitude of young +artists, now devoting their happy hours to flower-painting, who can +depict color by color as she depicts it by words. We hold in our hands +an illuminated missal, some Gospel of Nature according to June or +October, as the case may be. The price she pays for this astonishing +gift is to be often overmastered by it, to be often betrayed into +exuberant and fantastic phrases, and wanderings into the realm of words +unborn. One fancies the dismay of the accomplished corrector of the +University Press, as his indignant pencil hung over "incanting" and +"reverizing" and "cose." Yet closer examination always shows that she, +too, has studied grammar and dictionary, algebra and the Greek alphabet; +and her most daring verbal feats are never vague or wayward, for there +is always an eager and accurate brain behind them. She dares too much to +escape blunders, yet, after all, commits fewer in proportion than those +who dare less. The basis of all good writing is truth in details; and +her lavish wealth of description would be a gaudy profanation, were it +not based on a fidelity of observation which is Thoreau-like, so far as +it goes. "Sabbatia <a name="Page_520" id="Page_520"></a>sprays, those rosy ghosts that haunt the Plymouth +ponds,"—"the cardinal, with the very glitter of the stream it loves +meshed like a silver mist behind its scarlet sheen,"—"the wide rhodora +marshes, where some fleece of burning mist seemed to be fallen and +caught and tangled in countless filaments upon the bare twigs,"—such +traits as these are not to be found in the newspapers nor in the +botanies. With all her seeming lavishness, she rarely wastes a word. +Though she may sometimes heap upon a frail hepatica some greater +accumulation of fine-spun fancies than its slender head will bear, she +yet can so characterize a flower with a touch that any one of its lovers +would know it without the name. If she hints at "those slipshod little +anemones that cannot stop to count their petals, but take one from their +neighbor or leave another behind them," it is because she knows how +peculiarly this fantastic variableness belongs to the rue-leaved +species, so unlike the staid precision of its cousin, the wind-flower, +from which not one pedestrian in a hundred can yet distinguish it. If +she simply says, "great armfuls of blue lupines," she has said enough, +because this is almost the only wild-flower whose size, shape, and +abundance naturally tempt one to gather it thus: imagine her speaking of +armfuls of violets or wild roses! From this basis of accurate fact her +fancy can safely unfold its utmost wings, as in her fancied +illustrations for the Garden-Song in "Maud," or in the wonderful +descriptions of Azarian's lonely nights on the water. "He leaned over +his boat-side, miles away from any shore, a star looked down from far +above, a star looked up from far below, the glint passed as instantly, +and left him the sole spirit between immense concaves of void and +fulness, shut in like the flaw in a diamond." How the subscribers to the +Circulating Library of the enterprising Mr. Loring must catch their +breaths in amazement, when that courteous gentleman hands them for the +last new novel—sandwiched between "Pique" and "Woodburn"—thoughts of +such a compass as that!</p> + +<p>There are sometimes fictitious writers who sweep across the land in a +great wave of popularity and then pass away,—as Frederika Bremer twenty +years ago,—and leave no visible impression behind. But Harriet +Prescott's fame rests on a foundation of sure superiorities, so far as +she possesses it; and no one has impaired or can impair it, except +herself. If it has not grown as was at first anticipated, it has been +her own doing, and "Azarian" has come none too soon to give a better +augury for the future. There is no literary laurel too high for her to +grasp, if her own will, and favoring circumstances, shall enable her to +choose only noble and innocent themes, and to use canvas firm and pure +enough for the rare colors she employs.</p> + + +<p><i>The Wrong of Slavery, the Right of Emancipation, and the Future of the +African Race in the United States</i>. By Robert Dale Owen. Philadelphia: +J.B. Lippincott & Co. 12mo.</p> + +<p>"Book, Sir, book! It's the <i>title</i>!" This is the reputed saying of +Longman, the publisher, when asked for the key to bookselling. It is a +pity that Mr. Owen's book has so cumbrous a name to carry; for +everything else about it is compact and portable. Few American works on +statistics or political economy possess either brevity or an index, and +this combines both treasures. "In this small volume, which a busy man +may read in a few hours," the author condenses an immense deal,—and it +is a blessed sign, if a man who has been in Congress can still be so +economical of words. If his brother Congressmen would only imitate his +precious example, what a blessed hope! How gladly would one subscribe +for the "Congressional Globe," with the assurance that it would +henceforth be the only tedious book in his library, that all the chaff +would hereafter be safely winnowed into that, and all the sense put into +comfortable little duo-decimos like this!</p> + +<p>Mr. Owen's opportunities, as Chairman of the American Freedmen's +Commission, have been very great, and he has used them well. The history +of slavery and the slave-trade,—the practical consequences of +both,—the constitutionality of emancipation,—the present condition of +the freed slaves, and their probable future,—all this ground is +comprehended within two hundred and fifty pages. The points last named +have, of course, the most immediate <a name="Page_521" id="Page_521"></a>value, and his treatment of these +is exceedingly manly and sensible. He shows conclusively that the whole +demeanor of the freed slaves has done them infinite credit, and that the +key to their successful management is simply to treat them with justice. +That this justice includes equal rights of citizenship he fully asserts, +and states the gist of the matter in one of the most telling paragraphs +of the book. "God, who made the liberation of the negro the condition +under which alone we could succeed in this war, has now, in His +providence, brought about a position of things under which it would seem +that a full recognition of that negro's rights as a citizen becomes +indispensable to stability of government in peace." For, as Mr. Owen +shows, even if under any other circumstances we might excuse ourselves +for delaying the recognition of the freedman's right to suffrage, +because of his ignorance and inexperience, yet it would be utterly +disastrous to do so now, when two-thirds of the white population will +remain disloyal, even when conquered. We cannot safely reorganize a +republican government on the basis of one-sixth of its population, and +shall be absolutely compelled to avail ourselves of that additional +three-sixths which is loyal and black. Fortunately, as a matter of fact, +there are no obstacles to the citizenship of the Southern negro greater +than those in the way of the average foreign immigrant. The emancipated +negro is at least as industrious and thrifty as the Celt, takes more +pride in self-support, is far more eager for education, and has fewer +vices. It is impossible to name any standard of requisites for the full +rights of citizenship which will give a vote to the Celt and exclude the +negro.</p> + +<p>Much as has been written on this point, Mr. Owen has yet some +astonishing facts to contribute. He shows, for instance, by the official +statements, that, amidst the great distress produced in the city of St. +Louis at the beginning of the war, by the gathering of white and black +refugees from all parts of the State, when ten thousand persons received +public aid, only two out of that whole vast number were of negro blood. +These two were all who applied, one being lame, the other bedridden, and +both women. He shows, upon similar authority, that the free colored +people of Louisiana, under serious civil disabilities, are, on the +average, richer, by seven and a half per cent., than the people of the +Northern States. Their average wealth in 1860 was five hundred and +twenty dollars, while the average wealth in the loyal Free States is +only four hundred and eighty-four dollars. Such facts show how utterly +gratuitous is the frequent assumption that the emancipated slave does +not sufficiently know the value of a dollar.</p> + +<p>Upon some disputed points Mr. Owen does not, perhaps, make his facts +quite cover his inferences, as, for instance, on the vexed question of +the vigor and vitality of the mulatto, upon which the more extended +observations of the last three years have as yet shed little light. It +is the same with the whole obscure problem of amalgamation; indeed, he +slips into an absolute contradiction, in pronouncing judgment rather too +hastily here. "I believe," he says, "that the effect of general +emancipation will be to discourage amalgamation. It is rare in Canada." +(p. 219.) But, however it may be in Canada, he has already admitted, +four pages before, that "the proportion of mulattoes among the free +colored is much greater than among the slaves," which is, doubt less, +true, except, perhaps, in a few large cities of the South. It is a +subject of common remark that the Southern colored regiments are +generally of far darker complexion than those recruited at the North, +and this is inexplicable except on the supposition that freedom, even +more than slavery, tends thus far to amalgamation. What further step in +reasoning this suggests, it is, fortunately, not needful to inquire; +like all other mysteries of human destiny, this will safely work itself +out. It is not for nothing that the black man thrives in contact with +the white, while the red man dies; and there certainly are practical +anxieties enough to last us for a month or two, without borrowing any +from the remoter future.</p> + + +<p><i>Enoch Arden</i>, etc. By ALFRED TENNYSON, D.C.L., Poet-Laureate. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields.</p> + +<p>In his new volume Tennyson has thrown out some verses, graceful, +defiant, triumphant, and yet a little touched with sadness, <a name="Page_522" id="Page_522"></a>in which he +assails the thieves who have stolen his seed of poetry, and made the +flower so common that the people call it—as, indeed, they did when +first it blossomed—a weed. It may be for the reason here indicated that +he has chosen for his later poems a form—that of the Idyl—the +versification, construction, and use of which he has made his own by a +delicate and yet indisputable stamp of sovereignty: whatever may be the +reason, let us be thankful for the choice. He has worked in no field of +whose resources he was more completely master, or which has yielded him +more full and varied development of his rare genius. The work of his +riper years, with the results of his fidelity in discipline, his +generous culture, his catholic and earnest intercourse with men, and his +clear and thoughtful observation lying ready for his use, he has crowned +the green glory of his past with a chaplet that will grow more sure of +permanence with the scrutiny of every succeeding year. In his "Idyls of +the King" we recognized the best moral qualities of many of his previous +works; and in "Enoch Arden," which gives the title to his last volume, +he has turned the full light of his perfected genius on the simple +scenes of domestic joy and sorrow.</p> + +<p>We have always deemed it one of the greatest of Tennyson's great and +good qualities, that he is unfaltering in the tribute of honor which he +pays to the sterling virtues and to the beauty and heroism which he +rejoices to point us to in the daily walk of the humblest life. A +blameless character, pure desire, manly ambition, a fervent faith, and a +strong will, resting on the firm innermost foundation of a Christian +spirit, are as real to him in the fisherman as in the peerless prince. +The temptations, the strength, and the temper of the hero are so common +to both, and so clearly brought out in each, that we feel the Man in the +Prince, and the high aim of the Prince in the true Man. There is the +"grand, heroic soul" in Enoch as in Arthur,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who reverenced his conscience as his king;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose glory was redressing human wrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who spoke no slander, no, nor listened to it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who loved one only, and who clave to her."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Our poet never strays from Nature; which has for him two sides,—the old +duality, which is also forever,—the real and the ideal. To the one he +brings the most patient fidelity of study; the other he reflects in +every part of his poems in glowing imagery. "Enoch Arden" contains +scenes which a Pre-Raphaelite might draw from,—as that "cup-like hollow +in the down" which held the hazel-wood, with the children nutting +through its reluctant boughs, or the fireside of Philip, on which Enoch +looked and was desolate. On the other hand, no poet has so planted our +literature with gorgeous gardens from which generations of lesser +laborers will be enriched and prospered. The figures in which Tennyson +uses Nature are not, moreover, strained or artificial; they do not +distort or cover the inner meaning, but bloom from it, revealing its +beauty and its sweetness. All bear the mark of loving thought,—now so +delicate that its very faintness thrills and holds us, now strong and +spirited and solemn.</p> + +<p>In this latest poem we find also the old surpassing skill of language, a +skill dependent on the faculty of penetrating to the inmost significance +both of words and of things, so that there is no waste, and so that +single words in single sentences stamp on the brain the substance of +long experiences. Witness this: Enoch lies sick, distant from home and +wife and children; here is one word crowded with pathos, telling of the +weary loss of livelihood, the burden slowly growing more intolerably +irksome to the bold and careful worker wrestling with pain, and to the +fragile mother of the new-born babe:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Another hand <i>crept</i>, too, across his trade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Taking her bread and theirs."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>See, again, how one line woven in the context shows where the tears +came. Enoch, wrecked, solitary, almost hopeless, found that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A phantom made of many phantoms moved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before him, haunting him,—or he himself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moved, haunting people, things, and places known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far in a darker isle beyond the line:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The babes, their babble, Annie, the small house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The climbing street, the mill, the leafy lanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The peacock-yewtree and the lonely Hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The horse he drove, the boat he sold, the chill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">November dawns and dewy glooming of the downs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gentle shower, <i>the smell of dying leaves</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the low moan of leaden-colored seas."<br /></span> +</div></div><p><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523"></a></p> + +<p>We know of no more perfect rendering of an unlearned and trustful faith +in God than this which Tennyson puts in the mouth of Enoch as he departs +on the voyage from which he never returns to his wife:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"If you fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast all your fears on God: that anchor holds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is He not yonder in those uttermost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Parts of the morning? if I flee to these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can I go from Him? And the sea is His,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea is His: He made it."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In the repetition in the last line one can almost hear the sob welling +up from the heart of the strong sailor, as he speaks of God to one +beloved, in time of trial,—the feeling of bitterness in parting +starting with the impulse of the stronger faith.</p> + +<p>In "Enoch Arden," as in "In Memoriam," Tennyson shows the sweet and sure +sympathy which informs him of all the ways of grief. In its sacred +experiences, where the slightest variance from the simplicity of actual +feeling would jostle all, he holds his way unquestioned.</p> + +<p>It is a test, unembarrassed and complete, of genius, this treatment of +grief, the emotion which least of all brooks exaggeration or +sentimentalism. It is the test of human purity, too, and the hand must +be very tender and very clean which leaves thus exact and clear the +picture of the crowning phase of human life. If "In Memoriam" has +appropriated to itself, by its sublime supremacy, a phrase which, though +in daily use, is never heard without suggesting the poem, Tennyson shows +in "Enoch Arden" that he understands the sad and perfect reign of grief +in the life of the sailor and of the sailor's wife struck with a great +sorrow for the loss of the latest born, as well as in the broad and +varied range of his own cultured nature.</p> + +<p>Coupled with the knowledge of grief is this of prayer,—"that mystery +when God in man is one with man-in-God,"—which is said when Enoch had +resolved to surrender his Annie rather than to break in upon her +happiness:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"His resolve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upbore him, and firm faith, and evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prayer, from a living source within the will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beating up through all the bitter world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like fountains of sweet water in the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kept him a living soul."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And so we close the poem, which touches us again more than we deemed +possible, till each renewal of the reading stirs again the depths of +passionate sympathy. A pure manhood among the poets, a heart simple as +the simplest, an imperial fancy, whose lofty supremacy none can +question, a high faith, and a spirit possessed with the sublimest and +most universal of Christ's truths, a tender and strong humanity, not +bounded by a vague and misty sentiment, but pervading life in all its +forms, and with these great skill and patience and beauty in +expression,—these are the riper qualities to which "Enoch Arden" +testifies. They are qualities whose attainment and retention are +singularly rare, and whose value we cannot easily overrate.</p> + +<p>And thus much having been said of "Enoch Arden," we find no space for +consideration of the other poems contained in the new volume. "Aylmer's +Field" is in some respects, perhaps, more remarkable than the poem which +precedes it, since the poet never loses sight of England, in its course, +nor the old familiar scenes, but tugs at the fetid roots of shallow +aristocracy with the relentless clutch of one of God's noblemen laboring +for the right.</p> + +<p>Shut in these few pages we find the substance of a three-volume novel; +and while the mind sways slowly to the music of its "sculptured lines," +the lives of men move on from birth to death, leaving their meaning +stamped in rhythmic beauty on our heart and brain.</p> + +<p>Nor must we forget, while contemplating the two principal poems in the +volume,—finished heroic lessons of the poet's mature life,—the songs, +singing themselves like summer ripples on the strand, which are their +melodious companions. Among them we dare to mention "In the Valley of +Cauteretz,"—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sweeter thy voice, though every sound is sweet."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>Madame Récamier, with a Sketch of the History of Society +in France</i>. By Madame M——. London. 1862.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> <i>Causeries de Lundi</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> <i>Coppet et Weimar: Madame de Staël et la Grande Duchesse +Louise</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> Madame de Châteaubriand.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> This term designated a larger class of young men than that +to which it is now confined. It took in the articled clerks of merchants +and bankers, the George Barnwells of the day.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> Since writing this article, we have been informed that the +object of our funeral oration is not definitively dead, but only +moribund. So much the better: we shall have an opportunity of granting +the request made to Walter by one of the children in the wood, and "kill +him two times." The Abbé de Vertot, having a siege to write, and not +receiving the materials in time, composed the whole from his invention. +Shortly after its completion, the expected documents arrived, when he +threw them aside, exclaiming, "You are of no use to me now: I have +carried the town."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, June, 1864, Vol. IX. p. 654.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> Gates was an Englishman, and has a damaged reputation. Lee +was another, who has no reputation at all. Conway was an Irishman, and +the same is true of him. But these men all did something to forfeit +esteem. Jones never did. Montgomery died in the full flush of his +deserved honors. He was Irish by birth.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> Not bound to the Baltic, as Mr. Thackeray supposes. Cf. +Beatson's <i>Naval Memoirs</i>, Vol. IV. pp. 550-553.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> The bad character that is commonly given to the Athenian +polity by the enemies of popular government is by no means deserved if +we can trust the definition of that polity by Pericles, as reported by +Thucydides, and translated by that eminent scholar and great historian, +Mr. Grote. "We live under a constitution," says Pericles, in the +famous funeral speech, "such as noway to envy the laws of our +neighbors,—ourselves an example to others, rather than mere imitators. +It is called a democracy, since its permanent aim tends toward the Many +and not toward the Few: in regard to private matters and disputes, the +laws deal equally with every man: while looking to public affairs and to +claims of individual influence, every man's chance of advancement is +determined, not by party favor, but by real worth, according as his +reputation stands in his own particular department: nor does poverty, or +obscure station, keep him back, if he really has the means of benefiting +the city." This wellnigh makes a political Arcadia of Athens. Yet there +is no good reason, after making due allowance for the imperfection of +human action, when compared with the theory of a given polity, for +doubting the correctness of the picture.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_K_11"><span class="label">[K]</span></a> One of our English Friends, a man of well-earned eminence, +says that "extracts from the contemporary literature of America seem to +show, that, if the result of the Presidential election of 1860 had been +different, separation would have come, not from the South, but from the +North." (See <i>Essays on Fiction</i>, by Nassau W. Senior, p. 397.) Mr. +Senior is mistaken, as much so as when he says that "a total abstinence +from novel-reading pervades New England," where there is more +novel-reading than in any other community of the same numbers in the +world. With the exception of "the old Abolitionists," there were not +five hundred disunionists in all the Free States in 1860; and the +Abolitionists would neither fight nor vote, and, though possessed of +eminent abilities, they had no influence. If Mr. Senior were right, we +do not see how the South could be blamed for what it has done; for, if +we could secede because of Mr. Lincoln's defeat, it follows that the +South could secede because of his election.</p></div> + +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, +October, 1864, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 14 *** + +***** This file should be named 16087-h.htm or 16087-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/8/16087/ + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864 + A Magazine Of Literature, Art, And Politics + +Author: Various + +Release Date: June 18, 2005 [EBook #16087] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 14 *** + + + + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Footnotes moved to end of text.] + + + + +THE + +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + +A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. + +VOL. XIV.--OCTOBER, 1864.--NO. LXXXIV. + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by TICKNOR AND +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts. + + * * * * * + +A NIGHT IN THE WATER. + + +That was a pleasant life on picquet, in the delicious early summer of +the South, and among the endless flowery forests of that blossoming +isle. In the retrospect, I seem to see myself adrift upon a horse's back +amid a sea of roses. The various outposts were within a five-mile +radius, and it was one long, delightful gallop, day and night. I have a +faint impression that the moon shone steadily every night for two +months; and yet I remember certain periods of such dense darkness that +in riding through the wood-paths it was really unsafe to go beyond a +walk, for fear of branches above and roots below; and one of my officers +was once shot at by a Rebel scout who stood unperceived at his horse's +bridle. + +We lived in a dilapidated plantation-house, the walls scrawled with +capital charcoal-sketches by R., of the New Hampshire Fourth, with a +good map of the island and its paths by C. of the First Massachusetts +Cavalry; there was a tangled garden, full of neglected roses and +camellias, and we filled the great fireplace with magnolias by day and +with logs by night; I slept on a sort of shelf in the corner, bequeathed +to me by Major F., my jovial predecessor,--and if I waked up at any +time, I could put my head through the broken window, arouse my orderly, +and ride off to see if I could catch a picquet asleep. I spell the word +with a _q_, because such was the highest authority, in that Department +at least, and they used to say at post head-quarters that so soon as the +officer in command of the outposts grew negligent, and was guilty of a +_k_, he was instantly ordered in. + +To those doing outpost-duty on an island, however large, the main-land +has all the fascination of forbidden fruit, and on a scale bounded only +by the horizon. Emerson says that every house looks ideal until we enter +it,--and it is certainly so, if it be just the other side of the hostile +lines. Every grove in that blue distance appears enchanted ground, and +yonder loitering gray-back, leading his horse to water in the farthest +distance, makes one thrill with a desire to hail him, to shoot at him, +to capture him, to do anything to bridge this inexorable dumb space that +lies between. A boyish feeling, no doubt, and one that time diminishes, +without effacing; yet it is a feeling which lies at the bottom of many +rash actions in war, and of some brilliant ones. For one, I could never +quite outgrow it, though restricted by duty from doing many foolish +things in consequence, and also restrained by reverence for certain +confidential advisers whom I had always at hand, and who considered it +their mission to keep me always on short rations of personal adventure. +Indeed, most of that sort of entertainment in the army devolves upon +scouts detailed for the purpose, volunteer aides-de-camp and +newspaper-reporters,--other officers being expected to be about business +more prosaic. + +All the excitements of war are quadrupled by darkness; and as I rode +along our outer lines at night, and watched the glimmering flames which +at regular intervals starred the opposite river-shore, the longing was +irresistible to cross the barrier of dusk, and see whether it were men +or ghosts who hovered round those dying embers. I had yielded to these +impulses in boat-adventures by night,--for it was a part of my +instructions to obtain all possible information about the Rebel +outposts,--and fascinating indeed it was to glide along, noiselessly +paddling, with a dusky guide, through the endless intricacies of those +Southern marshes, scaring the reed-birds, which wailed and fled away +into the darkness, and penetrating several miles into the interior, +between hostile fires, where discovery might be death. Yet there were +drawbacks as to these enterprises, since it is not easy for a boat to +cross still water, even on the darkest night, without being seen by +watchful eyes; and, moreover, the extremes of high and low tide +transform so completely the whole condition of those rivers that it +needs very nice calculation to do one's work at precisely the right +time. To vary the experiment, I had often thought of trying a personal +reconnaissance by swimming, at a certain point, whenever circumstances +should make it an object. + +The opportunity at last arrived, and I shall never forget the glee with +which, after several postponements, I finally rode forth, a little +before midnight, on a night which seemed made for the purpose. I had, of +course, kept my own secret, and was entirely alone. The great Southern +fire-flies were out, not haunting the low ground merely, like ours, but +rising to the loftiest tree-tops with weird illumination, and anon +hovering so low that my horse often stepped the higher to avoid them. +The dewy Cherokee roses brushed my face, the solemn "Chuck-will's-widow" +croaked her incantation, and the rabbits raced phantom-like across the +shadowy road. Slowly in the darkness I followed the well-known path to +the spot where our most advanced outposts were stationed, holding a +causeway which thrust itself far out across the separating river,--thus +fronting a similar causeway on the other side, while a channel of +perhaps three hundred yards, once traversed by a ferry-boat, rolled +between. At low tide this channel was the whole river, with broad, oozy +marshes on each side; at high tide the marshes were submerged, and the +stream was a mile wide. This was the point which I had selected. To +ascertain the numbers and position of the picquet on the opposite +causeway was my first object, as it was a matter on which no two of our +officers agreed. + +To this point, therefore, I rode, and dismounting, after being duly +challenged by the sentinel at the causeway-head, walked down the long +and lonely path. The tide was well up, though still on the flood, as I +desired; and each visible tuft of marsh-grass might, but for its +motionlessness, have been a prowling boat. Dark as the night had +appeared, the water was pale, smooth, and phosphorescent, and I remember +that the phrase "wan water," so familiar in the Scottish ballads, struck +me just then as peculiarly appropriate. A gentle breeze, from which I +had hoped for a ripple, had utterly died away, and it was a warm, +breathless Southern night. There was no sound but the faint swash of the +coming tide, the noises of the reed-birds in the marshes, and the +occasional leap of a fish; and it seemed to my over-strained ear as if +every footstep of my own must be heard for miles. However, I could have +no more postponements, and the thing must be tried now or never. + +Reaching the farther end of the causeway, I found my men couched, like +black statues, behind the slight earthwork there constructed. I expected +that my proposed immersion would rather bewilder them, but knew that +they would say nothing, as usual. As for the lieutenant on that post, he +was a steady, matter-of-fact, perfectly disciplined Englishman, who wore +a Crimean medal, and never asked a superfluous question in his life. If +I had casually remarked to him, "Mr. Hooker, the General has ordered me +on a brief personal reconnaissance to the Planet Jupiter, and I wish you +to take care of my watch, lest it should be damaged by the Precession of +the Equinoxes," he would have responded with a brief "All right, Sir," +and a quick military gesture, and have put the thing in his pocket. As +it was, I simply gave him the watch, and remarked that I was going to +take a swim. + +I do not remember ever to have experienced a greater sense of +exhilaration than when I slipped noiselessly into the placid water, and +struck out into the smooth, eddying current for the opposite shore. The +night was so still and lovely, my black statues looked so dream-like at +their posts behind the low earthwork, the opposite arm of the causeway +stretched so invitingly from the Rebel main, the horizon glimmered so +low around me,--for it always appears lower to a swimmer than even to an +oarsman,--that I seemed floating in some concave globe, some magic +crystal, of which I was the enchanted centre. With each little ripple of +my steady progress all things hovered and changed; the stars danced and +nodded above; where the stars ended, the great Southern fire-flies +began; and closer than the fire-flies, there clung round me a halo of +phosphorescent sparkles from the soft salt water. + +Had I told any one of my purpose, I should have had warnings and +remonstrances enough. The few negroes who did not believe in alligators +believed in sharks; the skeptics as to sharks were orthodox in respect +to alligators; while those who rejected both had private prejudices as +to snapping-turtles. The surgeon would have threatened intermittent +fever, the first assistant rheumatism, and the second assistant +congestive chills; non-swimmers would have predicted exhaustion, and +swimmers cramp; and all this before coming within bullet-range of any +hospitalities on the other shore. But I knew the folly of most alarms +about reptiles and fishes; man's imagination peoples the water with many +things which do not belong there, or prefer to keep out of his way, if +they do; fevers and congestions were the surgeon's business, and I +always kept people to their own department; cramp and exhaustion were +dangers I could measure, as I had often done; bullets were a more +substantial danger, and I must take the chance,--if a loon could dive at +the flash, why not I? If I were once ashore, I should have to cope with +the Rebels on their own ground, which they knew better than I; but the +water was my ground, where I, too, had been at home from boyhood. + +I swam as swiftly and softly as I could, although it seemed as if water +never had been so still before. It appeared impossible that anything +uncanny should hide beneath that lovely mirror; and yet when some +floating wisp of reeds suddenly coiled itself around my neck, or some +unknown thing, drifting deeper, coldly touched my foot, it gave that +undefinable sense of shudder which every swimmer knows, and which +especially appeals to the imagination by night. Sometimes a slight sip +of brackish water would enter my lips,--for I naturally tried to swim as +low as possible,--and then would follow a slight gasping and contest +against choking, such as seemed to me a perfect convulsion; for I +suppose the tendency to choke and sneeze is always enhanced by the +circumstance that one's life may depend on keeping still, just as +yawning becomes irresistible where to yawn would be social ruin, and +just as one is sure to sleep in church, if one sits in a conspicuous +pew. At other times, some unguarded motion would create a splashing +which seemed, in the tension of my senses, to be loud enough to be heard +at Richmond, although it really mattered not, since there are fishes in +those rivers which make as much noise on special occasions as if they +were misguided young whales. + +As I drew near the opposite shore, the dark causeway projected more and +more distinctly, to my fancy at least, and I swam more softly still, +utterly uncertain as to how far, in the stillness of air and water, my +phosphorescent course could be traced by eye or ear. A slight ripple +would have saved me from observation, I was more than ever sure, and I +would have whistled for a fair wind as eagerly as any sailor, but that +my breath was worth more than anything it was likely to bring. The water +became smoother and smoother, and nothing broke the dim surface except a +few clomps of rushes and my unfortunate head. The outside of this member +gradually assumed to its inside a gigantic magnitude; it had always +annoyed me at the hatter's from a merely animal bigness, with no +commensurate contents to show for it, and now I detested it more than +ever. A physical fooling of turgescence and congestion in that region, +such as swimmers often feel, probably increased the impression. I +thought with envy of the Aztec children, of the headless horseman of +Sleepy Hollow, of Saint Somebody with his head tucked under his arm. +Plotinus was less ashamed of his whole body than I of this inconsiderate +and stupid appendage. To be sure, I might swim for a certain distance +under water. But that accomplishment I had reserved for a retreat, for I +knew that the longer I stayed down the more surely I should have to +snort like a walrus when I came up again, and to approach an enemy with +such a demonstration was not to be thought of. + +Suddenly a dog barked. We had certain information that a pack of hounds +was kept at a Rebel station a few miles off, on purpose to hunt +runaways, and I had heard from the negroes almost fabulous accounts of +the instinct of these animals. I knew, that, although water baffled +their scent, they yet could recognize in some manner the approach of any +person across water as readily as by land; and of the vigilance of all +dogs by night every traveller among Southern plantations has ample +demonstration. I was now so near that I could dimly see the figures of +men moving to and fro upon the end of the causeway, and could hear the +dull knock, when one struck his foot against a piece of timber. + +As my first object was to ascertain whether there were sentinels at that +time at that precise point, I saw that I was approaching the end of my +experiment. Could I have once reached the causeway unnoticed, I could +have lurked in the water beneath its projecting timbers, and perhaps +made my way along the main shore, as I had known fugitive slaves to do, +while coming from that side. Or had there been any ripple on the water, +to confuse the aroused and watchful eyes, I could have made a circuit +and approached the causeway at another point, though I had already +satisfied myself that there was only a narrow channel on each side of +it, even at high tide, and not, as on our side, a broad expanse of +water. Indeed, this knowledge alone was worth all the trouble I had +taken, and to attempt much more than this, in the face of a curiosity +already roused, would have been a waste of future opportunities. I could +try again, with the benefit of this new knowledge, on a point where the +statements of the negroes had always been contradictory. + +Resolving, however, to continue the observation a very little longer, +since the water felt much warmer than I had expected, and there was no +sense of chill or fatigue, I grasped at some wisps of straw or rushes +that floated near, gathering them round my face a little, and then, +drifting nearer the wharf in what seemed a sort of eddy, was able, +without creating further alarm, to make some additional observations on +points which it is not best now to particularize. Then, turning my back +upon the mysterious shore which had thus far lured me, I sank softly +below the surface and swam as far as I could under water. + +During this unseen retreat, I heard, of course, all manner of gurglings +and hollow reverberations, and could fancy as many rifle-shots as I +pleased. But on rising to the surface all seemed quiet, and even I did +not create as much noise as I should have expected. I was now at a safe +distance, since they were always chary of showing their boats, and they +would hardly take personally to the water. What with absorbed attention +first, and this submersion afterwards, I had lost all my bearings but +the stars, having been long out of sight of my original point of +departure. However, the difficulties of the return were nothing; making +a slight allowance for the flood-tide, which could not yet have turned, +I should soon regain the place I had left. So I struck out freshly +against the smooth water, feeling just a little stiffened by the +exertion, and with an occasional chill running up the back of the neck, +but with no nips from sharks, no nudges from alligators, and not a +symptom of fever-and-ague. + +Time I could not, of course, measure,--one never can, in a novel +position; but, after a reasonable amount of swimming, I began to look, +with a natural interest, for the pier which I had quitted. I noticed, +with some solicitude, that the woods along the friendly shore made one +continuous shadow, and that the line of low bushes on the long causeway +could scarcely be relieved against them, yet I knew where they ought to +be, and the more doubtful I felt about it, the more I put down my +doubts, as if they were unreasonable children. One can scarcely conceive +of the alteration made in familiar objects by bringing the eye as low as +the horizon, especially by night; to distinguish foreshortening is +impossible, and every low near object is equivalent to one higher and +more remote. Still I had the stars; and soon my eye, more practised, was +enabled to select one precise line of bushes as that which marked the +causeway, and for which I must direct my course. + +As I swam steadily, but with some sense of fatigue, towards this +phantom-line, I found it difficult to keep my faith steady and my +progress true; everything appeared to shift and waver, in the uncertain +light. The distant trees seemed not trees, but bushes, and the bushes +seemed not exactly bushes, but might, after all, be distant trees. Could +I be so confident, that, out of all that low stretch of shore, I could +select the one precise point where the friendly causeway stretched its +long arm to receive me from the water? How easily (some tempter +whispered at my ear) might one swerve a little, on either side, and be +compelled to flounder over half a mile of oozy marsh on an ebbing tide, +before reaching our own shore and that hospitable volley of bullets with +which it would probably greet me! Had I not already (thus the tempter +continued) been swimming rather unaccountably far, supposing me on a +straight track for that inviting spot where my sentinels and my drapery +were awaiting my return? + +Suddenly I felt a sensation as of fine ribbons drawn softly across my +person, and I found myself among some rushes. But what business had +rushes there, or I among them? I knew that there was not a solitary spot +of shoal in the deep channel where I supposed myself swimming, and it +was plain in an instant that I had somehow missed my course, and must be +getting among the marshes. I felt confident, to be sure, that I could +not have widely erred, but was guiding my course for the proper side of +the river. But whether I had drifted above or below the causeway I had +not the slightest clue to tell. + +I pushed steadily forward, with some increasing sense of lassitude, +passing one marshy islet after another, all seeming strangely out of +place, and sometimes just reaching with my foot a soft tremulous shoal +which gave scarce the shadow of a support, though even that shadow +rested my feet. At one of these moments of stillness, it suddenly +occurred to my perception (what nothing but this slight contact could +have assured me, in the darkness) that I was in a powerful current, and +that this current set _the wrong way_. Instantly a flood of new +intelligence came. Either I had unconsciously turned and was rapidly +nearing the Rebel shore,--a suspicion which a glance at the stars +corrected,--or else it was the tide itself which had turned, and which +was sweeping me down the river with all its force, and was also sucking +away at every moment the narrowing water from that treacherous expanse +of mud out of whose horrible miry embrace I had lately helped to rescue +a shipwrecked crew. Either alternative was rather formidable. I can +distinctly remember that for about one half-minute the whole vast +universe appeared to swim in the same watery uncertainty in which I +floated. I began to doubt everything, to distrust the stars, the line of +low bushes for which I was wearily striving, the very land on which they +grew, if such visionary tiring could be rooted anywhere. Doubts trembled +in my mind like the weltering water, and that awful sensation of _having +one's feet unsupported_, which benumbs the spent swimmer's heart, seemed +to clutch at mine, though not yet to enter it. I was more absorbed in +that singular sensation of nightmare, such as one may feel equally when +lost by land or by water, as if one's own position were all right, but +the place looked for had somehow been preternaturally abolished out of +the universe. At best, might not a man in the water lose all his power +of direction, and so move in an endless circle until he sank exhausted? +It required a deliberate and conscious effort to keep my brain quite +cool. I have not the reputation of being of an excitable temperament, +but the contrary; yet I could at that moment see my way to a condition +in which one might become insane in an instant. It was as if a fissure +opened somewhere, and I saw my way into a mad-house; then it closed, and +everything went on as before. Once in my life I had obtained a slight +glimpse of the same sensation, and then too, strangely enough, while +swimming,--in the mightiest ocean-surge into which I had ever dared +plunge my mortal body. Keats hints at the same sudden emotion, in a wild +poem written among the Scottish mountains. It was not the distinctive +sensation which drowning men are said to have, that spasmodic passing in +review of one's whole personal history. I had no well-defined anxiety, +felt no fear, was moved to no prayer, did not give a thought to home or +friends; only it swept over me, as with a sudden tempest, that, if I +meant to get back to my own camp, I must keep my wits about me. I must +not dwell on any other alternative, any more than a boy who climbs a +precipice must look down. Imagination had no business here. That way +madness lay. There was a shore somewhere before me, and I must get to +it, by the ordinary means, before the ebb laid bare the flats, or swept +me below the lower bends of the stream. That was all. + +Suddenly a light gleamed for an instant before me, as if from a house in +a grove of great trees upon a bank; and I knew that it came from the +window of a ruined plantation-building, where our most advanced outposts +had their head-quarters. The flash revealed to me every point of the +situation. I saw at once where I was, and how I got there: that the tide +had turned while I was swimming, and with a much briefer interval of +slack-water than I had been led to suppose,--that I had been swept a +good way down-stream, and was far beyond all possibility of regaining +the point I had left. Could I, however, retain my strength to swim one +or two hundred yards farther, of which I had no doubt, and if the water +did not ebb too rapidly, of which I had more fear, then I was quite +safe. Every stroke took me more and more out of the power of the +current, and there might even be an eddy. I could not afford to be +carried down much farther, for there the channel made a sweep toward +the wrong side of the river; but there was now no reason why this should +happen. I could dismiss all fear, indeed, except that of being fired +upon by our own sentinels, many of whom were then new recruits, and with +the usual disposition to shoot first and investigate afterwards. + +I found myself swimming in shallow and shallower water, and the flats +seemed almost bare when I neared the shore, where the great gnarled +branches of the live-oaks hung far over the muddy bank. Floating on my +back for noiselessness, I paddled rapidly in with my hands, expecting +momentarily to hear the challenge of the picquet, and the ominous click +so likely to follow. I knew that some one should be pacing to and fro, +along that beat, but could not tell at what point he might be at that +precise moment. Besides, there was a faint possibility that some chatty +corporal might have carried the news of my bath thus far along the line, +and they might be partially prepared for this unexpected visitor. +Suddenly, like another flash, came the quick, quaint challenge,-- + +"Halt! Who's go dar?" + +"F-f-friend with the c-c-countersign," retorted I, with chilly, but +conciliatory energy, rising at full length out of the shallow water, to +show myself a man and a brother. + +"Ac-vance, friend, and give de countersign," responded the literal +soldier, who at such a time would have accosted a spirit of light or +goblin damned with no other formula. + +I advanced and gave it, he recognizing my voice at once. And then and +there, as I stood, a dripping ghost, beneath the trees before him, the +unconscionable fellow, wishing to exhaust upon me the utmost resources +of military hospitality, deliberately _presented arms_. + +Now a soldier on picquet, or at night, usually presents arms to nobody; +but a sentinel on camp-guard by day is expected to perform that ceremony +to anything in human shape that has two rows of buttons. Here was a +human shape, but so utterly buttonless that it exhibited not even a rag +to which a button could by any earthly possibility be appended, +buttonless even potentially; and my blameless Ethiopian presented arms +to even this. Where, then, are the theories of Carlyle, the axioms of +"Sartor Resartus," the inability of humanity to conceive "a naked Duke +of Windlestraw addressing a naked House of Lords?" Cautioning my +adherent, however, as to the proprieties suitable for such occasions +thenceforward, I left him watching the river with renewed vigilance, and +awaiting the next merman who should report himself. + +Finding my way to the building, I hunted up a sergeant and a blanket, +got a fire kindled in the dismantled chimney, and sat before it in my +single garment, like a moist, but undismayed Choctaw, until my horse and +clothing could be brought round from the Causeway. It seemed strange +that the morning had not yet dawned, after the uncounted periods that +must have elapsed; but when my wardrobe arrived, I looked at my watch +and found that my night in the water had lasted precisely one hour. + +Galloping home, I turned in with alacrity, and without a drop of +whiskey, and waked a few hours after in excellent condition. The rapid +changes of which that Department has seen so many--and, perhaps, to so +little purpose--soon transferred us to a different scene. I have been on +other scouts since then, and by various processes, but never with a zest +so novel as was afforded by that night's experience. The thing soon got +wind in the regiment, and led to only one ill consequence, so far as I +know. It rather suppressed a way I had of lecturing the officers on the +importance of reducing their personal baggage to a minimum. They got a +trick of congratulating me, very respectfully, on the thoroughness with +which I had once conformed my practice to my precepts. + + * * * * * + +ON A LATE VENDUE. + + +The red flag--not the red flag of the loathed and deadly pestilence that +has destroyed so many lives and disfigured so many fair and so many +manly countenances, but (in some circumstances) the scarcely less +ominous flag of the auctioneer--has been displayed from the handsome and +substantial red-brick house in Kensington-Place Gardens, London, in +which Thackeray lately lived, and in which he wrote the opening chapters +of his last and never-to-be-completed work, which we are all reading +with mingled pleasure and regret. + +I rejoice to see the flags and pennants gracefully waving from the masts +of the outward or the inward bound ship; to see our beautiful national +ensign,--the ensign that is destined sooner or later, so all loyal and +patriotic men and women hope and believe, triumphantly to float over the +largest, the freest, the happiest, the most prosperous country in the +whole wide world,--to see the stars and stripes fluttering in the breeze +from the city flag-staff and the village liberty-pole; to see the +dancing banners and the fluttering pennons of a regiment of brave and +stalwart men marching in all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of war to +the defence of their country in this her hour of danger and of need. As +a child, I loved to see the colors of the holiday-soldiers flapping in +the wind and flaunting in the sun on "muster-day." Nay, was not an uncle +of mine (he is an old man now, and is fond of bragging of the brave days +of old, when he was a gay and gallant sunshine-soldier) the +standard-bearer of a once famous company of fair-weather soldiers?--dead +now, most of them, and their + + "bones are dust, + And their good swords rust"; + +--and did not this daring and heroic uncle of mine, while bravely +upbearing his gorgeous silken banner (a gift of the beautiful and +all-accomplished ladies of Seaport) in a well-contested sham fight, +receive, from the accidental discharge of a field-piece, an honorable +and soldier-like wound, and of which he ever after boasted louder, and +took more pride in, than the bravest veteran in Grant's gallant army of +the scars and injuries received at the siege of Vicksburg? And no wonder +at that, perhaps. For you will find hundreds who have been cut by the +sword or pierced by the bullet of a Rebel, to one who has been ever so +slightly wounded upon a holiday training-field. + +But I never could, and I never shall, abide the sight of the red and +ruthless flag of the vendue-master. 'Tis a signal that death is still +busy, and that to many the love of money is greater than the love of +friends and of those nearer and dearer than friends,--that fortune is +fickle and that prosperity has fled,--that humbugs and sharpers are +alive and active. 'Tis a reminder--and therefore may have its use in the +world--of our mortality, an admonisher of our pride, a represser of our +love of greed and gain. 'Tis evidently an invention of Satan's, this +selling by vendue; and perhaps the first auction was that by which Cain +sold the house and furniture of his brother Abel, then lately deceased. +If there were no such thing in the world as death and misfortune and +humbug, that bit of blood-colored bunting would be but seldom flaunting +in the wind. + +Charles Lamb counsels those who would enjoy true peace and quiet to +retire into a Quaker meeting; and if our sentimental readers (and for +such only is this paper written) would find wherewithal to feed and +pamper their melancholy, let them follow the mercenary flags, and become +haunters of auctions,--let them attend the sales of the effects of their +deceased friends and acquaintances,--let them see A's favorite horse, or +B's favorite country-seat, or C's favorite books and pictures knocked +down, amid the laughter of the crowd and the smart sayings and witty +retorts of the auctioneer, to the highest bidder,--and they will be +sadder, if not wiser, men than they were before. Such scenes should have +more effect on them than all the fine sermons on the vanities and +nothings of life ever preached. Sir Richard Steele, in his beautiful +paper, in the "Tatler," on "The Death of Friends," says, in speaking of +his mother's sorrow for his father's death, there was a dignity in her +grief amidst all the wildness of her transport that made pity the +weakness of his heart ever since; and perhaps it is owing to the +impressions I received at the first auction I ever attended that I am +now an inveterate sentimentalist. + +How well I remember that auction! Looking back "through the dim posterns +of the mind" into the far-off days of my childhood, I see, among other +things, the large and comfortable mansion--it was the home of plenty and +the temple of hospitality--in which I passed some of the goldenest hours +of my boyhood. But the finest play has an end, and the sweetest feasts +and the merriest pastimes do not last forever. Very suddenly, indeed, +did my visits to that happy home cease. For my good friends of the +"great house"--the dearest old lady and the kindest and merriest old +gentleman that ever patted a little boy on the head--were both seized +(oh, woe the day!) by a terrible disease, and died in spite of all that +the great doctor from Boston did to cure them. The last time I entered +the dear old house was on a beautiful balmy summer morning; the birds +were singing as I have never heard them sing since, and all Nature +seemed as glad and exultant as if death, misfortune, and auctioneers +were banished from the world. I found there, in place of the late kind +host and hostess, a crowd--so they seemed to me--of rude and +coarse-minded people; and I saw the hateful red flag of the auctioneer +hanging over the door. + +An eagle in a dove-cot, a fox in a barn-yard, a wolf among sheep, is +mild, merciful, and humane, when compared with the flock of human +vultures that had invaded this once happy residence, and were greedily +stripping it of all that the taste and the wealth of its late occupants +had furnished it with. Should I live to be a thousand years old, I do +not think I should forget the unladylike proceedings of sundry old women +at that auction. With what a free and contemptuous manner they examined +the fine old furniture, and handled the fine old china, and coolly +rummaged and ransacked every nook and corner, and peeped and pried into +every box, chest, and closet that was not locked! And their tongues, you +may be sure, were not idle the while! + +The auctioneer was a little dried-up mummy of a man, the ugliness of +whose countenance was, as it were, emphasized by a disagreeable leer +which would ever and anon deepen into a broad grin; this man, with his +dreary jokes and vapid small-talk, was equally repulsive to me. + +Oh, the tap of his little hammer did knock against my very heart! + +Of all the hammers in this busy and hammering world, from the huge +forge-hammer with which the brawny blacksmith deals telling blows upon +the glowing iron and beats it into shape, to the tiny hammer that the +watchmaker so deftly handles, the ivory-headed, ebony-handled instrument +of the auctioneer is the most potent. From the day it was first upraised +by the original auctioneer--the nameless and unknown founder of a mighty +line of auctioneers--over the chattels of some unfortunate mortal, to +the present time, when the red flag is constantly waving in all the +great cities and towns of the world, what an immense amount of property +of all kinds and descriptions has come under that little instrument! At +its fall the ancestral acres of how many spendthrift heirs have passed +away from their families forever into the hands of wealthy plebeian +parvenus! By a few strokes Dives's splendid mansion, and Croesus's +magnificent country-seat, and Phaeton's famous fast horses become the +property of others. At its tap human beings have been sold into worse +than Egyptian bondage. + +Horace Walpole confidently hoped that his famous collection of _virtu_ +would be the envy and admiration of the relic-mongers and the +curiosity-seekers of two or three hundred years hence; but he had not +been dead fifty years before the red flag was waving over Strawberry +Hill, and it was not taken down till the villa had been despoiled of all +the curious and costly toys and bawbles with which it was packed and +crammed. At each stroke of the hammer,--and for four-and-twenty days the +quaint Gothic mansion resounded with the "Going, going, gone" of the +auctioneer,--at every stroke of the hammer Walpole must have turned +uneasily in his grave; for at every stroke of that fatal implement some +beautiful miniature, or rare engraving, or fine painting, or precious +old coin, or beloved old vase, or bit of curious old armor, or equally +curious relic of the olden time, passed into the possession of some +unknown person or other. + +And the Duke of Roxburghe's magnificent collection of rare, curious, and +valuable books, in the gathering of which he spent a goodly portion of +his life, and evinced the policy and finesse of the most wily statesman +and the shrewdness and cunning of a Jew money-lender, was soon after his +decease scattered, by the hammer of Evans, over England and the +Continent. A circumstantial history of this memorable sale was written +by Dibdin the bibliomaniac. + +I do not, however, grieve much--indeed, to state the precise truth, I do +not grieve at all--at the dismantling of Strawberry Hill, or at the sale +of the Roxburghe library; but at the vendition of Samuel Johnson's dusty +and dearly loved books (they were sold by Mr. Christie, "at his Great +Room in Pall-Mall," on Wednesday, February 16, 1785) I own to being a +trifle sad and sentimental. For Walpole, with all his cleverness, is a +man one cannot love; and as for the bibliographical Duke, he evidently +thought more of a rare edition or a unique copy than of all the charms +of wit, poetry, or eloquence. I suspect that a splendid binding would +please him more than a splendid passage. Whereas Johnson (he was never +without a book in his pocket to read at by-times when he had nothing +else to do) had a scholar's love for books, and liked them for what they +contained, and not merely because they were rare and costly. + +Neither can I think unmoved of the dispersion "under the hammer" of the +fine library at Greta Hall, which Southey had taken so much pains and +pleasure in collecting, and which was, as his son has observed, the +pride of his eyes and the joy of his heart,--a library which contained +many a "monarch folio," and many a fine old quarto, and thousands of +small, but precious volumes of ancient lore, and which was particularly +rich in rare old Spanish and Portuguese books. Many of the old volumes +in this library had seen such hard service, and had been so roughly +handled by former owners, that they were in a very ragged condition when +they came into Southey's possession; and as he could not afford to have +them equipped in serviceable leather, his daughters and female friends +comfortably and neatly clothed them in colored cotton prints. The twelve +or fourteen hundred volumes thus bound filled an entire room, which the +poet designated as the "Cottonian Library." I saw, a year or two ago, +among the costly and valuable works upon the shelves of a Boston +bookstore, two or three volumes of this "Cottonian Library." They are +not there now. Perhaps the lucky purchaser of them may be a reader of +this article. If so, let me congratulate him upon possessing such rare +and interesting memorials of the famous and immortal biographer of +Doctor Daniel Dove of Doncaster. + +And sure I am that no gentle reader can contemplate the fate of Charles +Lamb's library without becoming a prey to + + "Mild-eyed melancholy." + +Elia's books,--his "midnight darlings," his "folios," his "huge +Switzer-like tomes of choice and massy divinity," his "kind-hearted +play-books," his book of "Songs and Posies," his rare old treatises, and +quaint and curious tractates,--the rich gleanings from the old London +book-stalls by one who knew a good book, as Falstaff knew the Prince, by +instinct,--books that had been the solace and delight of his life, the +inspirers and prompters of his best and noblest thoughts, the food of +his mind, and the nourishers of his fancies, ideas, and feelings,--these +books, with the exception of those retained by some of Elia's personal +friends, were, after Mary Lamb's death, purchased by an enterprising +New-York bookseller, and shipped to America, where Lamb has ever had +more readers and truer appreciators than in England. The arrival in New +York of his "shivering folios" created quite a sensation among the +Cisatlantic admirers of "the gentle Elia." The lovers of rare old books +and the lovers of Charles Lamb jostled each other in the way to Bartlett +and Welford's shop, where the treasures (having escaped the perils of +the sea) were safely housed, and where a crowd of _literati_ was +constantly engaged in examining them. + +The sale was attended by a goodly company of book-collectors and +book-readers. All the works brought fair prices, and were purchased by +(or for) persons in various parts of the country. Among the bidders were +(I am told) Geoffrey Crayon,--Mr. Sparrowgrass,--Clark, of the +"Knickerbocker" magazine,--that lover of the angle and true disciple of +Izaak Walton, the late Rev. Dr. Bethune,--Burton, the comedian,--and +other well-known authors, actors, and divines. The black-letter +Chaucer--Speght's edition, folio, London, 1598,--the identical copy +spoken of by Elia in his letter to Ainsworth, the novelist--was knocked +down to Burton for twenty-five dollars. I know not who was the fortunate +purchaser of "The Works of Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of +Newcastle,"--an especial favorite of Lamb's. Neither do I know the name +of the buyer of "The Works of Michael Drayton." They brought +twenty-eight dollars. A number of volumes (one of them my correspondent +opines was "The Dunciad," _variorum_ edition) were bought by an +enthusiastic lover of Elia who came all the way from St. Louis on +purpose to attend this auction. The English nation should have purchased +Lamb's library. But instead of comfortably filling an alcove or two in +the British Museum, it crossed the Atlantic and was widely scattered +over the United States of America. Will it ever be brought together +again? Ah, me! such things do not happen in the annals of books. + +'Tis no wonder that the old blind scholar, Bardo de' Bardi, in George +Eliot's grand story of "Romola," knowing as he did the usual fate of +private libraries, manifested a constant fear that his noble collection +of books would be merged in some other library after his death. Every +generous soul must heartily despise Tito Melema for basely disposing of +Bardo's library for lucre. There are plenty of good people, however, who +would uphold him in that transaction. Indeed, do not most of us with +unseemly haste and unnatural greed dispose of the effects of our +deceased friends and relations? The funeral is hardly over before we +begin to get ready for the auction. "I preserve," says Montaigne, "a bit +of writing, a seal, a prayer-book, a particular sword, that has been +used by my friends and predecessors, and have _not_ thrown the long +staves my father carried in his hand out of my closet." If the essayist +lived in these days, and followed the customs that now obtain, he would +send the sword and the staves, along with the other useless and (to him) +worthless tokens and remembrancers of the dead and gone Montaignes, to +the auction-room, and cheerfully pocket the money they brought. + +Thackeray had been dead but a few weeks when a scene similar to the one +he has so truthfully described in the seventeenth chapter of "Vanity +Fair" occurred at his own late residence. The voice of "Mr. Hammerdown" +was heard in the house, and the rooms were filled with a motley crowd of +auction-haunters and relic-hunters, (among whom, of course, were Mr. +Davids and Mr. Moses,)--a rabble-rout of thoughtless and unfeeling men +and women, eager to get an "inside view" of the home of the great +satirist. The wine in his cellars,--the pictures upon his walls,--the +books in his library,--the old "cane-bottomed chair" in which he sat +while writing many of his best works, and which he has immortalized in a +fine ballad,--the gifts of kind friends, liberal publishers, and +admiring readers,--yea, his house itself, and the land it stands +on,--passed under the hammer of the auctioneer. O good white head, low +lying in the dust of Kensal Green! it matters little to thee now what +becomes of the red brick mansion built so lovingly in the style of Queen +Anne's time, and filled with such admirable taste from cellar to roof; +but many a pilgrim from these shores will step aside from the roar of +London and pay a tribute of remembrance to the house where lived and +died the author of "Henry Esmond" and "Vanity Fair." + + * * * * * + +THE RIDE TO CAMP. + + + When all the leaves were red or brown, + Or golden as the summer sun, + And now and then came flickering down + Upon the grasses hoar and dun, + Through which the first faint breath of frost + Had as a scorching vapor run, + I rode, in solemn fancies lost, + To join my troop, whose low tents shone + Far vanward to our camping host. + Thus as I slowly journeyed on, + I was made suddenly aware + That I no longer rode alone. + Whence came that strange, incongruous pair? + Whether to make their presence plain + To mortal eyes from earth or air + The essence of these spirits twain + Had clad itself in human guise, + As in a robe, is question vain. + I hardly dared to turn my eyes, + So faint my heart beat; and my blood, + Checked and bewildered with surprise, + Within its aching channels stood, + And all the soldier in my heart + Scarce mustered common hardihood. + But as I paused, with lips apart, + Strong shame, as with a sturdy arm, + Shook me, and made my spirit start, + And all my stagnant life grew warm; + Till, with my new-found courage wild, + Out of my mouth there burst a storm + Of song, as if I thus beguiled + My way with careless melody: + Whereat the silent figures smiled. + Then from a haughty, asking eye + I scanned the uninvited pair, + And waited sternly for reply. + One shape was more than mortal fair; + He seemed embodied out of light; + The sunbeams rippled through his hair; + His cheeks were of the color bright + That dyes young evening, and his eyes + Glowed like twin planets, that to sight + Increase in lustre and in size, + The more intent and long our gaze. + Full on the future's pain and prize, + Half seen through hanging cloud and haze, + His steady, far, and yearning look + Blazed forth beneath his crown of bays. + His radiant vesture, as it shook, + Dripped with great drops of golden dew; + And at each step his white steed took, + The sparks beneath his hoof-prints flew, + As if a half-cooled lava-flood + He trod, each firm step breaking through. + This figure seemed so wholly good, + That as a moth which reels in light, + Unknown till then, nor understood, + My dazzled soul swam; and I might + Have swooned, and in that presence died, + From the mere splendor of the sight, + Had not his lips, serene with pride + And cold, cruel purpose, made me swerve + From aught their fierce curl might deride. + A clarion of a single curve + Hung at his side by slender bands; + And when he blew, with faintest nerve, + Life burst throughout those lonely lands; + Graves yawned to hear, Time stood aghast, + The whole world rose and clapped its hands. + Then on the other shape I cast + My eyes. I know not how or why + He held my spellbound vision fast. + Instinctive terror bade me fly, + But curious wonder checked my will. + The mysteries of his awful eye, + So dull, so deep, so dark, so chill, + And the calm pity of his brow + And massive features hard and still, + Lovely, but threatening, and the bow + Of his sad neck, as if he told + Earth's graves and sorrows as they grow, + Cast me in musings manifold + Before his pale, unanswering face. + A thousand winters might have rolled + Above his head. I saw no trace + Of youth or age, of time or change, + Upon his fixed immortal grace. + A smell of new-turned mould, a strange, + Dank, earthen odor from him blew, + Cold as the icy winds that range + The moving hills which sailors view + Floating around the Northern Pole, + With horrors to the shivering crew. + His garments, black as mined coal, + Cast midnight shadows on his way; + And as his black steed softly stole, + Cat-like and stealthy, jocund day + Died out before him, and the grass, + Then sear and tawny, turned to gray. + The hardy flowers that will not pass + For the shrewd autumn's chilling rain + Closed their bright eyelids, and, alas! + No summer opened them again. + The strong trees shuddered at his touch, + And shook their foliage to the plain. + A sheaf of darts was in his clutch; + And wheresoe'er he turned the head + Of any dart, its power was such + That Nature quailed with mortal dread, + And crippling pain and foul disease + For sorrowing leagues around him spread. + Whene'er he cast o'er lands and seas + That fatal shaft, there rose a groan; + And borne along on every breeze + Came up the church-bell's solemn tone, + And cries that swept o'er open graves, + And equal sobs from cot and throne. + Against the winds she tasks and braves, + The tall ship paused, the sailors sighed, + And something white slid in the waves. + One lamentation, far and wide, + Followed behind that flying dart. + Things soulless and immortal died, + As if they filled the self-same part; + The flower, the girl, the oak, the man, + Made the same dust from pith or heart, + Then spoke I, calmly as one can + Who with his purpose curbs his fear, + And thus to both my question ran:-- + "What two are ye who cross me here, + Upon these desolated lands, + Whose open fields lie waste and drear + Beneath the tramplings of the bands + Which two great armies send abroad, + With swords and torches in their hands?" + To which the bright one, as a god + Who slowly speaks the words of fate, + Towards his dark comrade gave a nod, + And answered:--"I anticipate + The thought that is your own reply. + You know him, or the fear and hate + Upon your pallid features lie. + Therefore I need not call him Death: + But answer, soldier, who am I?" + Thereat, with all his gathered breath, + He blew his clarion; and there came, + From life above and life beneath, + Pale forms of vapor and of flame, + Dim likenesses of men who rose + Above their fellows by a name. + There curved the Roman's eagle-nose, + The Greek's fair brows, the Persian's beard, + The Punic plume, the Norman bows; + There the Crusader's lance was reared; + And there, in formal coat and vest, + Stood modern chiefs; and one appeared, + Whose arms were folded on his breast, + And his round forehead bowed in thought, + Who shone supreme above the rest. + Again the bright one quickly caught + His words up, as the martial line + Before my eyes dissolved to nought:-- + "Soldier, these heroes all are mine; + And I am Glory!" As a tomb + That groans on opening, "Say, were thine," + Cried the dark figure. "I consume + Thee and thy splendors utterly. + More names have faded in my gloom + Than chronicles or poesy + Have kept alive for babbling earth + To boast of in despite of me." + The other cried, in scornful mirth, + "Of all that was or is thou curse, + Thou dost o'errate thy frightful worth! + Between the cradle and the hearse, + What one of mine has lived unknown, + Whether through triumph or reverse? + For them the regal jewels shone, + For them the battled line was spread; + Victorious or overthrown, + My splendor on their path was shed. + They lived their life, they ruled their day: + I hold no commerce with the dead. + Mistake me not, and falsely say, + 'Lo, this is slow, laborious Fame, + Who cares for what has passed away,'-- + My twin-born brother, meek and tame, + Who troops along with crippled Time, + And shrinks at every cry of shame, + And halts at every stain and crime; + While I, through tears and blood and guilt, + Stride on, remorseless and sublime. + War with his offspring as thou wilt; + Lay thy cold lips against their cheek. + The poison or the dagger-hilt + Is what my desperate children seek. + Their dust is rubbish on the hills; + Beyond the grave they would not speak. + Shall man surround his days with ills, + And live as if his only care + Were how to die, while full life thrills + His bounding blood? To plan and dare, + To use life is life's proper end: + Let death come when it will, and where!"-- + "You prattle on, as babes that spend + Their morning half within the brink + Of the bright heaven from which they wend; + But what I am you dare not think. + Thick, brooding shadow round me lies; + You stare till terror makes you wink; + I go not, though you shut your eyes. + Unclose again the loathful lid, + And lo, I sit beneath the skies, + As Sphinx beside the pyramid!" + So Death, with solemn rise and fall + Of voice, his sombre mind undid. + He paused; resuming,--"I am all; + I am the refuge and the rest; + The heart aches not beneath my pall. + O soldier, thou art young, unpressed + By snarling grief's increasing swarm; + While joy is dancing in thy breast, + Fly from the future's fated harm; + Rush where the fronts of battle meet, + And let me take thee on my arm!" + Said Glory,--"Warrior, fear deceit, + Where Death gives counsel. Run thy race; + Bring the world cringing to thy feet! + Surely no better time nor place + Than this, where all the Nation calls + For help, and weakness and disgrace + Lag in her tents and council-halls, + And down on aching heart and brain + Blow after blow unbroken falls. + Her strength flows out through every vein; + Mere time consumes her to the core; + Her stubborn pride becomes her bane. + In vain she names her children o'er; + They fail her in her hour of need; + She mourns at desperation's door. + Be thine the hand to do the deed, + To seize the sword, to mount the throne, + And wear the purple as thy meed! + No heart shall grudge it; not a groan + Shall shame thee. Ponder what it were + To save a land thus twice thy own!" + Use gave a more familiar air + To my companions; and I spoke + My heart out to the ethereal pair:-- + "When in her wrath the Nation broke + Her easy rest of love and peace, + I was the latest who awoke. + I sighed at passion's mad increase. + I strained the traitors to my heart. + I said, 'We vex them; let us cease.' + I would not play the common part. + Tamely I heard the Southrons' brag: + I said, 'Their wrongs have made them smart.' + At length they struck our ancient flag,-- + Their flag as ours, the traitors damned!-- + And braved it with their patchwork-rag. + I rose, when other men had calmed + Their anger in the marching throng; + I rose, as might a corpse embalmed, + Who hears God's mandate, 'Right my wrong!' + I rose and set me to His deed, + With His great Spirit fixed and strong. + I swear, that, when I drew this sword, + And joined the ranks, and sought the strife, + I drew it in Thy name, O Lord! + I drew against my brother's life, + Even as Abraham on his child + Drew slowly forth his priestly knife. + No thought of selfish ends defiled + The holy fire that burned in me; + No gnawing care was thus beguiled. + My children clustered at my knee; + Upon my braided soldier's coat + My wife looked,--ah, so wearily!-- + It made her tender blue eyes float. + And when my wheeling rowels rang, + Or on the floor my sabre smote, + The sound went through her like a pang. + I saw this; and the days to come + Forewarned me with an iron clang, + That drowned the music of the drum, + That made the rousing bugle faint; + And yet I sternly left my home,-- + Haply to fall by noisome taint + Of foul disease, without a deed + To sound in rhyme or shine in paint; + But, oh, at least, to drop a seed, + Humble, but faithful to the last, + Sown by my Country in her need! + O Death, come to me, slow or fast; + I'll do my duty while I may! + Though sorrow burdens every blast, + And want and hardship on me lay + Their bony gripes, my life is pledged, + And to my Country given away! + Nor feel I any hope, new-fledged, + Arise, strong Glory, at thy voice. + Our sword the people's will has edged, + Our rule stands on the people's choice. + This land would mourn beneath a crown, + Where born slaves only could rejoice. + How should the Nation keep it down? + What would a despot's fortunes be, + After his days of strength had flown, + Amidst this people, proud and free, + Whose histories from such sources run? + The thought is its own mockery. + I pity the audacious one + Who may ascend that thorny throne, + And bide a single setting sun. + Day dies; my shadow's length has grown; + The sun is sliding down the west. + That trumpet in my camp was blown. + From yonder high and wooded crest + I shall behold my squadron's camp, + Prepared to sleep its guarded rest + In the low, misty, poisoned damp + That wears the strength, and saps the heart, + And drains the surgeon's watching lamp. + Hence, phantoms! in God's peace depart! + I was not fashioned for your will: + I scorn the trump, and brave the dart!" + They grinned defiance, lingering still. + "I charge ye quit me, in His name + Who bore His cross against the hill!-- + By Him who died a death of shame, + That I might live, and ye might die,-- + By Christ the Martyr!"--As a flame + Leaps sideways when the wind is high, + The bright one bounded from my side, + At that dread name, without reply; + And Death drew in his mantle wide, + And shuddered, and grew ghastly pale, + As if his dart had pricked his side. + There came a breath, a lonely wail, + Out of the silence o'er the land; + Whether from souls of bliss or bale, + What mortal brain may understand? + Only I marked the phantoms went + Closely together, hand in hand, + As if upon one errand bent. + + * * * * * + +THE TRUE STORY OF LUIGI. + + +A white dove flew down into the market-place one summer morning, and, +undisturbed among all the wheels and hoofs, followed the footsteps of +Luigi. + +He carried in one hand a sunflower, and thoughtlessly, while it hung +there, with nervous fingers scattered the seeds as he went his way. So +that the dove cooed in her little swelling throat, gathered what Luigi +spilled, and, startled at last by a frisking hound, flew up and alighted +on the tray which Luigi's other hand poised airily on his head, and was +borne along with all the company of fair white things there in the +sunshine. + +The street-urchins warned Luigi of the intruder among his wares, and +then, slyly putting up his hand, the boy tossed the seeds in a shower +about the tray. Off flew the dove, and back with the returning gust she +fluttered, and, pausing only to catch her seed, she came and went, +wheeling in flashing circles round his head as he pursued his path. + +It was at the pretty picture he thus presented, as, having left the +market-place, he came upon the higher streets of the town, that a lady, +looking from her window, made exclaim. The kind face, the pleasant +voice, attracted him; in a moment after, while she was yet thinking of +it, the door was pushed partly open, a dark boy, smiling, appeared, +followed by the unslung tray, and a voice like a flute said,-- + +"_Sono io_,--it is I. Will the lady buy?" + +And then the image-vender showed his wares. + +The lady chaffered with him a moment, and at its close he was evidently +paying no attention to what she said, but was listening to a voice from +the adjoining room, the clear voice of a girl singing her Italian +exercises. + +His face was in a glow, he bent to catch the words with signalling +finger and glittering eyes; it was plainly neither the deftly sweet +accompaniment nor the melody that charmed him, but the language: the +language was his own. + +With the cadence of the measure the sound was broken capriciously, the +book had been thrown down, and the singer herself stood balancing in the +doorway between the rooms, a hand on either side,--still lightly +trilling her scales, smiling, beaming, blue-eyed, rosy. The sunbeam that +entered behind the shade swinging in the wind fell upon the beautiful +masses of her light-brown hair, and illumined all the shifting color +that played with such delicate suffusion upon her cheek and chin; her +face was a deep, innocent smile of joy; she would have been dazzling but +for the blushes that seemed to go and come with her breath and make her +human; and so much did she embody one's ideal of the first woman that no +one wondered when all called her Eve, although her name was Rosamond, +and she was the Rose of the World. + +Directly Eve saw the boy kneeling there over his tray, the cast +suspended in his hand, as he leaned intently forward with the rich +carmine deepening the golden tint of his brow and with that yellow fire +in his wine-dark eyes, she ceased singing, and, not hesitating to mimic +the well-known call, cried,-- + +"Images?" + +Then Luigi remembered where he was, and answered the question asked five +minutes since. + +"Signora, seven shillings." + +"That is reasonable, now," said the lady. "I will have it for that sum. +Do you cast these things yourself?" + +"My master and I." + +"Have you been long here?" + +"Alas! much, much time," said he, with melancholy earnestness. + +"And from what part of Italy did you come?" she kindly asked. + +"_Vengo da Roma_" replied the boy, drawing himself up proudly. + +"The Roman peasant is a prince, mamma," said Eve quickly, in an +undertone. + +Luigi glanced up instantly and smiled, and offered to her a little +plaster cherub, silver-gilt, just spreading wings for flight. + +"It is for her," said he, with an appealing look at the mother. "For +her,--_la principessina_. I myself made it." + +No one perceived his adroit under-meaning; but Eva bethought herself of +her school-phrases, and venturously selected one. + +"_E grazioso_!" said she. + +Luigi's face kindled anew; it seemed as if the sound of his native +tongue were like some magic wand that called the blind blood to his +cheek or drove it into the pools of his heart; the smile broke all over +his face as light dances on burnished gold; he turned to her boldly with +outstretched hands, like some one asking an alms. + +"Give to me a song," he said. + +"_Volontieri_" quoth Eve, in hesitating accent, and flitted back to her +piano. Without a thought, he followed. + +It was a little song of flowers and sunshine that Eve began to carol +over the carolling keys; the words fell into the sweetness of the air, +that seemed laden with the morning murmur of bees and blossoms; it was +but a verse or two, with a refrain that went repeating all the honeyed +burden, till Luigi's face fairly burned with pleasure, where he stood at +timid distance in the doorway. + +"_Cio mi fa bene!_ That does me good!" cried he, as she rose. "Ah, +Signorina, I am happy here!" + +Then he turned and found the elder lady counting out his money. He +received the seven shillings quietly, as his due; but when she would +have paid him for the cherub, he pushed the silver swiftly back. + +"It is a gift!" said he, with spirit. + +"No, no," said Eve. "I should like it, but I must pay for it. You will +be so kind as to take the price?" she asked, her hand extended, and a +winning grace irradiating all her changing rosy countenance. + +A shadow fell over the boy's face, like that of a cloud skimming down a +sunny landscape. + +"_A Lei non posso dar un rifiuto_," said he, meeting her shining eyes; +and he gravely gathered the money and slung his tray. + +As he raised it, Eve laid along its side a branch of unsullied +day-lilies that had been filling the room with their heavy fragrance. +The image-boy interested her; he was a visible creature of those foreign +fairy-shores of which she had dreamed; that she did anything but show +kindness to a vagrant whom she would not see again never crossed her +mind; perhaps, too, she liked that Italy, in his person, should admire +her,--that was pardonable. But, at the action, the shadow swept away +from the boy's face again, all his lights and darks came flashing out, +eyes and teeth and color sparkling in his smile, like sunshine after +rain; he made his low obeisance, poised the tray upon his head, and, +with a wave of his hand, went out. + +"_A rivederla_!" he called back to her from the door, and was gone. + +And soon far down the street they heard his musical cry again; and +perhaps the little distant dove, who had forsaken him on entrance, also +caught the sound, and was reminded by it, as he pecked along the dusty +thoroughfare, of some remote and pleasant memory of morning and the +market-place. + + * * * * * + +It was a week afterward, that, as Eve and her mother loitered over +luncheon, the door again softly opened, and they saw Luigi standing +erect on the threshold, and holding with both hands above the brightly +bronzed face a tall, slender, white jar of ancient and exquisite shape, +carefully painted, and having a glass suspended within, lest any water +it might receive should penetrate the porous plaster. + +He did not look at Eve, but marched to her mother, and deposited it upon +the floor at her feet. + +"For the Signora's lilies," said he. + +And remembering the silver pieces of the week before, and fearing lest +she should really grieve him, the Signora perforce accepted it with +admiring words; while Eve ran to fill it from the garden, into which +abode of bliss--as gardens always are--the long casement of the +music-room opened. Luigi hesitated, his hand upon the door, wistful +wishes in his face; then he cast a smiling, deprecating glance at the +mother, lightly crossed the floor, was over the sill, and stood beside +Eve in the walk. + +To right and left the long, straight stems rose in rank, and bore their +floral crown of listening lilies, calm, majestic, pure, and only +stirring now and then when the wind shook a waft of gold-dust down the +shining leaf, or rifled the inmost heart of its delicious wealth of +odor; on either side of the path the snowy bloom lay like a fallen +cloud. + +"It is a company of angels," said Luigi, brokenly, "a cloud of seraphs +with their gold harps! If they should sing," hazarded he, "it would be +the song the Signorina gave me,--alas, it is long since!" + +"It is a week," said she, laughing and lingering. + +"Eve!" came a warning voice. + +"That is the Signorina's name?" questioned Luigi, as he bent to help her +cut the stems. + +"Eve,--yes, they call me so." + +"Certainly I had not thought it," he repeated to himself. + +"Why, what did you suppose it was?" she heedlessly asked. + +"_Luigia!_" said he. And his low, rapt tone was indescribably simple, +sweet, and intense. + +Eve did not know what the boy himself was called. + +"I wish it were," said she. "That is a pleasant sound." + +And rising with her armful, she went in and heaped the jar with honor, +while Luigi, pleased and proud, lifted it to the level of the +black-walnut bracket. + +"Signora, behold what is beautiful!" said he, stepping back. + +The Signora looked at the lilies, but Luigi looked at Eve. + +They had lunched. Eve went into the other room to her exercises. Her +mother poured out a glass of wine for the unbidden guest. He repulsed it +with an angry eye and a disdainful gesture. But then there rose the +sound of Eve's voice just beyond;--while he stayed, he could listen. +With sudden change from frown to smile, he stepped forward and took the +plate. + +"To the Signora's health," said he, with a courtesy that sat well on the +supple shape and the dark beauty of the boy, whose homely garb, whose +poverty, and whose profession seemed only the disguise of some young +prince,--and sipped the wine, and broke the fine, white bread, while his +cheek was scarlet with delight at recurrence of the familiar sounds, +even though in such simple phrase. + +"That is a proud boy," said Eve's mother, when he had gone, and she +paused a moment to see how Eve went on. "He urges no one." + +"Italy is full of its troubles, _mia madre_. He is the exile of a noble +family,--no other beggar would be so haughty," looked up and answered +Eve, laughing between her bars. "Mamma, what different beings different +meridians make!" she exclaimed, dropping her music. "Is he so sweet and +lofty and fiery because he has lived in the shadow of old +temples,--because, if he stumbled over a pebble in the street, it was +the marble fragment of a goddess,--because the clay of which he is made +has so many times been moulded into heroes?" + +"Are there no further fancies with which you can invest an +image-vender?" + +"But he is unique. Did you ever see any one like him? Daily beauty has +made him beautiful. Is that what the Doctor means, when he says a +Corinthian pillar in the market-place would educate a generation better +than a pulpit would?" + +"They have both in Rome," said her mother, with meaning. + +"And, in spite of them, perhaps our hero cannot spell! Yet he is more +accomplished than we, mamma. He speaks Italian beautifully," said she, +with _espieglerie_. + +"But hardly Tuscan." + +"Silver speech for all that. I have reached the end of my idioms, +though. I always said school was good for something, if one could only +find it out," she archly cried, her little fingers running in arpeggios +up the keys. "To think he understood them so! Then Dante's women would." + +"Heaven forbid!" + +"How his face glows at them,--like a light behind a mask! It is quite +the opera, when he comes. I will sing to him an aria, and then it will +make a scene." + +"You are a madcap. What do you want a scene for?" + +"Spice. When my voice fills his handsome eyes with tears, he makes me an +artist; when he turns upon you in that sudden, ardent air, he brings a +sting of foreign fire into this quiet summer noon." + +"Amuse yourself sparingly with other people's emotions, Eve." + +"Especially when they are suave as olive-oil, pungent as cherry-cordial, +and ready to blaze with a spark, you know. Ah, it is all as interesting +to me as when the little sweep last year looked out from the chimney-top +and made the whole sky brim over with his wild music." + +Here a clock chimed silverly from below. + +"There is the half-hour striking, and you have lost all this time," said +the caressing mother, her fingers lost in the bright locks she lifted. + +"Never mind, mother mine," said she, turning in elfish mood to brush her +lips across the frustrated fingers. "Art is long, if time is fleeting," +she sang to the measure of her _Non piu mesta_, beginning again to +shower its diamonds about till all the air seemed bright with her young +and sparkling voice. + + * * * * * + +Summer days are never too long for the fortunes of health and happiness, +and at the sunset following this same morning Eve leaned from the +casement, watching the retiring rays as if she fain would pursue. A +tender after-glow impurpled all the heaven like a remembered passion, +and bathed field and fallow in its bloom. It gave to her a kind of +aureole, as if her beauty shed a lustre round her. The window where she +leaned was separated from the street only by a narrow inclosure, where +grew a single sumach, whose stem went straight and bare to the eaves, +and there branched out, like the picture of a palm-tree, in tossing +plumes. Blossoming honeysuckles wreathed this stem and sweetened every +breath. + +A figure came sauntering down the street, an upright and pliant form, +laden with green boughs. It was Luigi, with whom it had been a holiday, +and who, roaming in the woods, had come across a wild stock on whose +rude flavor the kindly freak of some wayfarer had grafted that of pulpy +wax-heart cherries, tart ruddiness and sugared snow. Pausing before Eve, +he gazed at her lingeringly, then sprang half-way up the adjacent +door-steps, and proffered her his fragrant freight. Eve deliberated for +a moment, but the fruit was tempting, the act would be kind. As he stood +there, he wore a certain humility, and yet a certain assurance,--the +lover's complicate timidity, that seems to say he will defend her +against all the world, for there is nothing in the world he fears except +herself. Eve bent and broke a little spray of the nearest branch. + +"They are all for you," pleaded he,--"all." + +"I have enough," said Eve. + +"I brought them for the Signorina from the wood. Behold! the tints are +hers. The cream upon Madonna's shoulder,--here; the soft red flame upon +her cheek is there." + +"Ah! I thank you," said Eve. "Good night." + +"_Scusi_,--I beg that the Signorina take them." + +"No, no," answered Eve, obliged to speak, and, hanging on her foot, half +turned away, a moment before flight; "why should I rob you so?" + +"It is not take,--but give! Why? Only that to me you are so kind. _O +quanta bonta_! You speak the speech I love. You sing its songs. I was a +wanderer. _Io era solo_. Alone and sad. But since I heard your voice, I +am at home again, and life is sweet!" + +And suddenly and dexterously he flung the boughs past her in at the open +window, laughed at his success till the teeth flashed again in his dusky +face, kissed both his hands and ran down the steps, singing in a ringing +recitative something where the _bella bellas_ echoed and reechoed each +other through the evening as far as they could be heard at all. + +Eve smiled to herself, gathered up the scattered boughs, and went into +the lighted room behind, where her gay companions clustered, appearing +at the door thus laden, and with a blush upon her brow. + +"Mamma," said she, her lovely head bent on one side and ringed with +gloss beneath the burner, "the fruit is fresh, whether you call it +cherry or _ciriegia_." And straightway planting herself at her mother's +feet, taper fingers twinkled among shadowy leaves till the boughs were +bare of their juicy burden, and they all made merry together upon the +spoils of Luigi. + + * * * * * + +July was following June in sunshine down the slope of the year, and Eve, +pursuing her pleasures, might almost have forgotten that an image-boy +existed, had Luigi allowed her to forget. But he was omnipresent as a +gnat. + +As she walked from church on the next Sunday afternoon alone, gazing at +her shadow by the way, she started to see another shadow fall beside it. +In spite of his festal midsummer attire of white linen, a sidelong +glance assured her that it was Luigi; yet she did not raise her eyes. He +continued by her, in silence, several steps. + +"Signorina Eve," said he then, "I went that I might worship with you." + +But Eve had no reply. + +"My prayer mounted with yours,--may he forgive, _il padre mio_," said +Luigi. "_Ebbene!_ It is not lovely there. It is cold. Your heaven would +be a dreary place, perhaps. Come rather to mine!" For they approached a +little chapel, the crystallization in stone of a devout fancy, and +through the open doors rolling organ, purple incense, and softened light +invited entrance. "It is the holy vespers," said the boy. "_Ciascuno +alia sua volta._ The Signorina enters,--_forse?_" + +"Not to-day," answered Eve, gently. + +"Kneel we not," then faltered he, "before one shrine,--although," and he +grew angry with his hesitation, "at different gates?" + +"Ah, certainly," said Eve. "But now I must go home." + +"The Signorina refuses to come with me, then!" he exclaimed, springing +forward so that he opposed her progress. "Her foot is too holy! she +herself has said it. Her eyes are too lofty,--_gli occhi azzurri!_! It +is true; stood she there, who would look at the blessed saints? Ah! you +have a fair face, but it is--_traditrice_!" + +And as he confronted her, with his clenched hands slightly raised and +advanced from his side, the lithe figure drawn back, the swarthy cheek, +the eager eyes, aglow, and made more vivid by his spotless attire, Eve +bethought herself that a scene in public had fewer charms than one in +private, and, casting about for escape, quietly stepped across the +street. For an instant Luigi gazed after her like one thunderstruck; +then he dashed into the vestibule and was lost in its shadows. + +It was at midnight that Eve's mother, rising to close an open window, +caught sight of an outline in the obscurity, and discerned Luigi leaning +on the railing below, with one arm supporting his upturned face. "Ah, +the sad day! the sad day!" he was sighing in his native speech. "Pardon, +pardon, Signorina! Alas! I was beside myself!" + +And on the next twilight Eve stood at the gate, her arms and hands full +of a flush of rosy wild azaleas from the swamps, bounty that had been +silently laid upon her by a fast and fleeting shadow. She doubted for a +moment, then dropped them where she stood. But a tint as deep as theirs +was broken by the arch and dimpling smile that flickered round her mouth +as she went in, laughing because this devotion was so strange, and +blushing because it was so genuine. "Mamma," said she, her eyes cast +down, her head askant like a shy bird's, "I am afraid I have a lover!" +And then to think of it the child grew sad. It pained her to grieve him +with the beautiful pink blossoms she had dropped, and which she knew he +would return to find; but better trivial sting than lasting ache, she +had heard. And perhaps in his tropical nature the passion would be brief +as the pain. + + * * * * * + +The broad, bright river flowing past the town by summer noon or night +was never left unflecked with sails. And of all who loved its swinging +bridge, its stately shores, its breezy expanses, none sought them more +frequently than Eve. + +She had gone out one day with her companions--who, beside her, seemed +like the moss that clusters on a rose-bud--to watch the shoal in the +weir as the treacherous ebb forsook it. It was a favorite diversion of +Eve's,--for she always felt as if she were Scheherazade looking into the +pools of her fancy, and viewing the submerged city with its princes and +its populace transformed to fish, when, having entered the heart-shaped +inclosure, she leaned over the boat-side and noted the twin tides of +life whose facile and luminous career followed all the outline of the +weir. For the mackerel, swimming in at the two eddies of the mouth, +struck straight across in transverse courses till they met the barrier +on either side, and then each slowly felt the way along to the end of +the lobe, where, instead of escaping, they struck freely across again, +and thus pursued their round in everlasting interchase of +lustre,--through the darkly transparent surface each current glancing on +its swift and silent way, an arrow of emerald and silver. Curving, +racing, rippling with tints, they circled, till, warned by some subtile +instinct that the river was betraying them, fresh fear swept faster and +faster their lines of light, the rich dyes deepened in the splendid +scales, and some huddled into herds, and some, more frantic than the +rest, leaped from the water in shining streaks, and darted away like +stars into outer safety. There the sail-boat already had preceded them, +and the master of the weir, having taken its place, from the dip-net was +loading his dory with massive fare of frosted silver and fusing jewel. +As Eve and her friends lingered yet a moment there, watching the +picturesque figure splashing barelegged in the shallow water, one of the +droll little craft known as Joppa-chaises came up beside them, a fulvous +face appeared at its helm, a tawny hand was extended, and they left +Luigi bargaining for fish, and stringing these simulations of massed +turquoise and scale-ruby at a penny apiece. + +What little wind there was that day blew from the southeast, and +sheathed the brightness of the noonday sky in a soft veil of haze; and +having made this pretty sight their own, Eve's party spread their sail +for tacking to and fro, meaning to reach the sea. This, for some hidden +reason, the wind refused to let them do, and when it found them +obstinate brought an accomplice upon the scene, and they suddenly +surprised themselves rocking this side the bar, and caught in the vapory +fringes of a dark sea-turn, that, creeping round about, had soon so +wrapped and folded them that they could scarcely see the pennon drooping +at their mast-head. This done, the wind fell altogether, and they lay +there a part of the great bank of mist that all day brooded above the +bar. Everywhere around them the gray cloud hung and curled and curdled; +it was impossible to see an oar's-length on either side; their very +faces were unfamiliar, and seemed to be looking like the faces of +spirits from a different atmosphere; their little boat was the whole +world, and beyond it was only void. Now and then an idle puff parted the +bank to right and left, their sail flapped impatiently, and in the +sudden space they saw the barge that dashed along with the great white +seine-boat heaped high with nets towering in its midst, the oars of the +six red-shirted rowers flashing in the sun as it cut the channel and +rushed by to join the fishing-fleet outside,--or they caught a glimpse +of some little gunning-float, covered with wisps of hay and carrying its +single occupant couched _perdu_ along its length,--or, while they +lunched and trifled and jested, Eve with her crumbs tolled about them +the dwellers in the depths, and in the falling flake of sunshine laughed +to see a stately aldermanic flounder, that came paddling after a +chicken-bone, put to rout by a satanic sculpin, whereat an eel swiftly +snaked the prize away, and the frost-fish, collecting at a chance of +civil war, mingled in the _melee_, tooth and nail, or rather fin and +tail. Then the vapors would darken round them again, till, with the +stray rays caught and refracted in their fleece, it seemed like living +in an opal full of cloudy color and fire. Far off they heard the great +ground-swell of the surf upon the beach, or there came the dull report +of the sportsmen in the marsh, or they exchanged first a laugh and then +a yawn with some other unseen party becalmed in the fog and drifting +with the currents; and all day long, on this side and on that, the cloud +rang with near and distant music, as if Ariel and his sprites had lost +their way in it, the tinkling of a mandolin, the singing of a clear, +rich voice that had the tenor's golden strain, and yet, in floating +through the mist, was sweet and sighing as a flute. The melody and the +undistinguished words it bore upon its wings, delicious tune and +passionate meaning, seemed the speech of another planet, an orb of song, +the delicate sound lost when at sunset the threaded mist broke up and +streamed away in fire, but coming again, as if they were haunted by the +viewless voices of the air, when star-beam and haze tangled together at +last in the dusk of summer night and found them still rocking on the +swell, vainly whistling for the wind, and slowly tiding up with the +flood. + +It was one of those days so long in the experience, but so charming to +remember. Eve, with her wilful, fearless ways, her quips and joyousness, +had been the life and the delight of it; now, chilled and weary, she +hailed the sight of the lamps that seemed to be hung out along the shore +to light them home: for their boatmen were inexperienced, and, though +wind failed them, had not dared before to lift the oars, ignorant as +they were of their precise whereabouts, and even now made no progress +like that of the unseen voice still hovering around them. There had been +a season of low tides, and when, to save the weary work of rowing a +heavy sail-boat farther, it was decided to make the shore, they were +hindered by a length of shallow water and weedy flat, through which the +ladies of the party must consent to be carried. A late weird moon was +rising down behind the light-houses, all red and angry in the mist still +brooding over the horizon, the boat lay in the deep shade it cast, the +river beyond was breaking into light, reach after reach, like a blossom +into bloom. Two of her friends had already been taken to the bank; Eve +stood in the bow, awaiting her bearers, and watching the distant bays of +the stream, each one of which seemed just on the verge of opening into +an impossible midnight glory. She heard the plash of feet in the water, +but did not heed it other than to fold her cloak more conveniently about +her, her eye caught the contour of a vague approaching form, and then +shadowy arms were reaching up to encircle her. She was bending, and just +yielding herself to the clasp, when the hearty voice of her bearers +sounded at hand, bidding her be of good cheer; the adumbration shrank +back into the gloom, and, before she recovered from her start, firm arms +had borne her to firm land. + +"Well, Eve," said one of her awaiting friends, "is the earth going up +and down with you? As for me, my head swims like a buoy. I feel as if I +had waltzed all day." + +"Nympholeptic, then," said Eve,-- + + "'When you do dance, I wish you + A wave of the sea, that you might ever do + Nothing but that.'" + +"I thought they threw out the anchor down there," said the other. "Are +they tying her up for the night, too? How long it takes them! Oh, for an +inquisition and a rack,--I am so cramped! Eve, here, is extinguished. +What a day it has been!" + + "'Oh, sweet the flight, at dead of night, + When up the immeasurable height + The thin cloud wanders with the breeze + That shakes the splendor from the star, + That stoops and crisps the darkling seas, + And drives the daring keel afar + Where loneliness and silence are! + To cleave the crested wave, and mark + Drowned in its depth the shattered spark, + On airy swells to soar, and rise + Where nothing but the foam-bell flies, + O'er freest tracts of wild delight, + Oh, sweet the flight at dead of night!'" + +sang Eve. "Ah, there they are! I am so tired that I could fall asleep +here, if there were but a reed to lean against!" + +"_Appoggiatevi a me_" sighed a murmurous voice in her ear, with musical +monotone. + +A little shiver ran over Eve, but no soul saw it; in an instant she knew +the sound that had all day haunted the sea-turn; yet she could neither +smile nor be angry at Luigi's simplicity; with a peremptory motion of +her hand, she only waved him away, and fortified herself among her +companions, who, thoroughly awakened, made the night ring as they wended +along. They rallied Eve, then grew vexed that she refused the sport, and +kept silence awhile, only to break it with gayer laughter, elate with +life while half the world was stretched in white repose. At length they +paused to rest in the lee of a cottage that seemed more like a hulk +drawn up on shore than any house, but matted from ground to chimney in a +smother of woodbine. + +"A picturesque place," said one of the chevaliers. + +"And a picturesque body lives in it," replied another. "The beauty of +the fisher-maidens. I have seen her out upon the flats at low tide +digging for clams, barefooted, the short petticoats fluttering, a +handkerchief across her ears,--and outline could do no more." + +"I have seen her, too," said Eve. "Though she lives in the belt of +sunburn, she is white as snow,--milk-white, with hazel eyes. She has +hair like Sordello's Elys. She is a girl that dreams. Let us serenade +her till she sees visions." + +And Eve's voice went warbling lightly up, till the others joined, as if +the oriole in his hanging nest not far away had stirred to sing out the +seasons of the dark. + + "The hours that bear thy beauty prize + Star after star sinks numbering,-- + The laden wind at thy lattice sighs + To find thee slumbering, slumbering! + + "Ah, wantonly why waste these hours + That love would fain be borrowing? + Soon youth and joy must fall like flowers, + And leave thee sorrowing, sorrowing! + + "Ye fleeting hours, ye sacred skies, + Sweet airs around her hovering, + Oh, open me the envied eyes + Your spells are covering, covering! + + "Or only, while the dew's soft showers + Shake slowly into glistening, + Let her, O magic midnight hours, + In dreams be listening, listening!" + +And their voices blended so together as they sang, and the plunge of the +sea came on the east-wind in such chiming chord, that they never heeded +the old mandolin whose strings in humble remoteness Luigi struck to +their tune. But mingling the sound of the sea and the sound of the +strings in her memory, it seemed to Eve that Luigi was fast becoming the +undertone of her life. + + * * * * * + +But Luigi was not to be abashed. Faint heart never won fair lady, he +said to himself, in some answering apophthegm. And thereat he summoned +his reserves. + +At noon of the next day, Eve, having run down-stairs into the room where +her mother sat, stood before her during the inspection of the attire she +had proposed as possible for an approaching masquerade some weeks hence. +She wore a white robe of classic make, and over its trailing folds her +bright hair, all unbound from the heavy braids, streamed in a thousand +ripples of scattered lustre, the brown breaking into gold, the gloss +lurking in tremulous jacinth shadows, tresses like a cascade of ravelled +light falling to her feet, shrouding her in a long and luminous +veil,--such "sweet shaken hair" as was never seen since Spenser and +Ariosto put their heads together. + +"_Come sta_?" said some one in the doorway. And there stood Luigi, +having deposited his tray of images on the steps, holding up a long +string of birds'-eggs blown, tiny varicolored globes plundered from the +thrushes, bobolinks, blue-jays, and cedar-birds, and trembling upon the +thread as if their concrete melody quivered to open into tune. + +For an indignant instant Eve felt her seclusion unwarrantably violated; +she turned upon the invader with her blushes, and the venturesome Luigi +blenched before the gaze. Still, though he retreated, a part of him +remained: a slender brown hand, that stretched back in relief against +the white door-post, yet suspended the pretty rosary; and there it +caught Eve's eye. + +Now it was Euterpe that Eve was to represent at the masquerade; and what +ornament so fit and fanciful as this amulet of spring-time, whose charm +commanded all that hour of freshness, fragrance, and dew, when the +burdened heart of the dawn bubbles over with music? Yet the enticement +was brief. Eve looked and longed, and then hurriedly turned her back +upon the tempting treasure, her two hands thrusting it off. "Behind me, +Satan!" cried she, tossing a laugh at her mother; and Paula, the stately +servant who had followed her down, signified to Luigi that the door +awaited his movements. + +Then the hand quietly withdrew, and his footstep was heard upon the +threshold. It was arrested by a sound: Eve stood in the doorway, +gathering her locks in one hand, and blushing and smiling upon him like +sunshine, whether she would or no. + +"You are very kind," said she, hesitating, and fluttering out the broad, +snowy love-ribbon that was to ornament her lute, "but, if you +please,--indeed"-- + +"Indeed, the Signorina cares not for such bawbles," said Luigi, sadly, +covering her with his gaze. Then he turned, mounted his tray again, and +went slowly down the street, forgetting to cry his wares. + +Perhaps, after this, Luigi felt that his situation was desperate; +perhaps despair made him bold,--for, having already spoiled Eve's +pleasure for the day, that same evening found him in her mother's +garden, half hidden in the grape-vines, and watching the movements in +the lighted room opposite, through the long window, whose curtain was +seldom dropped. + +It was a gay old town in those days, kind to its lads and lasses, and if +the streets were grass-grown, it seemed only that so they might give +softer footing to the young feet that trod them. Almost every night +there was a festival at one house or another, and this evening the +rendezvous was with Eve. The guests gathered and dallied, the dancers +floated round the room, the lovers uttered their weighty trifles in such +seclusion or shadow as they could secure, the voices melted in happy +unison. Eve, with snowy shoulders and faultless arms escaping from the +ruffle of her rosy gauzes, where skirt over skirt, like clinging petals, +made her seem the dryad of a wild rose-tree just rising and looking from +her blushing cup, Eve flitted to and fro among them, and, all the time, +Luigi's gaze brooded over the scene. Sometimes her shadow fell in the +lighted space of turf, and then Luigi went and laid his cheek upon it; +it passed, and he returned once more to his hiding-place, and the dark, +motionless countenance, with its wandering, glittering eyes, appeared to +hang upon the dense leafage that sheltered all the rest of him like a +vizard in whose cavities glowworms had gathered. And more than once, in +passing, Eve delayed a moment, and almost caught that gaze; she was +sensible of his presence there, felt it, as she might have felt an +apparition, as if the eyes were those of a basilisk and she were +fascinated to look and look again, till filled with a strange fear and +unrest. It grew late; by-and-by, before they separated, Eve sang. It +would have been impossible for her to say why she chose a luscious +little Italian air, one that many a time at home, perhaps, Luigi had +heard some midnight lover sing. Through it, as he listened now, he could +fancy the fountain's fall, the rustle of the bough, the half-checked +gurgle of the nightingale, upon the scented waft almost the slow +down-floating of the scattered corolla of the full-blown flower. The +tears sparkled over his face, first of delight, and then of anger. +Something was wanting in the song,--he missed the passionate utterance +of the lover standing by the gate and pouring his soul in his singing. + +Suddenly the room was startled by the ring of a voice from the garden, a +voice that outbroke sweet and strong, that snatched the measure from +Eve's lips, flung a fervor into its flow, a depth into its burden, and +carried it on with impetuous fire, lingering with tenderness here, swift +with ardor there, till all hearts bounded in quicker palpitation when +the air again was still. For deep feeling has a potency of its own, and +all that careless group felt as if some deific cloud had passed by. + +As for Eve, what coquetry there was in her nature was but the innocent +coruscation of happy spirits, the desire to see her power, the necessity +of being dear to all she touched. Far from pleasant was this vehemence +of devotion; the approach of it oppressed her; she comprehended Luigi as +a creature of another species, another race, than herself; she shrank +before him now with a kind of horror. That night in a nervous excitation +she did not close an eye, and in the morning she was wan as a flower +after rain. + +This state of things found at least one observer, a personage of no less +authority in household matters than Paula, the tall and stately woman of +Nubian lineage who had been the nurse of Eve, and who every morning now +stood behind her chair at breakfast, familiarly joining in and gathering +what she chose of the conversation. Erect as a palm-tree, slender, +queenly, with her thin and clearly cut features, and her head like that +of some Circassian carved in black marble, she had a kinship of +picturesqueness with Luigi, and could meet him more nearly on his own +ground than another, for her voice was as sweet as his, and he was only +less dark than she. Breakfast over, she took her way into the garden, +set open the gate, and busied herself pinching the fresh shoots of the +grape-vine, too luxuriant in leaves. She did not wait long before Luigi +came up the side-street, his tray upon his head, his gait less elastic +than beseemed the fresh, fragrant morning. Paula stepped forward and +gave him pause, with a gesture. + +"Sir!" said she, commandingly. + +Luigi looked up at her inquiringly. Then a pleasant expectation overshot +his gloomy face; he smiled, and his teeth glittered, and his eyes. +Instantly he unslung his tray and set it upon the level gate-post. + +"Sir," said Paula, "do you come here often?" + +"_Tutti i giorni_," answered Luigi, scarcely considering her worth +wasting his sparse and precious English upon. + +"You come here often," said Paula. "Will you come here no more?" + +Luigi opened his eyes in amaze. + +"You will come here no more," said Paula. + +"_Chi lo_,--who wishes it?" stammered Luigi. + +"My mistress," answered Paula, proudly, as if to be her servant were +more than enough distinction, and to mention her name were sovereign. + +"Who commands?" he demanded, imperatively. + +"Still my mistress." + +"She said--Tell me that!" + +"She said, 'Paula, if the boy disturbs us further, we must take +measures.'" + +"The Signorina?" + +"Her mother." + +"Not the Signorina, then!" And Luigi's gloomy face grew radiant. + +"She and her mother are one," replied Paula. + +Luigi was silent for a moment. One could see the shadows falling over +him. Then he said, softly,-- + +"My Paula, you will befriend me?" + +Paula bridled at the address; arrogant in family-place, she would have +assured him plainly that she was none of his, to begin with, had he been +an atom less disconsolate. + +"Never more than now!" said she, loftily. + +Luigi did not understand her; her tone was kind, but there was a "never" +in her words. + +"I should be the most a friend," said Paula, unbending, "in urging you +to forget us." + +"Ah, never!" + +"Let me say. Can you read?" + +"Some things," replied Luigi quickly, his brow brightening. + +"Can you write?" + +"It may be. Alas! I have not tried." + +"You see." + +There was no appeal from Paula's dictatorial demeanor. + +"_Dio_! I am unfit! Ah, Jesu, I am unfit! But if she cared not--if I +learned"--and he paused, striving now for the purest, most intelligible +speech, while his face beamed with his smiling hope. + +"Listen," interposed Paula, with the dignity of the headsman. "You have +no truer friend than me at this moment, as some day you will discover. +Come, now, will you do me a favor?" + +"_Di tutto cuore_!" + +"Then leave us to ourselves." + +"Not possible!" cried Luigi, stung with disappointment. + +"What would you do, then? Would you wear her life out? Would you keep +her in a terror? She has said to me that she must go away. It suffocates +one to be pursued in this manner. You are not pleasant to her. Hark. She +dislikes you!" And Paula bent toward him with uplifted finger, and, +having delivered her stroke, after watching its effect a moment, reared +herself and adjusted her gay turban with internal satisfaction. + +Luigi cast his eyes slowly about him; they fell on the smooth +grass-plats rising with webs of shaking sparkle, the opening flowers +half-bowed beneath the weight of the shining spheres they held, the +brilliant garden bathed in dew, the waving boughs tossing off light +spray on every ravaging gust, the far fair sky bending over all. Then he +hid his face against the great gate-post, murmuring only in a dry and +broken sob,-- + +"_C' e sole_?" + +Paula herself was touched. She put her hand on his shoulder. + +"It is a silly thing," said she. "Do not take it so to heart. Put it out +of sight. There is many a pretty tambourine-tosser to smile upon you, +I'll warrant!" + +But Luigi vouchsafed no response. + +"Come," said she, "pluck up your courage. You will soon be better of +it." + +"_Non saro meglio_!" answered Luigi. "I shall never be better." + +He lifted his head and looked at her where she stood in the light, +black, but comely, transfixing her on the burning glances of his bold +eyes. "In your need," said he, "may you find just such friend as I have +found!" The words were of his native language, but the malediction was +universal. Paula half shivered, and fingered the amulet that her +princely Nubian ancestor had fingered before her, while he spoke. Then +he bowed his head to its burden, fastened the straps, and went bent and +stooping upon his way, repeating sadly to himself, "And does the sun +shine?" + + * * * * * + +A week passed. Part of another. Eve saw no more of Luigi, but was yet +all the time uncomfortably conscious of his espionage. He was hardly a +living being to her, but, as soon as night fell, the soft starry nights +now in which there was no moon, she felt him like a darker film of +spirit haunting the shadow. In the daytime, sunshine reassured her, and +she remained almost at peace. + +She was sitting one warm afternoon at the open window up-stairs, looking +over a box of airy trifles, flowers and bows and laces, searching for a +parcel of sheer white love-ribbon, a slip of woven hoarfrost that was +not to be found. There was none like it to be procured; this was the +night of the little masquerade; it was indispensable; and immediately +she proceeded to raise the house. In answer to her descriptive inquiry, +Paula, who every noon nestled as near the sun as possible, responded in +a high key from the attic a descriptive negative; neither had her +mother, waking from a _siesta_ in the garden, seen any white gauze +folderols. The three voices made the air well acquainted with the +affair. + +However, Eve was not to be baffled; she remembered distinctly having had +the love-ribbon in her hands on the day she first proposed the dress; it +must be found, and she sat down again at the open casement, intrenched +behind twenty boxes of like treasure, in any one of which the thing +might have hidden itself away, while her mother came up and established +herself with a fan at the other window, and Paula, descending from her +perch, rummaged the neighboring dressing-room. + +On the opposite side of the street stretched a long strip of shaven +turf, known as the Parade, yet seldom used for anything but +summer-evening strolls, and below its velvet terraces, in a green +dimple, lay a pool, borrowing all manner of umberous stains from the +shore, and yet in its very heart contriving to reflect a part of heaven. +Languishing elm-trees lined its edge, and beneath the boughs, whose +heavily drooping masses seemed like the grapes of Eshcol, rude benches +offered rest to the weary. + +On one of these benches now sat a person profoundly occupied in carving +something into its seat. If he could easily have heard the voices in the +dwelling opposite, he had not once glanced up. Now and then he paused +and leaned his head upon the arm that lay along the rail, then again he +pursued his task. Once, when his progress, perhaps, had exceeded +expectation, or the striking of a clock beneath some distant spire +announced no need of haste, he laid down his knife, left his occupation, +and came to lean against the low fence beneath Eve's window and gaze +daringly up. Eve did not see him. Her mother did, and held her breath +lest Eve should turn that way, and, having directed Eve's glance +elsewhere, shook her fan at the bold boy. But there was no insolence in +Luigi's gaze. He seemed merely wishing that his work should be marked; +and, having attracted fit attention, he returned quietly to the bench +and the carving once more. + +At length the sun hung high over the west, preparing to fall into his +hidden resting-place that colored all the cloudless heaven with its +mounting tinge. Luigi rose and inspected his work. Then again he crossed +the street and stood below Eve's window. It was a long time that he +leaned with his arms folded on the bar of the low paling. Perhaps he +meant that she should look at him. She had closed the last of her +receptacles, and, dismissing the matter, for want of better employment, +her scissors were tinkering upon a tiny hand-glass with a setting +thickly crusted in crystals, a trifle that one clear day a sailor diving +from her father's ship had found upon the bottom of the sea,--a very +mermaid's glass dropped in some shallow place for Eve herself, a glass +that had reflected the rushing of the storm, the sliding of the keel +above, the face of many a drowning mariner. Careless of all that, at the +moment, she held it up now to the light to see if further furbishing +could brighten it, and as she did so was hastily checked. She had caught +sight of a dark face just framed and mirrored, the sad eyes raised and +resting on her own, luminous no more, but heavy, and longing, and dull +with a weight of woe. At the same moment, Paula, who had by no means +abandoned the lost love-ribbon, cried from within,-- + +"Well, Miss, the lutestring has been spirited away, and no less. I've +searched the house through, and nobody has it." + +"_Qualcheduno l' ha_," breathed a sweet, melancholy tone from below; and +they turned and saw it in Luigi's hands, the frosty film of gossamer. He +held it up a moment, pressed it to his lips, folded it again into his +breast; and if it was plain that somebody had it, it was plainer still +that somebody meant to keep it. And then, as if twin stars were bending +over him out of the bluest deeps of heaven, Luigi kept Eve's eyes awhile +suspended on his despairing gaze, and without other word or gesture +turned and went away. + + * * * * * + +Many days afterward, when it was certain that the little foreign +image-vender had indeed departed, Eve stole over to the bench beneath +the lofty arches of the elm-tree, all checkered with flickering +sunlight, and endeavored to read the sentence carved thereon. It was at +first undecipherable, and then, the text conquered, not easy for her to +comprehend. But when she had made it hers, she rose, bathed with +blushes, and stole away home again, feeling only as if Luigi had laid a +chain upon her heart. + +Years have fled. The little legend yet remains cut deep into the wood, +though he returns no more, and though, since then, her + + "Part in all the pomp that fills + The circuit of the summer hills + Is that her grave is green." + +Rain and snow have not effaced its _intaglio_, nor summer's dust, nor +winter's wind; and if you ever pass it, you yet may read,-- + + AMOR QUE A NULLO + AMATO + AMAR PERDONA. + + * * * * * + +COMMUNICATION. + + +_Whether virtue can be taught_ is a question over which Plato lingers +long. And it is a curious illustration of the different eyes with which +different men read, that some students of Plato are confident he answers +the question in the affirmative, while others are equally sure that he +gives it an unqualified negative. "Plato," says Schwegler, "holds fast +to the opinion that virtue is science, and therefore to be imparted by +instruction." "We are told," says Burgess, one of Bohn's translators, +"that, as virtue is not a science, it cannot, like a science, be made a +subject of teaching." Professor Blackie, again, an open-minded and +eloquent scholar, cannot doubt that virtue may be verbally imparted, +nor, therefore, that the great Athenian thinker so believed and +affirmed. + +What is the voice of common sense and the teaching of history touching +this matter? Can a liberal and lofty nature be included in words, and so +passed over to another? Elevation of character, nobility of spirit, +wealth of soul,--is any method known, or probably ever to be known, +among men, whereby these can be got into a text-book, and then out of +the text-book into a bosom wherein they had no dwelling before? Alas, is +not the story of the world too full of cases in which the combined +eloquence of verbal instruction, vital influence, and lustrous example, +aided even by all the inspirations of the most majestic and moving +presence, have failed utterly to shape the character of disciples? Did +Alcibiades profit greatly by the conversation of Socrates? Was Judas +extremely ennobled by the companionship of Jesus? Was it to any +considerable purpose that the pure-minded, earnest, affluent Cicero +strewed the seeds of Stoic culture upon the wayside nature of his son? +Did Faustina learn much from Antoninus Pius, or Commodus from Marcus +Aurelius? + +I think we must assume it as the judgment of common sense that there +neither is nor is likely to be any educational mortar wherein a fool may +be so brayed that he shall come forth a wise man. The broad, unequivocal +sentence of history seems to be that whoever is not noble by nature will +hardly be rendered so by art. Education can do much; it can foster +nobilities, it can discourage vices; but literal conveyance of lofty +qualities, can it effect that? Can it create opulence of soul in a +sterile nature? Can it cause a thin soil to do the work of a deep one? +We have seen harsh natures mellowed, violent natures chastened, rough +ones refined; but who has seen an essentially mean nature made +large-hearted, self-forgetful, fertile of grandest faiths and greatest +deeds? Who has beheld a Thersites transformed into an Achilles? Who a +Shylock, Iago, or Regan changed into an Antonio, Othello, or Cordelia, +or a Simon Magus into a Paul? What virtue of nature is in a man culture +may bring out; but to put nature into any man surpasses her competence. + +Nay, it would even seem that in some cases the finest openings and +invitations for what is best in man must operate inversely, and elicit +only what is worst in him. Every profoundest truth, when uttered with +fresh power in history, polarizes men, accumulating atheism at one pole, +while collecting faith and resolve at the other. As the sun bleaches +some surfaces into whiteness, but tans and blackens others, so the sweet +shining of Truth illumines some countenances with belief, but some it +darkens into a scowl of hate and denial. The American Revolution gave us +George Washington; but it gave us also Benedict Arnold. One and the same +great spiritual emergency in Europe produced Luther's Protestantism and +Loyola's Jesuitism. Our national crisis has converted General Butler; +what has it done for Vallandigham? + +It were easy to show that the deepest intelligence of the world concurs +with common sense in this judgment. Its declaration ever is, in effect, +that, though Paul plant and Apollos water, yet fruit can come only out +of divine and infinite Nature,--only, that is, out of the native, +incommunicable resources of the soul. "No man can come to me," said +Jesus, "except the Father draw him." "To him that hath shall be given." +The frequent formula, "He that hath ears to hear, let him hear," is a +confession that no power of speech, no wisdom of instruction, can +command results. The grandest teacher, like the humblest, can but utter +his word, sure that the wealthy and prepared spirits will receive it, +and equally sure that shallow, sterile, and inane natures will either +not receive it at all, or do so to extremely little purpose. + +And such, as I read, is the judgment of Plato; though, ever disposed to +explore the remote possibilities of education, he discusses the subject +in a tentative spirit, as if vaguely hoping that more might, through +some discovery in method, be accomplished by means of doctrine. But in +the "Republic" his permanent persuasion is shown. He there bases his +whole scheme of polity, as Goethe in the second part of "Wilhelm +Meister" bases his scheme of education, upon a primary inspection of +natures, in which it is assumed that culture must begin by humbly +accepting the work of Nature, forswearing all attempt to add one jot or +tittle to the native virtue of any human spirit. + +It is always, however, less important for us to know what another thinks +upon any high matter than to know what is our own deepest and inevitable +thought concerning it; for, as the man himself thinketh, not as another +thinketh for him, so is he: his own thoughts are forces and engines in +his nature; those of any other are at best but candidates for these +profound effects. I propose, therefore, that we throw open the whole +question of man's benefit to man by means of words. Let us inquire--if +possible, with somewhat of courage and vigor--what are the limits and +what the laws of instructive communication. + +And our first discovery will be that such communication has adamantine +limitations. The off-hand impression of most persons would probably be +that we are able to make literal conveyance of our thought. But, in +truth, one could as soon convey the life out of his veins into the veins +of another as transfer from his own mind to that of another any belief, +thought, or perception whatsoever. + +Words are simply the signs, they are not the vehicles, of thought. Like +all signs, they convey nothing, but only suggest. Like all signs, they +are intelligible to none but the initiated. One man, having a certain +mental experience, hoists, as it were, a signal, like ships at sea, +whereby he would make suggestion of it to another; and if in the mental +experience of that other be somewhat akin to this, which, by virtue of +that kindred, can interpret its symbol, then only, and to the extent of +such interpretation, does communication occur. But the mental experience +itself, the thought itself, does not pass; it only makes the sign. + +If, for example, I utter the word _God_, it conveys nothing out of my +mind into the mind of you, the reader; it simply appeals to your +conception of divinity. If I attempt to explain, then every word of the +explanation must be subject to the same conditions; not one syllable of +it can do more than merely appeal to somewhat already in your mind. For +instance, suppose I say, _God is love_; what then is done? The appeal is +shifted to another sign; that is all. What my own soul, fed from the +vital resources and incited by the vital relationships of my life, has +learned of love, that my thought may connect with the word; but of all +this nothing passes when it is uttered; and the sound, arriving at your +ear, can do no more than invite you to summon and bring before the eye +of your consciousness that which your own soul, out of its divine depths +and through the instruction of vital relationship, has learned and has +privily whispered to you of this sacred mystery, love. Just so much as +each one, in the inviolable solitudes of his own consciousness, has +learned to connect with this, or with any great word, just that, and +never a grain more, it can summon. And if endeavor be made to explain +any such by others, the explanation can come no nearer; it can only send +words to your ear, each of which performs its utmost office by inviting +you to call up and bring before your cognizance this or that portion of +your mental experience. But always what answers the call is your mental +experience, no less yours, no less wedded to your life, than the blood +in your arteries; it cannot be that of any other. + +And the same is true, or nearly the same, respecting the most obvious +outside matters. Suppose one to make merely this statement, _I see a +house_. Now, if the person addressed has ever had experience of the act +of vision, if he has ever seen anything, he will know what _see_ means; +otherwise not. If, again, he has ever seen a house, he will know what +_house_ denotes; not otherwise. Or suppose, that, not knowing, he ask +what a house is, and that the first speaker attempt to explain by +telling him that it is such and such a structure, built of brick, wood, +or stone; then it is assumed that he has seen stone, wood, or brick, +that he has seen the act of building, or at least its result;--and in +fine, the explanation, every syllable of it, can do no more than appeal +to perceptions of which the questioner is assumed to have had +experience. + +We do, indeed, gain an approximate knowledge of things we have never +seen. For example, I have an imperfect notion of a banian-tree, though I +have never seen one; but it is only by having seen other trees, and by +having also had the perceptions to which appeal is made in describing +the peculiarities of the banian. So he who is born blind may learn so +much concerning outward objects as the senses of touch, hearing, smell, +and taste can impart to him; and he may profit by verbal information to +such extent as these perceptions enable him. But the perception itself, +and so thought, faith, and in fine all mental experience whatsoever, +whether of high order or low, whether relating to objects within us or +to objects without, take place only in the privacy of our own minds, and +are in their substance not to be transferred. + +Observe with precision what is here said. The mental experience of each +man, if it be of any spiritual depth, has transacted itself in his +nature in virtue, to a most important degree, of spiritual relationship +with other human beings. There never was an act of development in any +man's soul that did not imply a humanity, and involve the virtue of +social affinity. I should be dumb, but for the ears of others; I should +be deaf, that is, my human ear would be closed, but for human voices; +and there is no particle of human energy, and no tint of human coloring, +for which we are not, in part, indebted to vital human fellowship. +Nevertheless, of this experience, though in the absence of social +connection it could not have occurred, not one jot nor tittle can be +made over to another by means of words. It can hoist its verbal signal, +and the like experience in other souls may interpret the sign; it can do +no more. + +Men may, indeed, _commune_; that is, they may by verbal conference enter +mutually into a sense of an already existing unity of inward experience; +and there are other and eminent uses of words, of which more anon; but +here let it be noted with sufficient emphasis that of minds there can be +no mixture, and that speech can make no substantive conveyance of any +mental product from one mind to another. Each soul must draw from its +native fountains; though we must never forget that without conversation +and social relationship its divine thirst would not have been excited. + +Therefore, in the midst of all warmest and quickest verity of social +nearness, there is a kind of sacred and inviolable solitude of the soul. +We speak across to each other, as out of different planets in heaven; +and the closest intimacy of souls is like that of double stars which +revolve about each other, not like that of two lumps of clay which are +squeezed and confounded together. + +So much, then, concerning the limits of verbal communication. Words, we +say, are not vehicles. No perception, no mental possession, passes from +mind to mind. You can impart to another no piece of knowledge whose main +elements were not already in his mind, no thought which was not +substantially existent in his consciousness before your voice began to +seek his ear. Instructors may, indeed, put a pupil in the way to obtain +fresh perceptions, and more rarely a wise man may put an apt disciple in +the way to obtain deeper insights; but, after all, the learner must +_learn_; the learner must for himself behold the fact, with the eyes of +body or of soul; and he must behold it as it is in itself, not merely as +it is in words. + +Hence the new scheme of school-education. Agassiz says, in +substance,--"If you would teach a boy geography, take him out on the +hills, and make the earth herself his instructor. If you would teach him +respecting tigers or turtles, _show_ him tiger or turtle. Take him to a +Museum of Natural History; let him always, so far as possible, learn +about facts from the facts themselves." Judicious and important advice. +And the basis of it we find in what has been set forth above, namely, +that words convey no perception, whether of physical or of spiritual +truth. + +It follows, therefore, that only he whose soul is eloquent within him +will gain much from any eloquence of his fellow. Only he whose heart is +a prophet will hear the prophet. A divine preparation of the nature, +divine activities of the soul, precede all high uses of communication. +Though Demosthenes or Phillips speak, it is the hearer's own spirit that +convinces him. Conviction cannot be forced upon one from without. Hence +the well-known futility of belligerent controversy. No possible logic +will lead a man ahead of his own intelligence; neither will any take +from him the persuasions which correspond to his mental condition. A +good logical _pose_ may sometimes serve to lower the crest of an +obstreperous sophist, as boughs of one species of ash are said to quell +the rattlesnake; but with both these sinuous animals the effect is +temporary, and the quality of the creature remains unchanged. + +Even though one be sincerely desirous of advancing his intelligence, it +is seldom, as Mr. Emerson has somewhere said, of much use for him to +carry his questions to another. He of whom insight is thus asked may be +sage, eloquent, apt to teach; but it will commonly be found, +nevertheless, that his words, for some reason, do not seem to suit the +case in hand: admirable words they are, perhaps, for some cases closely +analogous to this, it may be for all such cases, and it is a thousand +pities that the present one does not come within their scope; but this, +as ill luck will have it, is that other case which they do _not_ fit. + +And yet, despite these iron limits, communication is not only one of the +especial delights, but also one of the chief uses, of human life. As +every spiritual activity implies fellowship, so does almost every +thought, almost every result of spiritual activity, imply some speech of +our fellows. Voices and books,--who would be himself without them? I do +not believe myself to have now in my mind one valuable thought which +owes nothing to the written or spoken thought of other men, living or +dead. + +How, then, is it that the speech of our fellows renders us aid? What are +to us the uses of the words of others? + +And here be it first of all frankly acknowledged, that there is much +speech of no remarkable import, in itself considered, which yet serves +good ends. There is much speech whose office is simply to refresh the +sense of fellowship. It will not make a good leading article; but the +leading article which subserves equal uses is not to be contemned. So +much are men empowered by each other, that any careless, kindly chat +which gives them the sense of cordial nearness gives also warmth and +invigoration. Better than most ambitious conversation is the light, +happy, bubbling talk which means at bottom simply this:--"We are at home +together; we believe in each other." Words are good, if they only +festoon love and trust. Words are good, if they merely show us that +worthy natures do not suspect us, do not lock their closets when we are +in the house, do not put their souls in dress-costume to meet us, but +leave their thoughts and hearts naked in our presence, and are not +ashamed. Be it mine sometimes to sit with my friend when our mere +nearness and unity of spirit are felt by us both to be so utterly +eloquent, that, without silence, we forbear to set up any rivalry to +them by grave and meditated speech,--observing, it may be, a falling +leaf toyed with by the wind, and speaking words that drop from the lips +like falling leaves, and float down a zephyr that knows not which way to +blow. Some of the sweetest and most fruitful hours of life are these in +which we speak half-articulate nothings, merely airing the sense of +fellowship, and so replete with this wealth of vital intimacy that we +have room for nothing more. + +But our aim is to regard communication as an instruction, and to +consider the more explicit and definite uses of words. + +And of these the first, and one of the chief, is based upon the very +limitations which have been set forth,--upon the very fact that words +are _not_ vehicles. I have said that there is a certain divine solitude +of the soul; and of this solitude the uses are infinitely great. The +absolute soul of humanity, we hold, seeks to insphere itself in each +person, though in each giving itself a peculiar or individual +representation; and only as this insphering takes place are the ends of +creation attained, only so is man made indeed a _human_ life. Therefore +must we draw out of that, out of that alone; therefore truth is +permitted to come to us only out of these infinite depths, albeit +incitement, invitation, and the ability to draw from these native +fountains may be due to social connection. Because our life is really +enriched only as the absolute soul gives itself to us, therefore will it +suffer us no otherwise than by its gift to supply our want. And as it +cannot give itself to us save in response to a felt want, a seeking, an +inward demand, it belongs to the chief economies of our life to bring us +to this attitude of inward request, to this call and claim upon the +resources of our intelligence. + +Now words come to us as empty vessels, which we are to fill from within; +and in making for this purpose a requisition upon the perpetual contents +of reason, conscience, and imagination, we open a valve through which +new spiritual powers enter, and add themselves to our being. If the word +_God_ be sometimes spoken simply and spontaneously, a youth who hears it +will be sure upon some day, when the sense of the infinite and divine +stirs vaguely within him, to ask himself what this word means, to +require his soul to tell him what is the verity corresponding thereto; +and precisely this requisition is what the soul desires, for only when +sought may its riches be found. The utilities of words in this kind are +deserving of very grave estimation. Words teach us much, but they teach +less by what is in them than by what is not in them,--less by what they +give to us than by what they demand from us. + +It is, therefore, one of the grand services of communication to bring us +to the limits of communication, making us feel, that, ere it can go +farther, there must occur in us new stretches of thought, new energies +of hope, faith, and all noble imagining. It were well, therefore, that, +among other things, we should sometimes thank God for our ignorance and +weakness,--thank Him for what we do _not_ understand and are not equal +to; for with every fresh recognition of these, with every fresh approach +to the borders of our intelligence, we are prepared for new requisitions +upon the soul. As in a pump the air is exhausted in order that the water +may rise, so a void in our intelligence _caused by its own energy_ +precedes every enrichment. Hence he who will not admit to his heart the +sense of ignorance will always be a fool; he who is perpetually filled +with self-sufficiency will never be filled with much else. And from this +point of view one may discern the significance of that doctrine of +humility which belongs equally to Socratic thinking and Christian +believing. + +It follows, too, that we need not laboriously push and foist upon the +young our faith and experience. Aside from direct vital influence, which +is a powerful propagandist, our simple, natural, inevitable speech will +cause them to do much better than learn from us, it will cause them to +learn from their own souls. And however uncertain may be a harvest from +questions asked of others, a great question rightly put to one's self +not only must be fruitful, but carries in it a capacity for infinite +fruitfulness; while the longer and more patiently and persistently one +can wait for an answer, the richer his future is to be. I am sure of him +who can put to his heart the great questions of life, and wait serenely +and vigilantly for a response, one, two, ten years, a lifetime, wellnigh +an eternity, if need be, not falling into despondencies and despairing +skepticisms because the universe forbears to babble and tattle its +secret ere yet he half or a thousandth part guesses how deep and holy +that secret is, but quietly, heroically asking and waiting. And toward +this posture of asking the profound and vital words assist us by being +heard,--which is their first eminent use to us. + +Secondly, they serve us greatly, when they simply cause a preexisting +community of thought to be mutually recognized. It is much to bring like +to like, brand to brand, believing soul to believing soul. As several +pieces of anthracite coal will together make a powerful heat, but +separately will not burn at all, so in the conjunction of similar faiths +and beliefs there is a wholly new effect; it is not at all the mere sum +of the forces previously in operation, but a pure product of union. "My +confidence in my own belief," said Novalis, "is increased _infinitely_ +the moment another shares it with me. The reason is obvious. You and I +have grown up apart, and have never conferred together; our +temperaments, culture, circumstances are different; we have come to have +certain thoughts which seem to us true and deep, but each of us doubts +whether these thoughts may not be due to his peculiarities of mind, +position, and influence. But to-day we come together, and discover, +that, despite these outward diversities in which we are so widely +unlike, our fundamental faiths are one and the same; the same thoughts, +the same beliefs have sprung into life in our separate souls. Instantly +is suggested a unity underlying our divided being, a law of thought +abiding in mind itself,--not merely in your mind or mine, but in the +mind and soul of man. What we arrive at, therefore, is not merely the +sum of you and me, the aggregate of two men's opinions, but the +universal, the absolute, and spiritually necessary. Such is always the +suggestion which spontaneous unity of faith carries with it; hence it +awakens religion, and gives total peace and rest." + +But the faiths which are to be capable of these divine embraces must +indeed be spontaneous and native. Hence those who create factitious +unity of creed render these fructifications impossible. If we agree, not +because the absolute soul has uttered in both of us the same word, but +because we have both been fed with dust out of the same catechism, our +unity will disgust and weary us rather than invigorate. Dr. Johnson said +he would compel men to believe as he and the Church of England did, +"because," he reasoned, "if another differs from me, he weakens my +confidence in my own scheme of faith, and so injures me." Now this +speech is good just so far as it asserts social dependence in belief; it +is bad, it is idiotic or insane, so far as it advocates the substitution +of a factitious and artificial unity for one of spiritual depth and +reality. The fruits of the tree of life are not to be successfully +thieved. In dishonest hands they become ashes and bitterness. He who has +more faith in an Act of Parliament than in God and the universe may be a +good conventional believer; but, in truth, the choice he makes is the +essence of all denial and even of all atheism and blasphemy. + +Let each, then, bring up out of his own soul its purest, broadest, +simplest faith; and when any ten or ten thousand find that the same +faith has come to birth in their several souls, each one of them all +will be exalted to a divine confidence, and will make new requisitions +upon the soul which he has so been taught to trust. Thus, though we tell +each nothing new, though we merely demonstrate our unity of +consciousness, yet is the force of each many times multiplied,--dimless +certitude and dauntless courage being bred in hearts where before, +perhaps, were timorous hesitation and wavering. + +The third service of words may be compared to the help which the smith +renders to the fire on his forge. True it is that no blowing can +enkindle dead coals, and make a flame where was no spark. True it is +that both spark and bellows will be vain, if the fuel is stone or clay. +And so no blowing will enkindle a nature which does not bring in itself +the fire to be fanned and the substance that may support it. But in our +being, as at the forge, the flame that languishes may be taught to leap, +and the spark that was hidden may be wrought into blaze. + +Simple attraction and encouragement,--there is somewhat of the +marvellous in their effects. Physiologists tell us, that, if two liquids +in the body are separated by a moist membrane, and if one of these +fluids be in motion and the other at rest, that which rests will of its +own accord force its way through the membrane and join the one which +flows. So it is in history. Any man who represents a spiritual streaming +will command and draw into the current of his soul those whose condition +is one of stagnancy or arrest. Now courage and belief are streamings +forward; skepticism and timidity are stagnancies; panic, fear, and +destructive denial are streamings backward. True, now, it is, that any +swift flowing, forward or backward, attracts; but progressive or +affirmative currents have this vast advantage, that they are health, and +therefore the healthy humanity in every man's being believes in them and +belongs to them; and they accordingly are like rivers, which, however +choked up temporarily and made refluent, are sure in the end to force +their way; while negative and backward currents are like pestilences and +conflagrations, which of necessity limit themselves by exhaustion, if +not mastered by happier means. + +We may, indeed, note it as a nicety, that the membrane must be moist +through which this transudation is to take place; and I admit that there +are men whose enveloping sheath of individualism and egotism is so hard +and dry, so little interpenetrated by candor and the love of truth, as +to be nearly impervious to noble persuasion; and were whole Missouris of +tidings from the highest intelligence rushing past them, they would +still yawn, and say, "Do you get any news?" as innocently as ever. + +Nevertheless, history throbs with the mystery of this influence. A +little girl slumping by her mother's side awoke in a severe +thunder-storm, and, nestling in terror near to the mother, and shrinking +into the smallest possible space, said, trembling, "Mother, are you +afraid?" "No, my dear," answered the lady, calmly. "Oh, well," said the +child, assuming her full proportions, and again disposing herself for +sleep, "if you're not afraid, I'm not afraid," and was soon slumbering +quietly. What volumes of gravest human history in that little incident! +So infinitely easy are daring and magnanimity, so easy is transcendent +height of thought and will, when exalted spiritually, when imperial +valor and purpose breathe and blow upon our souls from the lips of a +living fellow! Not, it may be, that anything new is said. That is not +required. What another now thrills, inspires, transfigures us by saying, +we probably knew before, only dared not let ourselves think that we knew +it. The universe, perhaps, had not a nook so hidden that therein we +could have been solitary enough to whisper that divine suggestion to our +own hearts. But now some childlike man stands up and speaks it to the +common air, in serenest unconsciousness of doing anything singular. He +has said it,--and lo, he lives! By the help of God, then, we too, by +word and deed, will utter our souls. + +Get one hero, and you may have a thousand. Create a grand impulse in +history, and no fear but it will be reinforced. Obtain your champion in +the cause of Right, and you shall have indomitable armies that charge +for social justice. + +More of the highest life is suppressed in every one of us than ever gets +vent; and it is this inward suppression, after making due account of all +outward oppressions and injuries, which constitutes the chief tragedy of +history. Daily men cast to the ground the proffered beakers of heaven, +from mere fear to drink. Daily they rebuke the divine, inarticulate +murmur that arises from the deeps of their being,--inarticulate only +because denied and reproved. And he is greatest who can meet with a +certain pure intrepidity those suggestions which haunt forever the +hearts of men. + +No greater blunder, accordingly, was ever made than that of attempting +to render men brave and believing by addressing them as cowards and +infidels. Garibaldi stands up before his soldiers in Northern Italy, and +says to them, (though I forget the exact words,) "I do not call you to +fortune and prosperity; I call you to hardship, to suffering, to death; +I ask you to give your toil without reward, to spill your blood and lie +in unknown graves, to sacrifice all for your country and kind, and hear +no thanks but the _Well done_ of God in heaven." Did they cower and go +back? Ere the words had spent their echoes, every man's will was as the +living adamant of God's purpose, and every man's hand was as the hand of +Destiny, and from the shock of their onset the Austrians fled as from +the opening jaws of an earthquake. Demosthenes told Athens only what +Athens knew. He merely blew upon the people's hearts with their own best +thoughts; and what a blaze! True, the divine fuel was nearly gone, +Athens wellnigh burnt out, and the flame lasted not long; but that he +could produce such effects, when half he fanned was merest ashes, serves +all the more to show how great such effects may be. + +Before passing to the last and profoundest use of communication, I must +not omit to mention that which is most obvious, but not most +important,--the giving of ordinary informations and instructions. These +always consist in a suggestion to another of new combinations of his +notions, new societies in his mind. Thus, if I say, _Fire burns_, I +simply assert a connection between fire and burning,--the notion of both +these being assumed as existing in the mind of the person addressed. Or +if I say, _God is just_, I invite him to associate in his mind the +sentiment of justice and the sense of the infinite and omnipotent. Now +in respect to matters of mere external form we usually confide in the +representations of others, and picture to ourselves, so far as our +existing perceptions enable us, the combinations they affirm,--provided +always these have a certain undefined conformity with our own +experience. But in respect to association, not of mere notions, but _of +spiritual elements in the soul_,--of truths evolved by the spiritual +nature of man,--the case is quite different Thus, if the fool who once +said in his heart, "There is no God," should now say openly, (of course +by some disguising euphemism,) "God is an egotist," I may indeed shape +an opinion accordingly, and fall into great confusion in consequence; +but my spiritual nature does not consent to this representation; no +_real_ association takes place within me between the sense of the +divine and the conception of egotism. Such opinion may have immense +energy in history, but it has no efficiency in the eliciting and +outbuilding of our personal being; these representations, however we may +trust and base action upon them, serve us inwardly only to such degree +as our spiritual nature can ally itself with them and find expression in +them. It is simply impossible for any man to associate the idea of +divinity with the conception of selfishness; but he may associate the +notion of Zeus or Allah or the like with that or any other conception of +baseness, and out of the result may form a sort of crust over his +spiritual intelligence, which shall either imprison it utterly, or force +it to oblique and covert expression. And of this last, by the way,--and +we may deeply rejoice over the fact,--history is full. + +Yet in this suggestion toward new societies in the soul, in this formal +introduction to each other of kindred elements in the consciousness, +there may be eminent service. It is only formal, it does not make +friendship, it leaves our spirits to their own action; but it may +prepare the way for inward unities and communities whose blessedness +neither speech nor silence can tell. + +Finally, there is an effect of words profounder and more creative than +any of these. As a brand which burns powerfully may at last ignite even +green wood, so divine faiths, alive and awake in one soul, may appeal to +the mere elements, to mere possibilities, of such faiths in other souls, +and at length evoke them by that appeal. The process is slow; it +requires a celestial heat and persistency in the moving spirit; it is +one of the "all things" that are possible only with God: but it occurs, +and it is the most sacred and precious thing in history. + +Every human soul has the absolute soul, has the whole truth, +significance, and virtue of the universe, as its lawful and native +resource. Therefore says Jesus, "The kingdom of heaven is within you"; +therefore Antoninus, "Look inwards, within is the fountain of truth"; +therefore Eckart, "Ye have all truth potentially within you." All ideas +of truth dwell in every soul, but in every soul they are at first +wrapped in deep sleep, in an infinite depth of sleep; while the base +incense of brutish lives is like chloroform, or the fumes of some +benumbing drug, to steep them ever more and more in oblivion. But to +awaken truth thus sleeping in the soul is the highest use of discipline, +the noblest aim of culture, and the most eminent service which man can +render to man. The scheme of our life is providentially arranged with +reference to that end; and the thousand shocks, agitations, and moving +influences of our experience, the supreme invitations of love, the venom +of calumny, and all toil, trial, sudden bereavement, doubt, danger, +vicissitude, joy, are hands that shake and voices that assail the +lethargy of our deepest powers. Now it is in the power of truth divinely +awakened in one soul to assist its awakening in another. For as nothing +so quickly arouses us from slumber as hearing ourselves called upon by +name, so is it with this celestial inhabitant: whoever by virtue of +elder brotherhood can rightly name him shall cause his spirit to be +stirred and his slumber to be broken. + +Let him, therefore, in whom any great truth is alive and awake, +enunciate, proclaim it steadily, clearly, cheerily, with a serene and +cloudless passion; and wherever a soul less mature than his own lies +open to the access of his tones, there the eye-fast angels of belief and +knowledge shall hear that publication of their own hearts, and, hearing, +lift their lids, and rise into wakefulness and power. + +Seldom, indeed, is any voice, though it be in its origin a genuine voice +of the soul, pure and impartial enough, enough delivered from the masks +of egotism and accident, to be greatly competent for these effects. +Besides which, there are not a few that have closed their ears, lest +they should hear, not a few that are even filled with base astonishment +and terror, and out of this with base wrath, to find their deafness +assailed. And still further, it must be freely owned that our natures +have mysterious elections, and though one desire openness of soul as +much as folly fears it, yet may it happen that some tint of peculiarity +in the tone of a worthy voice shall render it to him opaque and +unintelligible. + +Yet let us not fear that the product of any sacred and spiritual +sincerity will fail of sufficient uses. If a deep, cordial, and +clarified nature will but give us his heart in a pure and boundless +bravery of confession,--if, like autumn plants, that cast forth their +seeds, winged with down, to the four winds of heaven, or like the +blossoms of spring and early summer, that yield up their preciousness of +pollen to the forage of bees, and even by being so robbed attain to the +hearts of neighbor-blossoms, and accomplish that mystery of +fructification which is to make glad the maturer year,--if so this +inflorescence of eternity that we name a Noble Man will yield up the +golden pollen of his soul, even to those that in visiting him seek but +their own ends, and if so he will intrust winged words, words that are +indeed spiritual _seeds_, purest, ripest, and most vital products of his +being, to the winds of time,--he will be sure to reach some, and they to +reach others, and there is no telling how far the seminal effect may go; +there is no telling what harvests may yellow in the limitless fields of +the future, what terrestrial and celestial reapers may go home +rejoicing, bearing their sheaves with them, what immortal hungers may be +fed at the feasts of earth and heaven, in final consequence of that +lonely and faithful sowing. As in the still mornings of summer the +earliest awakened bird hesitates to utter, yet utters, his solitary +pipe, timidly rippling the silence, but is not long alone, for quickly +the melodious throb begins to beat in every tree-top, and soon the whole +rapturous grove gushes and palpitates into song,--even so, thus to +appearance alone and unsupported, begins that chant of belief which is +destined to heave and roll in billows of melodious confession over a +continent, over a world. Thus does a faith that has lain long silent in +the hearts of nations suddenly answer to the note of its kind, +astonishing all bystanders, astonishing most of all the heart it +inhabits. For, lo! the tree-tops of human life are full of slumbering +melodies, and if a song-sparrow pipe sincerely on the hill-sides of +Judea, saying, after his own fashion of speech, "Behold, the divine dawn +hath visited my eyes," be sure that the forests of far-off America, then +unknown, will one day reply, and ten thousand thousand throats throbbing +with high response will make it mutually known all round the world that +this auroral beam is not for any single or private eye, but that the +broad amber beauty of spiritual morning belongs to man's being, and that +in man's heart, by virtue of its perennial nature, is prophesied the day +whose sun shall be God and its earth heaven. + + * * * * * + +HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS. + +BY CHRISTOPHER CROWFIELD. + +IX. + + +In the course of my papers various domestic revolutions have occurred. +Our Marianne has gone from us with a new name to a new life, and a +modest little establishment not many squares off claims about as much of +my wife's and Jennie's busy thoughts as those of the proper mistress. + +Marianne, as I always foresaw, is a careful and somewhat anxious +housekeeper. Her tastes are fastidious; she is made for exactitude: the +smallest departures from the straight line appear to her shocking +deviations. She had always lived in a house where everything had been +formed to quiet and order under the ever-present care and touch of her +mother; nor had she ever participated in these cares more than to do a +little dusting of the parlor-ornaments, or wash the best china, or make +sponge-cake or chocolate-caramels. Certain conditions of life had always +appeared so certain that she had never conceived of a house without +them. It never occurred to her that such bread and biscuit as she saw at +the home-table would not always and of course appear at every +table,--that the silver would not always be as bright, the glass as +clear, the salt as fine and smooth, the plates and dishes as nicely +arranged as she had always seen them, apparently without the thought or +care of any one,--for my wife is one of those housekeepers whose touch +is so fine that no one feels it. She is never heard scolding or +reproving,--never entertains her company with her recipes for cookery or +the faults of her servants. She is so unconcerned about receiving her +own personal share of credit for the good appearance of her +establishment, that even the children of the house have not supposed +that there is any particular will of hers in the matter,--it all seems +the natural consequence of having very good servants. + +One phenomenon they had never seriously reflected on,--that, under all +the changes of the domestic cabinet which are so apt to occur in +American households, the same coffee, the same bread and biscuit, the +same nicely prepared dishes and neatly laid table always gladdened their +eyes; and from this they inferred only that good servants were more +abundant than most people had supposed. They were somewhat surprised +when these marvels were wrought by professedly green hands, but were +given to suppose that these green hands must have had some remarkable +quickness or aptitude for acquiring. That sparkling jelly, well-flavored +ice-creams, clear soups, and delicate biscuits could be made by a raw +Irish girl, fresh from her native Erin, seemed to them a proof of the +genius of the race; and my wife, who never felt it important to attain +to the reputation of a cook, quietly let it pass. + +For some time, therefore, after the inauguration of the new household, +there was trouble in the camp. Sour bread had appeared on the +table,--bitter, acrid coffee had shocked and astonished the +palate,--lint had been observed on tumblers, and the spoons had +sometimes dingy streaks on the brightness of their first bridal +polish,--beds were detected made shockingly awry,--and Marianne came +burning with indignation to her mother. + +"Such a little family as we have, and two strong girls," said +she,--"everything ought to be perfect; there is really nothing to do. +Think of a whole batch of bread absolutely sour! and when I gave that +away, then this morning another exactly like it! and when I talked to +cook about it, she said she had lived in this and that family, and her +bread had always been praised as equal to the baker's!" + +"I don't doubt she is right," said I. "Many families never have anything +but sour bread from one end of the year to the other, eating it +unperceiving, and with good cheer; and they buy also sour bread of the +baker, with like approbation,--lightness being in their estimation the +only virtue necessary in the article." + +"Could you not correct her fault?" suggested my wife. + +"I have done all I can. I told her we could not have such bread, that it +was dreadful; Bob says it would give him the dyspepsia in a week; and +then she went and made exactly the same;--it seems to me mere +wilfulness." + +"But," said I, "suppose, instead of such general directions, you should +analyze her proceedings and find out just where she makes her +mistake,--is the root of the trouble in the yeast, or in the time she +begins it, letting it rise too long?--the time, you know, should vary so +much with the temperature of the weather." + +"As to that," said Marianne, "I know nothing. I never noticed; it never +was my business to make bread; it always seemed quite a simple process, +mixing yeast and flour and kneading it; and our bread at home was always +good." + +"It seems, then, my dear, that you have come to your profession without +even having studied it." + +My wife smiled, and said,-- + +"You know, Marianne, I proposed to you to be our family bread-maker for +one month of the year before you married." + +"Yes, mamma, I remember; but I was like other girls; I thought there was +no need of it. I never liked to do such things; perhaps I had better +have done it." + +"You certainly had," said I; "for the first business of a housekeeper in +America is that of a teacher. She can have a good table only by having +practical knowledge, and tact in imparting it. If she understands her +business practically and experimentally, her eye detects at once the +weak spot; it requires only a little tact, some patience, some clearness +in giving directions, and all comes right. I venture to say that your +mother would have exactly such bread as always appears on our table, and +have it by the hands of your cook, because she could detect and explain +to her exactly her error." + +"Do you know," said my wife, "what yeast she uses?" + +"I believe," said Marianne, "it's a kind she makes herself. I think I +heard her say so. I know she makes a great fuss about it, and rather +values herself upon it. She is evidently accustomed to being praised for +her bread, and feels mortified and angry, and I don't know how to manage +her." + +"Well," said I, "if you carry your watch to a watch-maker, and undertake +to show him how to regulate the machinery, he laughs and goes on his own +way; but if a brother-machinist makes suggestions, he listens +respectfully. So, when a woman who knows nothing of woman's work +undertakes to instruct one who knows more than she does, she makes no +impression; but a woman who has been trained experimentally, and shows +she understands the matter thoroughly, is listened to with respect." + +"I think," said my wife, "that your Bridget is worth teaching. She is +honest, well-principled, and tidy. She has good recommendations from +excellent families, whose ideas of good bread it appears differ from +ours; and with a little good-nature, tact, and patience, she will come +into your ways." + +"But the coffee, mamma,--you would not imagine it to be from the same +bag with your own, so dark and so bitter; what do you suppose she has +done to it?" + +"Simply this," said my wife. "She has let the berries stay a few moments +too long over the fire,--they are burnt, instead of being roasted; and +there are people who think it essential to good coffee that it should +look black, and have a strong, bitter flavor. A very little change in +the preparing will alter this." + +"Now," said I, "Marianne, if you want my advice, I'll give it to you +gratis:--Make your own bread for one month. Simple as the process seems, +I think it will take as long as that to give you a thorough knowledge of +all the possibilities in the case; but after that you will never need to +make any more,--you will be able to command good bread by the aid of all +sorts of servants; you will, in other words, be a thoroughly prepared +teacher." + +"I did not think," said Marianne, "that so simple a thing required so +much attention." + +"It is simple," said my wife, "and yet requires a delicate care and +watchfulness. There are fifty ways to spoil good bread; there are a +hundred little things to be considered and allowed for that require +accurate observation and experience. The same process that will raise +good bread in cold weather will make sour bread in the heat of summer; +different qualities of flour require variations in treatment, as also +different sorts and conditions of yeast; and when all is done, the +baking presents another series of possibilities which require exact +attention." + +"So it appears," said Marianne, gayly, "that I must begin to study my +profession at the eleventh hour." + +"Better late than never," said I. "But there is this advantage on your +side: a well-trained mind, accustomed to reflect, analyze, and +generalize, has an advantage over uncultured minds even of double +experience. Poor as your cook is, she now knows more of her business +than you do. After a very brief period of attention and experiment, you +will not only know more than she does, but you will convince her that +you do, which is quite as much to the purpose." + +"In the same manner," said my wife, "you will have to give lessons to +your other girl on the washing of silver and the making of beds. Good +servants do not often come to us; they must be made by patience and +training; and if a girl has a good disposition and a reasonable degree +of handiness, and the housekeeper understands her profession, she may +make a good servant out of an indifferent one. Some of my best girls +have been those who came to me directly from the ship, with no +preparation but docility and some natural quickness. The hardest cases +to be managed are not of those who have been taught nothing, but of +those who have been taught wrongly,--who come to you self-opinionated, +with ways that are distasteful to you, and contrary to the genius of +your housekeeping. Such require that their mistress shall understand a +least so much of the actual conduct of affairs as to prove to the +servant that there are better ways than those in which she has hitherto +been trained." + +"Don't you think, mamma," said Marianne, "that there has been a sort of +reaction against woman's work in our day? So much has been said of the +higher sphere of woman, and so much has been done to find some better +work for her, that insensibly, I think, almost everybody begins to feel +that it is rather degrading for a woman in good society to be much tied +down to family-affairs." + +"Especially," said my wife, "since in these Woman's-Rights Conventions +there is so much indignation expressed at those who would confine her +ideas to the kitchen and nursery." + +"There is reason in all things," said I. "Woman's-Rights Conventions are +a protest against many former absurd, unreasonable ideas,--the mere +physical and culinary idea of womanhood as connected only with puddings +and shirt-buttons, the unjust and unequal burdens which the laws of +harsher ages had cast upon the sex. Many of the women connected with +these movements are as superior in everything properly womanly as they +are in exceptional talent and culture. There is no manner of doubt that +the sphere of woman is properly to be enlarged, and that republican +governments in particular are to be saved from corruption and failure +only by allowing to woman this enlarged sphere. Every woman has rights +as a human being first, which belong to no sex, and ought to be as +freely conceded to her as if she were a man,--and first and foremost, +the great right of doing anything which God and Nature evidently have +fitted her to excel in. If she be made a natural orator, like Miss +Dickenson, or an astronomer, like Mrs. Somerville, or a singer, like +Grisi, let not the technical rules of womanhood be thrown in the way of +her free use of her powers. Nor can there be any reason shown why a +woman's vote in the State should not be received with as much respect as +in the family. A State is but an association of families, and laws +relate to the rights and immunities which touch woman's most private and +immediate wants and dearest hopes; and there is no reason why sister, +wife, and mother should be more powerless in the State than in the home. +Nor does it make a woman unwomanly to express an opinion by dropping a +slip of paper into a box, more than to express that same opinion by +conversation. In fact, there is no doubt, that, in all matters relating +to the interests of education, temperance, and religion, the State would +be a material gainer by receiving the votes of women. + +"But, having said all this, I must admit, _per contra_, not only a great +deal of crude, disagreeable talk in these conventions, but a too great +tendency of the age to make the education of women anti-domestic. It +seems as if the world never could advance, except like ships under a +head-wind, tacking and going too far, now in this direction, and now in +the opposite. Our common-school system now rejects sewing from the +education of girls, which very properly used to occupy many hours daily +in school a generation ago. The daughters of laborers and artisans are +put through algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and the higher mathematics, +to the entire neglect of that learning which belongs distinctively to +woman. A girl cannot keep pace with her class, if she gives any time to +domestic matters; and accordingly she is excused from them all during +the whole term of her education. The boy of a family, at an early age, +is put to a trade, or the labors of a farm; the father becomes impatient +of his support, and requires of him to care for himself. Hence an +interrupted education,--learning coming by snatches in the winter months +or in the intervals of work. As the result, the females in our +country-towns are commonly, in mental culture, vastly in advance of the +males of the same household; but with this comes a physical delicacy, +the result of an exclusive use of the brain and a neglect of the +muscular system, with great inefficiency in practical domestic duties. +The race of strong, hardy, cheerful girls, that used to grow up in +country-places, and made the bright, neat, New-England kitchens of old +times,--the girls that could wash, iron, brew, bake, tackle a horse and +drive him, no less than braid straw, embroider, draw, paint, and read +innumerable books,--this race of women, pride of olden time, is daily +lessening; and in their stead come the fragile, easily fatigued, languid +girls of a modern age, drilled in book-learning, ignorant of common +things. The great danger of all this, and of the evils that come from +it, is that society by-and-by will turn as blindly against female +intellectual culture as it now advocates it, and, having worked +disproportionately one way, will work disproportionately in the opposite +direction." + +"The fact is," said my wife, "that domestic service is the great problem +of life here in America; the happiness of families, their thrift, +well-being, and comfort, are more affected by this than by any one thing +else. Our girls, as they have been brought up, cannot perform the labor +of their own families, as in those simpler, old-fashioned days you tell +of; and what is worse, they have no practical skill with which to +instruct servants, and servants come to us, as a class, raw and +untrained; so what is to be done? In the present state of prices, the +board of a domestic costs double her wages, and the waste she makes is a +more serious matter still. Suppose you give us an article upon this +subject in your 'House and Home Papers.' You could not have a better +one." + +So I sat down, and wrote thus on + + +SERVANTS AND SERVICE. + +Many of the domestic evils in America originate in the fact, that, while +society here is professedly based on new principles, which ought to make +social life in every respect different from the life of the Old World, +yet these principles have never been so thought out and applied as to +give consistency and harmony to our daily relations. America starts with +a political organization based on a declaration of the primitive freedom +and equality of all men. Every human being, according to this principle, +stands on the same natural level with every other, and has the same +chance to rise according to the degree of power or capacity given by the +Creator. All our civil institutions are designed to preserve this +equality, as far as possible, from generation to generation: there is no +entailed property, there are no hereditary titles, no monopolies, no +privileged classes,--all are to be as free to rise and fall as the waves +of the sea. + +The condition of domestic service, however, still retains about it +something of the influences from feudal times, and from the near +presence of slavery in neighboring States. All English literature, all +the literature of the world, describes domestic service in the old +feudal spirit and with the old feudal language, which regarded the +master as belonging to a privileged class and the servant to an inferior +one. There is not a play, not a poem, not a novel, not a history, that +does not present this view. The master's rights, like the rights of +kings, were supposed to rest in his being born in a superior rank. The +good servant was one who, from childhood, had learned "to order himself +lowly and reverently to all his betters." When New England brought to +these shores the theory of democracy, she brought, in the persons of the +first pilgrims, the habits of thought and of action formed in +aristocratic communities, Winthrop's Journal, and all the old records of +the earlier colonists, show households where masters and mistresses +stood on the "right divine" of the privileged classes, howsoever they +might have risen up against authorities themselves. + +The first consequence of this state of things was a universal rejection +of domestic service in all classes of American-born society. For a +generation or two, there was, indeed, a sort of interchange of family +strength,--sons and daughters engaging in the service of neighboring +families, in default of a sufficient working-force of their own, but +always on conditions of strict equality. The assistant was to share the +table, the family sitting-room, and every honor and attention that might +be claimed by son or daughter. When families increased in refinement and +education so as to make these conditions of close intimacy with more +uncultured neighbors disagreeable, they had to choose between such +intimacies and the performance of their own domestic toil. No wages +could induce a son or daughter of New England to take the condition of a +servant on terms which they thought applicable to that of a slave. The +slightest hint of a separate table was resented as an insult; not to +enter the front-door, and not to sit in the front-parlor on +state-occasions, was bitterly commented on as a personal indignity. + +The well-taught, self-respecting daughters of farmers, the class most +valuable in domestic service, gradually retired from it. They preferred +any other employment, however laborious. Beyond all doubt, the labors of +a well-regulated family are more healthy, more cheerful, more +interesting, because less monotonous, than the mechanical tolls of a +factory; yet the girls of New England, with one consent, preferred the +factory, and left the whole business of domestic service to a foreign +population; and they did it mainly because they would not take positions +in families as an inferior laboring-class by the side of others of their +own age who assumed as their prerogative to live without labor. + +"I can't let you have one of my daughters," said an energetic matron to +her neighbor from the city, who was seeking for a servant in her summer +vacation; "if you hadn't daughters of your own, maybe I would; but my +girls a'n't going to work so that your girls may live in idleness." + +It was vain to offer money. "We don't need your money, Ma'am, we can +support ourselves in other ways; my girls can braid straw, and bind +shoes, but they a'n't going to be slaves to anybody." + +In the Irish and German servants who took the place of Americans in +families, there was, to begin with, the tradition of education in favor +of a higher class; but even the foreign population became more or less +infected with the spirit of democracy. They came to this country with +vague notions of freedom and equality, and in ignorant and uncultivated +people such ideas are often more unreasonable for being vague. They did +not, indeed, claim a seat at the table and in the parlor, but they +repudiated many of those habits of respect and courtesy which belonged +to their former condition, and asserted their own will and way in the +round, unvarnished phrase which they supposed to be their right as +republican citizens. Life became a sort of domestic wrangle and struggle +between the employers, who secretly confessed their weakness, but +endeavored openly to assume the air and bearing of authority, and the +employed, who knew their power and insisted on their privileges. From +this cause domestic service in America has had less of mutual kindliness +than in old countries. Its terms have been so ill understood and defined +that both parties have assumed the defensive; and a common topic of +conversation in American female society has often been the general +servile war which in one form or another was going on in their different +families,--a war as interminable as would be a struggle between +aristocracy and common people, undefined by any bill of rights or +constitution, and therefore opening fields for endless disputes. In +England, the class who go to service _are_ a class, and service is a +profession; the distance between them and their employers is so marked +and defined, and all the customs and requirements of the position are so +perfectly understood, that the master or mistress has no fear of being +compromised by condescension, and no need of the external voice or air +of authority. The higher up in the social scale one goes, the more +courteous seems to become the intercourse of master and servant; the +more perfect and real the power, the more is it veiled in outward +expression,--commands are phrased as requests, and gentleness of voice +and manner covers an authority which no one would think of offending +without trembling. + +But in America all is undefined. In the first place, there is no class +who mean to make domestic service a profession to live and die in. It is +universally an expedient, a stepping-stone to something higher; your +best servants always have something else in view as soon as they have +laid by a little money,--some form of independence which shall give them +a home of their own is constantly in mind. Families look forward to the +buying of landed homesteads, and the scattered brothers and sisters work +awhile in domestic service to gain the common fund for the purpose; your +seamstress intends to become a dress-maker, and take in work at her own +house; your cook is pondering a marriage with the baker, which shall +transfer her toils from your cooking-stove to her own. Young women are +eagerly rushing into every other employment, till female trades and +callings are all overstocked. We are continually harrowed with tales of +the sufferings of distressed needle-women, of the exactions and +extortions practised on the frail sex in the many branches of labor and +trade at which they try their hands; and yet women will encounter all +these chances of ruin and starvation rather than make up their minds to +permanent domestic service. Now what is the matter with domestic +service? One would think, on the face of it, that a calling which gives +a settled home, a comfortable room, rent-free, with fire and lights, +good board and lodging, and steady, well-paid wages, would certainly +offer more attractions than the making of shirts for tenpence, with all +the risks of providing one's own sustenance and shelter. + +I think it is mainly from the want of a definite idea of the true +position of a servant under our democratic institutions that domestic +service is so shunned and avoided in America, that it is the very last +thing which an intelligent young woman will look to for a living. It is +more the want of personal respect toward those in that position than the +labors incident to it which repels our people from it. Many would be +willing to perform these labors, but they are not willing to place +themselves in a situation where their self-respect is hourly wounded by +_the implication of an inferiority which does not follow any other kind +of labor or service in this country but that of the family_. + +There exists in the minds of employers an unsuspected spirit of +superiority, which is stimulated into an active form by the resistance +which democracy inspires in the working-class. Many families think of +servants only as a necessary evil, their wages as exactions, and all +that allowed them as so much taken from the family; and they seek in +every way to get from them as much and to give them as little as +possible. Their rooms are the neglected, ill-furnished, incommodious +ones,--and the kitchen is the most cheerless and comfortless place in +the house. Other families, more good-natured and liberal, provide their +domestics with more suitable accommodations, and are more indulgent; but +there is still a latent spirit of something like contempt for the +position. That they treat their servants with so much consideration +seems to them a merit entitling them to the most prostrate gratitude; +and they are constantly disappointed and shocked at that want of sense +of inferiority on the part of these people which leads them to +appropriate pleasant rooms, good furniture, and good living as mere +matters of common justice. + +It seems to be a constant surprise to some employers that servants +should insist on having the same human wants as themselves. Ladies who +yawn in their elegantly furnished parlors, among books and pictures, if +they have not company, parties, or opera to diversify the evening, seem +astonished and half indignant that cook and chambermaid are more +disposed to go out for an evening gossip than to sit on hard chairs in +the kitchen where they have been toiling all day. The pretty +chambermaid's anxieties about her dress, the time she spends at her +small and not very clear mirror, are sneeringly noticed by those whose +toilet-cares take up serious hours; and the question has never +apparently occurred to them why a serving-maid should not want to look +pretty as well as her mistress. She is a woman as well as they, with all +a woman's wants and weaknesses; and her dress is as much to her as +theirs to them. + +A vast deal of trouble among servants arises from impertinent +interferences and petty tyrannical exactions on the part of employers. +Now the authority of the master and mistress of a house in regard to +their domestics extends simply to the things they have contracted to do +and the hours during which they have contracted to serve; otherwise than +this, they have no more right to interfere with them in the disposal of +their time than with any mechanic whom they employ. They have, indeed, a +right to regulate the hours of their own household, and servants can +choose between conformity to these hours and the loss of their +situation; but, within reasonable limits, their right to come and go at +their own discretion, in their own time, should be unquestioned. + +As to the terms of social intercourse, it seems somehow to be settled in +the minds of many employers that their servants owe them and their +family more respect than they and the family owe to the servants. But do +they? What is the relation of servant to employer in a democratic +country? Precisely that of a person who for money performs any kind of +service for you. The carpenter comes into your house to put up a set of +shelves,--the cook comes into your kitchen to cook your dinner. You +never think that the carpenter owes you any more respect than you owe to +him because he is in your house doing your behests; he is your +fellow-citizen, you treat him with respect, you expect to be treated +with respect by him. You have a claim on him that he shall do your work +according to your directions,--no more. Now I apprehend that there is a +very common notion as to the position and rights of servants which is +quite different from this. Is it not a common feeling that a servant is +one who may be treated with a degree of freedom by every member of the +family which he or she may not return? Do not people feel at liberty to +question servants about their private affairs, to comment on their dress +and appearance, in a manner which they would feel to be an impertinence, +if reciprocated? Do they not feel at liberty to express dissatisfaction +with their performances in rude and unceremonious terms, to reprove them +in the presence of company, while yet they require that the +dissatisfaction of servants shall be expressed only in terms of respect? +A woman would not feel herself at liberty to talk to her milliner or her +dress-maker in language as devoid of consideration as she will employ +towards her cook or chambermaid. Yet both are rendering her a service +which she pays for in money, and one is no more made her inferior +thereby than the other. Both have an equal right to be treated with +courtesy. The master and mistress of a house have a right to require +respectful treatment from all whom their roof shelters; but they have no +more right to exact it of servants than of every guest and every child, +and they themselves owe it as much to servants as to guests. + +In order that servants may be treated with respect and courtesy, it is +not necessary, as in simpler patriarchal days, that they sit at the +family-table. Your carpenter or plumber does not feel hurt that you do +not ask him to dine with you, nor your milliner and mantua-maker that +you do not exchange ceremonious calls and invite them to your parties. +It is well understood that your relations with them are of a mere +business character. They never take it as an assumption of superiority +on your part that you do not admit them to relations of private +intimacy. There may be the most perfect respect and esteem and even +friendship between them and you, notwithstanding. So it may be in the +case of servants. It is easy to make any person understand that there +are quite other reasons than the assumption of personal superiority for +not wishing to admit servants to the family-privacy. It was not, in +fact, to sit in the parlor or at the table, in themselves considered, +that was the thing aimed at by New-England girls,--these were valued +only as signs that they were deemed worthy of respect and consideration, +and, where freely conceded, were often in point of fact declined. + +Let servants feel, in their treatment by their employers, and in the +atmosphere of the family, that their position is held to be a +respectable one, let them feel in the mistress of the family the charm +of unvarying consideration and good manners, let their work-rooms be +made convenient and comfortable, and their private apartments bear some +reasonable comparison in point of agreeableness to those of other +members of the family, and domestic service will be more frequently +sought by a superior and self-respecting class. There are families in +which such a state of things prevails; and such families, amid the many +causes which unite to make the tenure of service uncertain, have +generally been able to keep good permanent servants. + +There is an extreme into which kindly disposed people often run with +regard to servants, which may be mentioned here. They make pets of them. +They give extravagant wages and indiscreet indulgences, and, through +indolence and easiness of temper, tolerate negligence and neglect of +duty. Many of the complaints of the ingratitude of servants come from +those who have spoiled them in this way; while many of the longest and +most harmonious domestic unions have sprung from a simple, quiet course +of Christian justice and benevolence, a recognition of servants as +fellow-beings and fellow-Christians, and a doing to them as we would in +like circumstances that they should do to us. + +The mistresses of American families, whether they like it or not, have +the duties of missionaries imposed upon them by that class from which +our supply of domestic servants is drawn. They may as well accept the +position cheerfully, and, as one raw, untrained hand after another +passes through their family, and is instructed by them in the mysteries +of good housekeeping, comfort themselves with the reflection that they +are doing something to form good wives and mothers for the Republic. + +The complaints made of Irish girls are numerous and loud; the failings +of green Erin, alas! are but too open and manifest; yet, in arrest of +judgment, let us move this consideration: let us imagine our own +daughters between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, untaught and +inexperienced in domestic affairs as they commonly are, shipped to a +foreign shore to seek service in families. It may be questioned whether +as a whole they would do much better. The girls that fill our families +and do our house-work are often of the age of our own daughters, +standing for themselves, without mothers to guide them, in a foreign +country, not only bravely supporting themselves, but sending home in +every ship remittances to impoverished friends left behind. If our +daughters did as much for us, should we not be proud of their energy and +heroism? + +When we go into the houses of our country, we find a majority of +well-kept, well-ordered, and even elegant establishments where the only +hands employed are those of the daughters of Erin. True, American women +have been their instructors, and many a weary hour of care have they had +in the discharge of this office; but the result on the whole is +beautiful and good, and the end of it, doubtless, will be peace. + +In speaking of the office of the American mistress as being a missionary +one, we are far from recommending any controversial interference with +the religious faith of our servants. It is far better to incite them to +be good Christians in their own way than to run the risk of shaking +their faith in all religion by pointing out to them the errors of that +in which they have been educated. The general purity of life and +propriety of demeanor of so many thousands of undefended young girls +cast yearly upon our shores, with no home but their church, and no +shield but their religion, are a sufficient proof that this religion +exerts an influence over them not to be lightly trifled with. But there +is a real unity even in opposite Christian forms; and the Roman Catholic +servant and the Protestant mistress, if alike possessed by the spirit of +Christ, and striving to conform to the Golden Rule, cannot help being +one in heart, though one go to mass and the other to meeting. + +Finally, the bitter baptism through which we are passing, the life-blood +dearer than our own which is drenching distant fields, should remind us +of the preciousness of distinctive American ideas. They who would seek +in their foolish pride to establish the pomp of liveried servants in +America are doing that which is simply absurd. A servant can never in +our country be the mere appendage to another man, to be marked like a +sheep with the color of his owner; he must be a fellow-citizen, with an +established position of his own, free to make contracts, free to come +and go, and having in his sphere titles to consideration and respect +just as definite as those of any trade or profession whatever. + +Moreover, we cannot in this country maintain to any great extent large +retinues of servants. Even with ample fortunes they are forbidden by the +general character of society here, which makes them cumbrous and +difficult to manage. Every mistress of a family knows that her cares +increase with every additional servant. Two keep the peace with each +other and their employer; three begin a possible discord, which +possibility increases with four, and becomes certain with five or six. +Trained housekeepers, such as regulate the complicated establishments of +the Old World, form a class that are not, and from the nature of the +case never will be, found in any great numbers in this country. All such +women, as a general thing, are keeping, and prefer to keep, houses of +their own. + +A moderate style of housekeeping, small, compact, and simple domestic +establishments, must necessarily be the general order of life in +America. So many openings of profit are to be found in this country, +that domestic service necessarily wants the permanence which forms so +agreeable a feature of it in the Old World. + +American women must not try with three servants to carry on life +in the style which in the Old World requires sixteen,--they must +thoroughly understand, and be prepared _to teach_, every branch of +housekeeping,--they must study to make domestic service desirable, by +treating their servants in a way to lead them to respect themselves and +to feel themselves respected,--and there will gradually be evolved from +the present confusion a solution of the domestic problem which shall be +adapted to the life of a new and growing world. + + * * * * * + +SERVICE. + + + When I beheld a lover woo + A maid unwilling, + And saw what lavish deeds men do, + Hope's flagon filling,-- + What vines are tilled, what wines are spilled, + And madly wasted, + To fill the flask that's never filled, + And rarely tasted: + + Devouring all life's heritage, + And inly starving; + Dulling the spirit's mystic edge, + The banquet carving; + Feasting with Pride, that Barmecide + Of unreal dishes; + And wandering ever in a wide, + Wide world of wishes: + + For gain or glory lands and seas + Endlessly ranging, + Safety and years and health and ease + Freely exchanging; + Chiselling Humanity to dust + Of glittering riches, + God's blood-veined marble to a bust + For Fame's cold niches: + + Desire's loose reins, and steed that stains + The rider's raiment; + Sorrow and sacrifice and pains + For worthless payment:-- + When, ever as I moved, I saw + The world's contagion, + Then turned, O Love! to thy sweet law + And compensation,-- + + Well might red shame my cheek consume! + O service slighted! + O Bride of Paradise, to whom + I long was plighted! + Do I with burning lips profess + To serve thee wholly, + Yet labor less for blessedness + Than fools for folly? + + The wary worldling spread his toils + Whilst I was sleeping; + The wakeful miser locked his spoils, + Keen vigils keeping: + I loosed the latches of my soul + To pleading Pleasure, + Who stayed one little hour, and stole + My heavenly treasure. + + A friend for friend's sake will endure + Sharp provocations; + And knaves are cunning to secure, + By cringing patience, + And smiles upon a smarting cheek, + Some dear advantage,-- + Swathing their grievances in meek + Submission's bandage. + + Yet for thy sake I will not take + One drop of trial, + But raise rebellious hands to break + The bitter vial. + At hardship's surly-visaged churl + My spirit sallies; + And melts, O Peace! thy priceless pearl + In passion's chalice. + + Yet never quite, in darkest night, + Was I forsaken: + Down trickles still some starry rill + My heart to waken. + O Love Divine! could I resign + This changeful spirit + To walk thy ways, what wealth of grace + Might I inherit! + + If one poor flower of thanks to thee + Be truly given, + All night thou snowest down to me + Lilies of heaven! + One task of human love fulfilled, + Thy glimpses tender + My days of lonely labor gild + With gleams of splendor! + + One prayer,--"Thy will, not mine!"--and bright, + O'er all my being, + Breaks blissful light, that gives to sight + A subtler seeing; + Straightway mine ear is tuned to hear + Ethereal numbers, + Whose secret symphonies insphere + The dull earth's slumbers. + + "Thy will!"--and I am armed to meet + Misfortune's volleys; + For every sorrow I have sweet, + Oh, sweetest solace! + "Thy will!"--no more I hunger sore, + For angels feed me; + Henceforth for days, by peaceful ways, + They gently lead me. + + For me the diamond dawns are set + In rings of beauty, + And all my paths are dewy wet + With pleasant duty; + Beneath the boughs of calm content + My hammock swinging, + In this green tent my eves are spent, + Feasting and singing. + + * * * * * + +MADAME RECAMIER. + +HER LOVERS, AND HER FRIENDS. + + +As the most beautiful woman of her day, Madame Recamier is widely known; +as the friend of Chateaubriand and De Stael, she is scarcely less so. An +historic as well as literary interest is attached to her name; for she +lived throughout the most momentous and exciting period of modern times. +Her relations with influential and illustrious men of successive +revolutions were intimate and confidential; and though the _role_ she +played was but negative, the influence she exerted has closely connected +her with the political history of her country. + +But interesting as her life is from this point of view, in its social +aspect it has a deeper significance. It is the life of a beautiful +woman,--and so varied and romantic, so fruitful in incident and rich in +experience, that it excites curiosity and invites speculation. It is a +life difficult, if not impossible, to understand. Herein lies its +peculiar and engrossing fascination. It is a curious web to unravel, a +riddle to solve, a problem at once stimulating and baffling. Like the +history of the times, it is full of puzzling contradictions and striking +contrasts. The daughter of a provincial notary, Madame Recamier was the +honored associate of princes. A married woman, she was a wife only in +name. A beauty and a belle, she was as much admired by her own as by the +other sex. A coquette, she changed passionate lovers into lifelong +friends. Accepting the open and exclusive homage of married men, she +continued on the best of terms with their wives. One day the mistress of +every luxury that wealth can command,--the next a bankrupt's wife. One +year the reigning "Queen of Society,"--the next a suspected exile. As +much flattered and courted when she was poor as while she was rich. Just +as fascinating when old and blind as while young and beautiful. Loss of +fortune brought no loss of power,--decline of beauty, no decrease of +admiration. Modelled by artists, flattered by princes, adored by women, +eulogized by men of genius, courted by men of letters,--the beloved of +the chivalric Augustus of Prussia, and the selfish, dreamy +Chateaubriand,--with the high-toned Montmorencys for her friends, and +the simple-minded Ballanche for her slave. Such were some of the +triumphs, such some of the contrasts in the life of this remarkable +woman. + +It is hard to conceive of a more brilliant career, or of one more +calculated from its singularity to give rise to contradictory +impressions. This natural perplexity is much increased by the character +of Madame Recamier's memoirs, published in 1859, ten years after her +death. They are from the pen of Madame Lenormant, the niece of Monsieur +Recamier, and the adopted daughter of his wife. To her Madame Recamier +bequeathed her papers, with the request that she should write the +narrative of her life. Madame Lenormant had a delicate and difficult +task to execute. The life she was to portray was strictly a social one. +It was closely interwoven with the lives of other persons still living +or lately dead. She owed heavy obligations to both. It is, therefore, +not surprising, if her narrative is at times broken and obscure, and she +a too partial biographer. Not that Madame Lenormant can be called +untrustworthy. She cannot be accused of misrepresenting facts, but she +does what is almost as bad,--she partially states them. Her vague +allusions and half-and-half statements excite curiosity without +gratifying it. We also crave to know more than she tells us of the +heart-history of this woman who so captivated the world,--to see her +sometimes in the silence of solitude, alone with her own thoughts,--to +gain an insight into the inner, that we may more perfectly comprehend +the outward life which so perplexes and confounds. Instead of all this, +we have drawing-room interviews with the object of our interest. We see +her chiefly as she appeared in society. We have to be content with what +others say of her, in lieu of what she might say for herself. We hear of +her conquests, her social triumphs, we listen to panegyrics, but are +seldom admitted behind the scenes to judge for ourselves of what is gold +and what is tinsel. We, moreover, seek in vain for those unconscious +revelations so precious in divining character. The few letters of Madame +Recamier that are published have little or no significance. She was not +fond of writing, still she corresponded regularly with several of her +friends; but her correspondence, it seems, has not been obtained by her +biographer. The best insight we get, therefore, into the emotional part +of her nature is from indirect allusions in letters addressed to her, +and from conclusions drawn from her course of conduct in particular +cases. Some of the incidents of her life are so dramatic, that, if fully +and faithfully told, they would of themselves reveal the true character +of the woman, but as it is we have but little help from them. It is +impossible to resist the conviction that Madame Lenormant would not +hesitate to suppress any circumstances that might cast a shadow on the +memory of her aunt. It is true that she occasionally relates facts +tending to injure Madame Recamier, but it is plain to be seen that she +herself is totally unconscious of the nature and tendency of these +disclosures. Upon the publication of her book, these indiscretions +excited the displeasure of Madame Recamier's warm personal friends. One +of them, Madame Moehl, by birth an Englishwoman, undertook her defence. +This lady corrects a few slight inaccuracies of the "Souvenirs," and +since she cannot controvert its more important facts, she attempts to +explain them. Her sketch[A] of Madame Recamier is pleasant, from its +personal recollections, but far inferior to one by Sainte-Beuve,[B] +which is eminently significant. Neither, as sources of information, can +supply the place of the more voluminous and explicit "Souvenirs." It is +a little singular that this work has not been translated into English, +for, in spite of its lack of method, its diffuseness and +disproportionate developments, it is very attractive and interesting. It +is also highly valuable for its large collection of letters from +distinguished people. In the sketch we propose to make of Madame +Recamier's life, we shall rely mainly upon it for our facts, giving in +connection our own view of her character and career. + +The beauty which first won celebrity for Madame Recamier was hers by +inheritance. Her father was a remarkably handsome man, but a person of +narrow capacity, who owed his advancement in life solely to the +exertions of his more capable wife. Madame Bernard was a beautiful +blonde. She was lively and _spirituelle_, coquettish and designing. +Through her influence with Calonne, minister under Louis XVI., Monsieur +Bernard was made _Receveur des Finances_. Upon this appointment, in +1784, they came to Paris, leaving their only child, Juliette, then seven +years old, at Lyons, in the care of an aunt, though she was soon +afterward placed in a convent, where she remained three years. Monsieur +and Madame Bernard's style of living in Paris was both elegant and +generous. Their house became the resort of the Lyonnese, and also of +literary men,--the latter being especially courted by Madame Bernard. +But, though seemingly given up to a life of gayety and pleasure, she did +not neglect her own interests. Her cleverness was of the Becky-Sharp +order. She knew how to turn the admiration she excited to her own +advantage. Having a faculty for business, she engaged in successful +speculations and amassed a fortune, which she carried safely through the +Reign of Terror. This is the more remarkable as Monsieur Bernard was a +known Royalist. He and his family and his wife's friends escaped not +only death, but also persecution; and Madame Lenormant attributes this +rare good-fortune to the agency of the infamous Barrere. Barrere's +cruelty was equalled only by his profligacy, his cunning by his +selfishness. Macaulay said of him, that "he approached nearer than any +person mentioned in history or fiction, whether man or devil, to the +idea of consummate and total depravity"; and everybody must remember the +famous comparison by which he illustrated Barrere's faculty of lying. +But even taking a much milder view of Barrere's character, it is a +matter of history by what terms the unfortunate victims of the +Revolution purchased of him their own lives and those of their friends, +and it is certain that his friendship and protection were no honor to +any woman. This view of their intimacy is confirmed by Madame Moehl. In +speaking of a rumor current in Madame Recamier's lifetime, which +reflected severely upon her mother, she says that Madame Bernard's +reputation had nothing to lose by this story, and mentions the favors +she received at the hands both of Calonne and Barrere. + +Juliette Bernard was ten years old when she joined her parents in Paris, +where she was placed under the care of masters. She played with skill on +the harp and piano, and being passionately fond of music, it became her +solace and amusement at an advanced age. In her youth dancing was +equally a passion with her. The grace with which she executed the +shawl-dance suggested to Madame de Stael the dance-scene in "Corinne." +It is said that great care was bestowed upon her education; but as it is +also stated that long hours were passed at the toilette, that she was +the pet of all her mother's friends, who, as proud of her daughter's +beauty as she was of her own, took her constantly to the theatre and +public assemblies, little time could have been devoted to systematic +instruction. There is no mention made throughout her life of any +favorite studies or favorite books, and she was, moreover, married at +fifteen. + +Monsieur Recamier was forty-four years old when he proposed for the hand +of Juliette Bernard. She accepted him without either reluctance or +distrust. Much sympathy has been lavished upon Madame Recamier on +account of this marriage, and her extreme youth is urged as an excuse +for this false step of her life. Still she did not take it blindly. Her +mother thought it her duty to lay before her all the objections to a +union where there existed such a disparity of age. No undue influence +was exerted, therefore, in favor of the marriage. Nor was Mademoiselle +Bernard as unsophisticated as French girls usually are at that age. Her +childhood had not been passed in seclusion. Since she was ten years old +she had been constantly in the society of men of letters and men of the +world. Under such influences girls ripen early, and in marrying Monsieur +Recamier she at least realized all her expectations. She did not look +for mutual affection; she expected to find in him a generous and +indulgent protector, and this anticipation was not disappointed. If she +discovered too late that she had other and greater needs, she was deeply +to be pitied, but the responsibility of the step must remain with her. +Madame Lenormant says of the union,--"It was simply an apparent one. +Madame Recamier was a wife only in name. This fact is astonishing. But I +am not bound to explain it, only to attest its truth, which all of +Madame Recamier's friends can confirm. Monsieur Recamier's relations to +his wife were strictly of a paternal character. He treated the young and +innocent child who bore his name as a daughter whose beauty charmed him +and whose celebrity flattered his vanity." + +As an explanation of these singular relations, Madame Moehl states that +it was the general belief of Madame Recamier's contemporaries that she +was the own daughter of Monsieur Recamier, whom the unsettled state of +the times had induced him to marry; but there is not a shadow of +evidence in support of this hypothesis,--though, to make it more +probable, Madame Moehl adds, that "Madame Lenormant rather confirms than +contradicts this rumor." In this she is strangely mistaken. Madame +Lenormant does not allude to the report at all. Still she tacitly +contradicts it. Her account of Monsieur Recamier's course with regard to +the divorce proposed between him and his wife is of itself a sufficient +refutation of this idle story. + +Monsieur Recamier was a tall, vigorous, handsome man, of easy, agreeable +manners. Perfectly polite, he was deficient in dignity, and preferred +the society of his inferiors to that of his equals. He wrote and spoke +Spanish with fluency, had some knowledge of Latin, and was fond of +quoting Horace and Virgil. "It would be difficult to find," says his +niece, "a heart more generous than his, more easily moved, and yet more +volatile. Let a friend need his time, his money, his advice, it was +immediately at his service; but let that same friend be taken away by +death, he would scarcely give two days to regret: '_Encore un tiroir +ferme'_, he would say, and there would end his sensibility. Always ready +to give and willing to serve, he was a good companion, and benevolent +and gay in his temper. He carried his optimism to excess, and was always +content with everybody and everything. He had fine natural abilities, +and the gift of expression, being a good story-teller." He was married +in 1793, the most gloomy period of the Reign of Terror, and went every +day to see the executions, wishing, he said, to familiarize himself with +the fate he had every reason to fear would be his own. + +The first four years of her marriage were passed by Madame Recamier in +retirement, but when the government was settled under the Consulate she +mingled freely and gayly in society. This was probably the happiest +period of her life. Her husband was at the height of financial +prosperity, and lavished every luxury upon his beautiful wife. Both +their country-seat at Clichy and their town-house in the Rue Mont Blanc +were models of elegant taste. Large dinner-parties and balls were given +at the latter, but all the intimate friends went to Clichy, where Madame +Recamier chiefly resided with her mother. Her husband only dined there, +driving in to Paris every night. She was very fond of flowers, and +filled her rooms with them. At that time floral decorations were a +novelty, and another attraction was added to the charms of Clichy. Not +only there, but in society, Madame Recamier reigned a queen. She had +been pronounced by acclamation "the most beautiful," and she enjoyed her +triumphs with all the gayety and freshness of youth. Madame Lenormant +asserts that she was unconscious of her beauty, and yet, with an amusing +inconsistency, she adds that Madame Recamier always dressed in white and +wore pearls in preference to other jewels, that the dazzling whiteness +of her skin might eclipse their softness and purity. It was, in fact, +impossible to be unconscious of a beauty so ravishing that it +intoxicated all beholders. At the theatre, at the promenade, at public +assemblies, she was followed by admiring throngs. + +"She was sensible," writes one who knew her well, "of every look, every +word of admiration,--the exclamation of a child or a woman of the +people, equally with the declaration of a prince. In crowds from the +side of her elegant carriage, which advanced slowly, she thanked each +for his admiration by a motion of the head and a smile." + +As an instance of the effect she produced, Madame Lenormant gives the +testimony of a contemporary, Madame Regnauld de Saint-Jean d'Angely, +who, talking over her own beauty and that of other women of her youth, +named Madame Recamier. "Others," she said, "were more truly beautiful, +but none produced so much effect. I was in a drawing-room where I +charmed and captivated all eyes. Madame Recamier entered. The brilliancy +of her eyes, which were not, however, very large, the inconceivable +whiteness of her shoulders, crushed and eclipsed everybody. She was +resplendent. At the end of a moment, however, the true amateurs returned +to me." + +It was not her own countrymen alone who raved about her beauty. The +sober-minded English people were quite as much impressed. When she +visited England during the short peace of Amiens, she created intense +excitement. The journals recorded her movements, and on one occasion in +Kensington Gardens the crowd was so great that she narrowly escaped +being crushed. At the Opera she was obliged to steal away early to avoid +a similar annoyance, and then barely succeeded in reaching her carriage. +Chateaubriand tells us that her portrait, engraved by Bartolozzi, and +spread throughout England, was carried thence to the isles of Greece. +Ballanche, remarking on this circumstance, said that it was "beauty +returning to the land of its birth." + +Years after, when the allied sovereigns were in Paris, and Madame +Recamier thirty-eight years old, the effect of her beauty was just as +striking. Madame de Kruedener, celebrated for her mysticism and the power +she exerted over the Emperor Alexander, then held nightly reunions, +beginning with prayer and ending in a more worldly fashion. Madame +Recamier's entrance always caused distraction, and Madame de Kruedener +commissioned Benjamin Constant to write and beseech her to be less +charming. As this piquant note will lose its flavor by translation, we +give it in the original. + +"Je m'acquitte avec un peu d'embarras d'une commission que Mme. de +Kruedener vient de me donner. Elle vous supplie de venir la moins belle +que vous pourrez. Elle dit que vous eblouissez tout le monde, et que par +la toutes les ames sont troublees, et toutes les attentions impossibles. +Vous ne pouvez pas deposer votre charme, mais ne le rehaussez pas." + +Madame Recamier's personal appearance at eighteen is thus described by +her niece:-- + +"A figure flexible and elegant; neck and shoulders admirably formed and +proportioned; a well-poised head; a small, rosy mouth, pearly teeth, +charming arms, though a little small, and black hair that curled +naturally. A nose delicate and regular, but _bien francais_, and an +incomparable brilliancy of complexion. A countenance full of candor, and +sometimes beaming with mischief, which the expression of goodness +rendered irresistibly lovely. There was a shade of indolence and pride +in her gestures, and what Saint Simon said of the Duchess of Burgundy is +equally applicable to her: 'Her step was that of a goddess on the +clouds.'" + +Madame Recamier retained her beauty longer than is usual even with +Frenchwomen, nor did she seek to repair it by any artificial means. "She +did not struggle," says Sainte-Beuve, "she resigned herself gracefully +to the first touch of Time. She understood, that, for one who had +enjoyed such success as a beauty, to seem yet beautiful was to make no +pretensions. A friend who had not seen her for many years complimented +her upon her looks. 'Ah, my dear friend,' she replied, 'it is useless +for me to deceive myself. From the moment I noticed that the little +Savoyards in the street no longer turned to look at me, I comprehended +that all was over.'" There is pathos in this simple acknowledgment, this +quiet renunciation. Was it the result of secret struggles which taught +her that all regret was vain, and that to contrast the present with the +past was but a useless and torturing thing for a woman? + +But at the time of which we write Madame Recamier had no sad realities +to ponder. She was surrounded by admirers, with the liberty which French +society accords to married women, and the freedom of heart of a young +girl. She was still content to be simply admired. She understood neither +the world nor her own heart. Her life was too gay for reflection, nor +had the time arrived for it: "all analysis comes late." It is not until +we have in a measure ceased to be actors, and have accepted the more +passive _role_ of spectators, that we begin to reflect upon ourselves +and upon life. And Madame Recamier had not tired of herself, or of the +world. She was too young to be heart-weary, and she knew nothing yet of +the burdens and perplexities of life. All her wishes were gratified +before they were fairly expressed, and she had neither anxieties nor +cares. + +Her first vexation came with her first lover. It was in the spring of +1799 that Madame Recamier met Lucien Bonaparte at a dinner. He was then +twenty-four, and she twenty-two. He asked permission to visit her at +Clichy, and made his appearance there the next day. He first wrote to +her, declaring his love, under the name of Romeo, and she, taking +advantage of the subterfuge, returned his letter in the presence of +other friends, with a compliment on its cleverness, while she advised +him not to waste his ability on works of imagination, when it could be +so much better employed in politics. Lucien was not thus to be repulsed. +He then addressed her in his own name, and she showed the letters to her +husband, and asked his advice. Monsieur Recamier was more politic than +indignant. His wife wished to forbid Lucien the house, but he feared +that such extreme measures toward the brother of the First Consul might +compromise, if not ruin, his bank. He therefore advised her neither to +encourage nor repulse him. Lucien continued his attentions for a +year,--the absurd emphasis of his manners at times amusing Madame +Recamier, while at others his violence excited her fears. At last, +becoming conscious that he was making himself ridiculous, he gave up the +pursuit in despair. Some time after he had discontinued his visits he +sent a friend to demand his letters; but Madame Recamier refused to give +them up. He sent a second time, adding menace to persuasion; but she was +firm in her refusal. It was rumored that Lucien was a favored lover, and +he was anxious to be so considered. His own letters were the strongest +proof to the contrary, and as such they were kept and guarded by Madame +Recamier. But the unpleasant gossip to which his attentions gave rise +was a source of great annoyance to her. If it was her first vexation, it +was not the only one of the same kind. Madame Lenormant makes no +allusion, to any other, but in the lately published correspondence of +Madame de Stael[C] we find among the letters to Madame Recamier one +which consoles her under what was probably a somewhat similar trouble. +"I hear from Monsieur Hochet that you have a chagrin. I hope by the time +you have read this letter it will have passed away.... There is nothing +to dread but truth and material persecution; beyond these two things +enemies can do absolutely nothing. And what an enemy! only a +contemptible woman who is jealous of your beauty and purity united." + +It was at a _fete_ given by Lucien that Madame Recamier had her first +and only interview with the First Consul. On entering the drawing-room, +she mistook him for his brother Joseph, and bowed to him. He returned +her salutation with _empressement_ mingled with surprise. Looking at her +closely, he spoke to Fouche, who leaned over her chair and whispered, +"The First Consul finds you charming." When Lucien approached, Napoleon, +who was no stranger to his brother's passion, said aloud, "And I, too, +would like to go to Clichy!" When dinner was announced, he rose and left +the room alone, without offering his arm to any lady. As Madame Recamier +passed out, Eliza (Madame Bacciocchi), who did the honors in the absence +of Madame Lucien, who was indisposed, requested her to take the seat +next to the First Consul. Madame Recamier did not understand her, and +seated herself at a little distance, and on Cambaceres, the Second +Consul, occupying the seat by her side, Napoleon exclaimed, "_Ah, ah, +citoyen consul, aupres de la plus belle_!" He ate very little and very +fast, and at the end of half an hour left the table abruptly, and +returned to the drawing-room. He afterward asked Madame Recamier why she +had not sat next to him at dinner. "I should not have presumed," she +said. "It was your place," he replied; and his sister added, "That was +what I said to you before dinner." A concert following, Napoleon stood +alone by the piano, but, not fancying the instrumental part of the +performance, at the end of a piece by Jadin, he struck on the piano and +cried, "Garat! Garat!" who then sang a scene from "Orpheus." Music +always profoundly moved Madame Recamier, but whenever she raised her +eyes she found those of the Consul fixed upon her with so much intensity +that she became uncomfortable. After the concert, he came to her and +said, "You are very fond of music, Madame," and would probably have +continued the conversation, had not Lucien interrupted. Madame Recamier +confessed that she was prepossessed by Napoleon at this interview. She +was evidently gratified by his attentions, scanty and slight as they +seem to us. Indeed, his whole conduct during the dinner and concert was +decidedly discourteous, if not positively rude. Madame Lenormant +attributes Napoleon's subsequent attempt to attach Madame Recamier to +his court to the strong impression she made upon him at this interview, +and gives Fouche as her authority. Still, if this were the case, it is +rather strange that Napoleon did not follow up the acquaintance more +speedily. It was not until five years afterwards that he made the +overtures to which Madame Lenormant refers,--and then Madame Recamier +had long been in the ranks of the Opposition. It was Napoleon's policy +to conciliate, if possible, his political opponents. He had succeeded in +gaining over Bernadotte, of whose intrigues against him Madame Recamier +had been the _confidante_, and he concluded that she also could be as +easily won. He accordingly sent Fouche to her, who, after several +preliminary visits, proposed that she should apply for a position at +court. As Madame Recamier did not heed his suggestions, he spoke more +openly. "He protested that the place would give her entire liberty, and +then, seizing with finesse upon the inducements most powerful with a +generous spirit, he dwelt upon the eminent services she might render to +the oppressed of all classes, and also the good influence so attractive +a woman would exert over the mind of the Emperor. 'He has not yet,' he +added, 'found a woman worthy of him, and no one knows what the love of +Napoleon would be, if he attached himself to a pure person,--assuredly +she would obtain a power over him which would be entirely beneficent.'" +If Madame Recamier listened with politic calmness to these disgraceful +overtures, she gave Fouche no encouragement. But he was not easily +discouraged. He planned another interview with her at the house of the +Princess Caroline, who added her persuasions to his. The conversation +turning on Talma, who was then performing at the French theatre, the +Princess put her box, which was opposite the Emperor's, at Madame +Recamier's disposal; she used it twice, and each time the Emperor was +present, and kept his glass so constantly in her direction that it was +generally remarked, and it was reported that she was on the eve of high +favor. Upon further persistence on the part of Fouche, Madame Recamier +gave him a decided refusal. He was vehemently indignant, and left Clichy +never to return thither. In the St. Helena Memorial, Napoleon attributes +Madame Recamier's rejection of his overtures to personal resentment on +account of her father. In 1800 Monsieur Bernard had been appointed +_Administrateur des Postes_; being implicated in a Royalist conspiracy, +he was imprisoned, but finally set at liberty through the intercession +of Bernadotte. Napoleon believed that Madame Recamier resented her +father's removal from office, but she was too thankful at his release +from prison to expect any further favors. Her dislike of the Emperor +was caused by his treatment of her friends, more particularly of the one +dearest to her, Madame de Stael. + +The friendship between these women was highly honorable to both, though +the sacrifices were chiefly on Madame Recamier's side. She espoused +Madame de Stael's cause with zeal and earnestness; and when the latter +was banished forty leagues from Paris, she found an asylum with her. +Among the few fragments of autobiography preserved by Madame Lenormant +is this account of the first interview between the friends. + +"One day, which I count an epoch in my life, Monsieur Recamier arrived +at Clichy with a lady whom he did not introduce, but whom he left alone +with me while he joined some other persons in the park. This lady came +about the sale and purchase of a house. Her dress was peculiar. She wore +a morning-robe, and a little dress-hat decorated with flowers. I took +her for a foreigner, and was struck with the beauty of her eyes and of +her expression. I cannot analyze my sensations, but it is certain I was +more occupied in divining who she was than in paying her the usual +courtesies, when she said to me, with a lively and penetrating grace, +that she was truly enchanted to know me; that her father, Monsieur +Necker.... At these words, I recognized Madame de Stael! I did not hear +the rest of her sentence. I blushed. My embarrassment was extreme. I had +just read with enthusiasm her letters on Rousseau, and I expressed what +I felt more by my looks than by my words. She intimidated and attracted +me at the same time. I saw at once that she was a perfectly natural +person, of a superior nature. She, on her side, fixed upon me her great +black eyes, but with a curiosity full of benevolence, and paid me +compliments which would have seemed too exaggerated, had they not +appeared to escape her, thus giving to her words an irresistible +seduction. My embarrassment did me no injury. She understood it, and +expressed a wish to see more of me on her return to Paris, as she was +then on the eve of starting for Coppet. She was at that time only an +apparition in my life, but the impression was a lively one. I thought +only of Madame de Stael, I was so much affected by her strong and ardent +nature." + +The sweet serenity of Madame Recamier's nature soothed the more restless +and tumultuous spirit of her friend. The unaffected veneration, too, of +one so beautiful touched and gratified the woman of genius. Still, this +intimacy was not unmixed with bitterness for Madame de Stael. But it +troubled only her own heart, not the common friendship. She continually +contrasted Madame Recamier's beauty with her own plain appearance, her +friend's power of fascination with her own lesser faculty of +interesting, and she repeatedly declared that Madame Recamier was the +most enviable of human beings. But in comparing the lives of the two, as +they now appear to us, Madame de Stael seems the more fortunate. If her +married life was uncongenial, she had children to love and cherish, to +whom she was fondly attached. Madame Recamier was far more isolated. +Years had made her entirely independent of her husband, and she had no +children upon whom to lavish the wealth of her affection. Her mother's +death left her comparatively alone in the world, for she had neither +brother nor sister, and her father seems to have had but little hold on +her heart, all her love being lavished on her mother. She had a host of +friends, it is true, but the closest friendship is but a poor substitute +for the natural ties of affection. Both these women sighed for what they +had not. The one yearned for love, the other for the liberty of loving. +Madame Recamier was dependent for her enjoyments on society, while +Madame de Stael had rich and manifold resources within herself, which no +caprice of friends could materially affect, and no reverse of fortune +impair. Her poetic imagination and creative thought were inexhaustible +treasures. Solitude could never be irksome to her. Her genius brought +with it an inestimable blessing. It gave her a purpose in +life,--consequently she was never in want of occupation; and if at +intervals she bitterly felt that heart-loneliness which Mrs. Browning +has so touchingly expressed in verse,-- + + "'My father!'--thou hast knowledge, only thou! + How dreary 't is for women to sit still + On winter nights by solitary fires, + And hear the nations praising them far off, + Too far! ay, praising our quick sense of love, + Our very heart of passionate womanhood, + Which could not beat so in the verse without + Being present also in the unkissed lips, + And eyes undried because there's none to ask + The reason they grew moist,"-- + +in the excitement and ardor of composition such feelings slumbered, +while in the honest and pure satisfaction of work well done they were +for the time extinguished. Madame Recamier, though beautiful and +beloved, had no such precious compensations. She depended for her +happiness upon her friends, and they who rely upon others for their +chief enjoyments must meet with bitter and deep disappointments. Madame +Recamier had great triumphs which secured to her moments of rapture. +When the crowd worshipped her beauty, she probably experienced the same +delirium of joy, the same momentary exultation, that a _prima donna_ +feels when called before an excited and enthusiastic audience. But +satiety and chagrin surely follow such triumphs, and she lived to feel +their hollowness. + +In a letter to her adopted daughter, she says,--"I hope you will be more +happy than I have been"; and she confessed to Sainte-Beuve, that more +than once in her most brilliant days, in the midst of _fetes_ where she +reigned a queen, she disengaged herself from the crowd surrounding her +and retired to weep in solitude. Surely so sad a woman was not to be +envied. + +Another friend of Madame Recamier's youth, whose friendship in a marked +degree influenced her life, was Matthieu de Montmorency. He was +seventeen years older than she, and may with emphasis be termed her best +friend. A devout Roman Catholic, he awakened and strengthened her +religious convictions, and constantly warned her of the perils +surrounding her. Much as he evidently admired and loved her, he did not +hesitate to utter unwelcome truths. Vicomte, afterward Duc de +Montmorency, belonged to one of the oldest families of France, but, +espousing the Revolutionary cause, he was the first to propose the +abolition of the privileges of the nobility. He was married early in +life to a woman without beauty, to whom he was profoundly indifferent, +and soon separated from her, though from family motives the tie was +renewed in after-years. In his youth he had been gay and dissipated; but +the death of a favorite brother, who fell a victim to the Revolution, +changed and sobered him. From an over-sensibility, he believed himself +to be the cause of his brother's death on account of the part he had +taken in hastening the Revolution, and he strove to atone for this +mistake, as well as for his youthful follies, by a life of austerity and +piety. While his letters testify his great affection for Madame +Recamier, they are entirely free from those lover-like protestations and +declarations of eternal fidelity so characterise of her other masculine +correspondents. He always addressed her as "_amiable amis_", and his +nearest approach to gallantry is the expression of a hope that "in +prayer their thoughts had often mingled, and might continue so to do." +He ends a long letter of religious counsel with this grave warning:--"Do +what is good and amiable, what will not rend the heart or leave any +regrets behind. But in the name of God renounce all that is unworthy of +you, and which under no circumstances can ever render you happy." + +Adrien de Montmorency, Duke of Laval, if not so near and dear a friend, +was quite as devoted an admirer of Madame Recamier as his cousin +Matthieu. His son also wore her chains, and frequently marred the +pleasure of his father's visits by his presence. In reference to the +family's devotion, Adrien wrote to her,--"My son is fascinated by you, +and you know that I am so also. It is the fate of the Montmorencys,-- + + "'Ils ne mouraient pas tous, mais tout etaient frappes.'" + +Adrien was a man of wit, and he had more ability than Matthieu. "Of all +your admirers," writes Madame de Stael, in a letter given in +Chateaubriand's Memoirs, "you know that I prefer Adrien de Montmorency. +I have just received one of his letters, which is remarkable for wit and +grace, and I believe in the durability of his affections, +notwithstanding the charm of his manners. Besides, this word durability +is becoming in me, who have but a secondary place in his heart. But you +are the heroine of all those sentiments out of which grow tragedies and +romances." + +Other admirers succeeded the Montmorencys. The masked balls, fashionable +under the Empire, were occasions for fresh conquests. Madame Recamier +attended them regularly under the protection of an elder brother of her +husband, and had many piquant adventures. Prince Metternich was devoted +to her one season, and when Lent put an end to festivity, he visited her +privately in the morning, that he might not incur the Emperor's +displeasure. Napoleon's animosity had now become marked and positive. On +one occasion, when three of his ministers met accidentally at her house, +he heard of it, and asked petulantly how long since had the council been +held at Madame Recamier's? He was especially jealous of foreign +ministers, and treated with so much haughtiness any who frequented her +_salon_, that, as a matter of prudence, they saw her only in society or +visited her by stealth. The Duke of Mecklenburg, whom she met at one of +the masked balls, was extremely anxious to keep up her acquaintance. She +declined the honor, alleging the Emperor's jealousy as reason for her +refusal. He persuaded her, however, to grant him an interview, and she +appointed an evening when she did not generally receive visitors. +Stealing into the house in an undignified manner, the Duke was collared +by the _concierge_, who mistook him for a thief. This ill-fortune did +not deter him, however, from visiting her frequently. Years after, he +wrote,--"Among the precious souvenirs which I owe to you is one I +particularly cherish. It is the eminently noble and generous course you +pursued toward me, when Napoleon had said openly, in the _salon_ of the +Empress Josephine, that he 'should regard as his personal enemy any +foreigner who frequented the _salon_ of Madame Recamier.'" + +Madame Recamier was to feel yet more severely the effects of the +Emperor's displeasure. In the autumn of 1806 the banking-house of +Monsieur Recamier became embarrassed, through financial disorders in +Spain. Their difficulties would have been temporary, had the Bank of +France granted them a loan on good security. This favor was refused, and +the house failed. While the decision of the bank was yet uncertain, +Monsieur Recamier confided to his wife the desperate state of his +affairs, and deputed her to do, the next day, the honors of a large +dinner-party, which could not be postponed, lest suspicion should be +excited. He went into the country, completely overwhelmed, and awaited +there the result of his application. Madame Recamier forced herself to +appear as usual. No one suspected the agony of her mind. She afterwards +said that she felt the whole evening as though she were a prey to some +horrible nightmare. In contrasting the conduct of the husband and wife, +Madame Lenormant is scarcely just to the former. Acutely as Madame +Recamier dreaded the impending ruin, it could not be to her what it was +to her husband. A fearful responsibility rested upon him. The failure of +his house was not only disaster and possible dishonor, but the ruin of +thousands who had confided in him. A strong intellect might well be +bowed down under the apprehension of such a catastrophe. Women, too, are +proverbially calmer in such emergencies than men. To them it simply +means sacrifice, but to men it is infinitely more than that. + +When the blow fell, Monsieur Recamier met it manfully. He gave up +everything to his creditors, who had so much confidence in his integrity +that they put him at the head of the settlement of liquidation. Madame +Recamier was equally honorable. She sold all her jewels. They disposed +of their plate, and offered the house in the Rue Mont Blanc for sale. As +a purchaser could not immediately be found, they removed to the +ground-floor and let the other stories. This reverse of fortune involved +more than personal sacrifices. Madame Recamier was both generous and +charitable, and had dispensed her benefits with an open hand. She had, +with the aid of friends, founded a school for orphans, and had numerous +claims upon her bounty. To be restricted in her charities must have been +a sore trial. Further mortifications she was spared, for she was treated +with greater deference than ever. Her friends redoubled their +attentions, her door was besieged by callers, who vied with each other +in showing sympathy and respect. Junot was one of her firmest friends at +this crisis. Witnessing, in Paris, the attentions she received, he spoke +of them to the Emperor, when he rejoined him in Germany. He was checked +by Napoleon, who pettishly remarked that they could not have paid more +homage to the widow of a marshal of France fallen on the field of +battle. + +Junot was not the only general of the Emperor who was concerned at her +reverse of fortune. Bernadotte, whom Sainte-Beuve numbers among her +lovers, and whose letters confirm this idea, wrote to her from Germany, +expressing his sympathy. Madame de Stael was sensibly afflicted. "Dear +Juliette," she writes, "we have enjoyed the luxury which surrounded you. +Your fortune has been ours, and I feel ruined because you are no longer +rich." + +Another anxiety now weighed heavily upon Madame Recamier. Her mother's +health had long been failing, and the misfortunes of her son-in-law were +more than her shattered constitution could bear. She died six months +after the failure, leaving her fortune to her daughter, though her +husband was still living. To the last she was devoted to dress and +society. Throughout her illness she insisted upon being becomingly +dressed every day, and supported to a couch, where she received her +friends for several hours. + +After Madame Bernard's death, her daughter passed six months in +retirement, but, her grief affecting her health, she was induced by +Madame de Stael to visit her at Coppet. Here she met the exiled Prince +Augustus of Prussia, nephew of Frederick the Great. We find in the +"Seaforth Papers," lately published in England, an allusion to this +Prince, who visited London in the train of the allied sovereigns in +1814. A lady writes, "All the ladies are desperately in love with +him,--his eyes are so fine, his moustaches so black, and his teeth so +white." Madame Lenormant describes him as extremely handsome, brave, +chivalric, and loyal. He was twenty-four when he fell passionately in +love with Madame de Stael's beautiful guest, to whom he at once proposed +a divorce and marriage. We give Madame Lenormant's account of his +attachment. + +"Three months passed in the enchantments of a passion by which Madame +Recamier was profoundly touched, if she did not share it. Everything +conspired to favor Prince Augustus. The imagination of Madame de Stael, +easily seduced by anything poetical and singular, made her an eloquent +auxiliary of the Prince. The place itself, those beautiful shores of +Lake Geneva, peopled by romantic phantoms, had a tendency to bewilder +the judgment. Madame Recamier was moved. For a moment she welcomed an +offer of marriage which was not only a proof of the passion, but of the +esteem of a prince of a royal house, deeply impressed by the weight of +its own prerogatives and the greatness of its rank. Vows were exchanged. +The tie which united the beautiful Juliette to Monsieur Recamier was one +which the Catholic Church itself proclaimed null. Yielding to the +sentiment with which she inspired the Prince, Juliette wrote to Monsieur +Recamier, requesting the rupture of their union. He replied that he +would consent to a divorce, if it was her wish, but he made an appeal to +her feelings. He recalled the affection he had shown her from childhood. +He even expressed regret at having respected her susceptibilities and +repugnances, thus preventing a closer bond of union, which would have +made all thoughts of a separation impossible. Finally he requested, +that, if Madame Recamier persisted in her project, the divorce should +not take place in Paris, but out of France, where he would join her to +arrange matters." + +This letter had the desired effect. Madame Recamier concluded not to +abandon her husband, and returned to Paris, but without undeceiving the +Prince, who started for Berlin. According to her biographer, Madame +Recamier trusted that absence would soften the disappointment she had in +store for him; but, if this was the case, the means she took to +accomplish it were very inadequate. She sent him her portrait soon after +her return to Paris, which the Prince acknowledged in a letter, of which +the following is an extract:-- + + "_April 24th_, 1808. + + "I hope that my letter of the 31st has already been received. I + could only very feebly express to you the happiness I felt on the + receipt of your last, but it will give you some idea of my + sensations when reading it, and in receiving your portrait. For + whole hours I looked at this enchanting picture, dreaming of a + happiness which must surpass the most delicious reveries of + imagination. What fate can be compared to that of the man whom you + love?" + +When Madame Recamier subsequently wrote to him more candidly, the Prince +was astonished. "Your letter was a thunderbolt," he replied; but he +would not accept her decision, and claimed the right of seeing her +again. Three years passed in uncertainty, and in 1811 Madame Recamier +consented to meet him at Schaffhausen; but she did not fulfil her +engagement, giving the sentence of exile which had just been passed upon +her as an excuse. The Prince, after waiting in vain, wrote indignantly +to Madame de Stael, "I hope I am now cured of a foolish love, which I +have nourished for four years." But when the news of her exile reached +him, he wrote to her expressing his sympathy, but at the same time +reproaching her for her breach of faith. "After four years of absence I +hoped to see you again, and this exile seemed to furnish you with a +pretext for coming to Switzerland. But you have cruelly deceived me. I +cannot conceive, if you could not or would not see me, why you did not +condescend to tell me so, and I might have been spared a useless journey +of three hundred leagues." + +Madame Recamier's conduct to the Prince, even viewed in the light of her +biographer's representations, is scarcely justifiable. Madame Moehl +attempts to defend her. She alleges, that, at the time Prince Augustus +was paying his addresses to her, he had contracted a left-handed +marriage at Berlin. Even if this story be true, there is no evidence +that Madame Recamier was then acquainted with the fact, and if she had +been, there was only the more reason for breaking with the Prince at +once, instead of keeping him so long alternating between hope and +despair. In speaking of him to Madame Moehl, Madame Recamier said that he +was desperately in love, but he was very gallant and had many other +fancies. The impression she made upon him, however, seems to have been +lasting. Three months before his death, in 1845, he wrote to her that +the ring she had given him should follow him to the tomb, and her +portrait, painted by Gerard, was, at his death, returned to her by his +orders. Either the Prince had two portraits of Madame Recamier, or else +Madame Lenormant's statements are contradictory. She says that her aunt +sent him her portrait soon after her return to Paris, and the date of +the Prince's letter acknowledging the favor confirms this statement. It +is afterward asserted that Madame Recamier gave him her portrait in +exchange for one of Madame de Stael, painted by Gerard, as Corinne. + +The next important event in Madame Recamier's life is her exile, caused +by a visit she paid Madame de Stael when the surveillance exercised over +the latter by the government had become more rigorous. Montmorency had +been already exiled for the same offence. But, disregarding this +warning, Madame Recamier persisted in going to Coppet, and though she +only remained one night there, she was exiled forty leagues from Paris. + +She bore her exile with dignity. She would not solicit a recall, and she +forbade those of her friends, who, like Junot, were on familiar terms +with the Emperor, to mention her name in his presence. She doubtless +felt all its deprivations, even more keenly than Madame de Stael, though +she made no complaints. Her means were narrow, as she does not appear to +have been in the full possession of her mother's fortune until after the +Restoration. She had lived, with scarcely an interruption, a life of +society; now she was thrown on her own resources, with little except +music to cheer and enliven her. It was not only the loss of Paris that +exiles under the Empire had to endure. They were subjected to an +annoying surveillance by the police, and even the friends who paid them +any attention became objects of suspicion. + +The first eight months of her exile Madame Recamier passed at Chalons. +She had for companionship a little niece of her husband's, whom she had +previously adopted. At the suggestion of Madame de Stael, she removed to +Lyons, where Monsieur Recamier had many influential relatives. Here she +formed an intimacy with a companion in misfortune, the high-spirited +Duchess of Chevreuse, whose proud refusal to enter into the service of +the captive Spanish Queen was the cause of her exile. "I can be a +prisoner," she replied, when the offer was made to her, "but I will +never be a jailer." + +Though the society of friends offered Madame Recamier many diversions, +she was often a prey to melancholy. The Duchess D'Abrantes, who saw her +here, casually mentions her dejection in her Memoirs, and Chateaubriand +says that the separation from Madame de Stael weighed heavily upon her +spirits. He also alludes to a coolness between the friends, caused by +Madame de Stael's marriage with Monsieur de Rocca. The desire to keep +this connection secret induced Madame de Stael to write to her friend, +declining a proposed visit from her, on the plea that she was about to +leave Switzerland. Chateaubriand asserts that Madame Recamier felt this +slight severely, but Madame Lenormant makes no allusion to the +circumstance. + +At Lyons Madame Recamier met the author, Monsieur Ballanche. He was +presented to her by Camille Jordan, and, in the words of her biographer, +"from that moment Monsieur Ballanche belonged to Madame Recamier." He +was the least exacting of any of her friends. All he asked was to devote +his life to her, and to be allowed to worship her. His friends called +her his Beatrice. As he was an extremely awkward and ugly man, the two +might have been termed with equal propriety "Beauty and the Beast." +Monsieur Ballanche's face had been frightfully disfigured by an +operation, and though his friends thought that his fine eyes and +expression redeemed his appearance, he was, to strangers, particularly +unprepossessing. He was, moreover, very absent-minded. When he joined +Madame Recamier at Rome, she noticed, during an evening walk with him, +that he had no hat. In reply to her questions, he quietly said, "Oh, +yes, he had left it at Alexandria." He had, in fact, forgotten it; and +it never occurred to him to replace it by another. Madame Lenormant +relates an anecdote of his second interview with Madame Recamier, which +is illustrative of his simplicity. + +"He found her alone, working on embroidery. The conversation at first +languished, but soon became interesting,--for, though Monsieur Ballanche +had no chit-chat, he talked extremely well on subjects which interested +him, such as philosophy, morals, politics, and literature. +Unfortunately, his shoes had an odor about them which was very +disagreeable to Madame Recamier. It finally made her faint, and, +overcoming with difficulty the embarrassment she felt in speaking of so +prosaic an annoyance, she timidly avowed to him that the smell of his +shoes was unpleasant. Monsieur Ballanche apologized, humbly regretting +that she had not spoken before, and then went out of the room. He +returned in a few moments without his shoes, resumed his seat, and +continued the conversation. Other persons came in, and noticing him in +this situation, he said, by way of explanation, 'The smell of my shoes +annoyed Madame Recamier, so I left them in the antechamber.'" + +After the death of his father, Monsieur Ballanche left Lyons, and passed +the rest of his life in the society of her whom he worshipped with so +single-minded a devotion. + +Madame Recamier subsequently left Lyons for Italy, and the next new +admirer whose attentions we have to chronicle is Canova. During her stay +in Rome he wrote a note to her every morning, and the heat of the city +growing excessive, he invited her to share his lodgings at Albano. +Taking with her her niece and waiting-maid, she became his guest for two +months. A Roman artist painted a picture of this retreat, with Madame +Recamier sitting near a window, reading. Canova sent the picture to her +in 1816. When she left Rome for a short absence, Canova modelled two +busts of her from memory, in the hope of giving her a pleasant +surprise,--one with the hair simply arranged, the other with a veil. +Madame Recamier was not pleased, and her annoyance did not escape the +penetrating eye of the artist. She tried in vain to efface the +unfavorable impression he had received, but he only half forgave her. He +added a crown of olives to the one with the veil, and when she asked him +about it, he replied, "It did not please you, so I made a Beatrice of +it." + +Madame Recamier left Rome for Naples when Napoleon's power was on the +decline. The sovereigns Murat and Caroline Bonaparte treated her with +marked distinction, especially the Queen, who was not only gracious, but +confidential. Madame Recamier was with Caroline the day that Murat +pledged himself to the allied cause. He returned to the palace in great +agitation, and, stating the case to her without telling her that he had +already made his decision, asked what course he ought to pursue. She +replied, "You are a Frenchman, Sire. It is to France that you owe +allegiance." Murat turned pale, and, throwing open the window, showed +her the English fleet entering the harbor, and exclaimed, "I am, then, a +traitor!" He threw himself on a couch, burst into tears, covering his +face with his hands. Madame Recamier's candor did not affect their +friendly relations. When the Queen acted as Regent in the absence of her +husband, she signed the pardon of a condemned criminal at her request, +and, upon her return to Rome, wrote, begging her to come back to Naples. +She did so, though her stay was necessarily short. Paris was again open +to her by the overthrow of Napoleon, and she hastened to rejoin her +friends. Still she was not unmindful of the princess who had shown her +such marks of friendship. She did many kind services for her in Paris, +and after the execution of Murat, when Caroline lived in obscurity as +the Countess of Lipona, she paid her a visit, which cheered the +neglected woman whose prosperity had been of such short duration. + +The Restoration was the beginning of a new era in the life of Madame +Recamier, one even more brilliant and animated, if not so thoughtlessly +gay as that of her youth. Her husband had, in a measure, retrieved his +fallen fortunes. She was in possession of her mother's property, able to +have a box at the Opera, and to keep her carriage, which was a +necessity, as she never walked in the street. Her exile had made her +more famous, while her joy at being restored to Paris and her friends +lent another charm to the seduction of her manners. Her association with +the Montmorencys, who were in high favor with the new court, increased +her political influence. She held nightly receptions after the Opera, +and her _salon_ was neutral ground, the resort of persons of all +parties. Paris was full of foreigners of distinction, who were curious +to know a person of so much celebrity, and they swelled the ranks of her +admirers. Among them was the Duke of Wellington, who, if Madame +Recamier's vanity did not mislead her, was willing and anxious to wear +her chains. But she never forgave his boastful speech after the Battle +of Waterloo. Remembering her personal dislike of the Emperor, and +forgetting that she was a Frenchwoman, he said to her, on his return to +Paris, "_Je l'ai bien battu_." The next time he called he was not +admitted. The Duke complained to Madame de Stael, and when he next met +Madame Recamier in society treated her with coldness, and devoted +himself to a young English lady. They rarely met afterward, though the +Duke came once to the Abbaye-aux-Bois. + +Madame Recamier had at this time a much more earnest admirer in Benjamin +Constant. As common friends of Madame de Stael, they had been acquainted +for years, and had played together in private theatricals at Coppet. +Still it was not until 1814, when Madame Recamier had an interview with +him in regard to the affairs of the King and Queen of Naples, that the +relations between them assumed a serious aspect. He left her at the end +of this interview violently enamored. According to Madame Lenormant, +Benjamin Constant had not the slightest encouragement to justify his +madness, but it is clear from other testimony that Madame Recamier was +not free from blame in respect to him. Sainte-Beuve hints that the +subject is unpleasant, and summarily dismisses it; and Madame Moehl, ever +ready to defend Madame Recamier, acknowledges that in this case she was +to blame, and that Madame Recamier thought so herself, and wished +Constant's letters to be published after her death, in order to justify +him. She adds, that it was a mistake not to publish them, as their +suppression has given occasion for surmises utterly false. There is +nothing in the "Souvenirs" to explain either the vague hints of +Sainte-Beuve or the obscure allusions of Madame Moehl; and the +biographical sketches of Constant throw no light upon the subject: they +are chiefly narratives of his political career. + +If we except Chateaubriand, who was more loved than loving, Benjamin +Constant stands last on the list of Madame Recamier's conquests; for, +after the author of "Atala" and of the "Genius of Christianity" crossed +her path, we hear of no more flirtations, no more despairing lovers. +Chateaubriand and Madame Recamier first met, familiarly, at the +death-bed of Madame de Stael, whose loss they mutually deplored. It was +not, however, until the next year, 1818, when Madame Recamier had +retired to the Abbaye-aux-Bois, that the acquaintance ripened into +intimacy. A second reverse of fortune was the cause of this retirement, +to which we shall briefly refer before entering upon the more +complicated subject of this friendship. + +New and unfortunate speculations on the part of Monsieur Recamier had +not only left him penniless, but had to some extent involved his wife's +fortune, which she had confided to him. In this emergency, Madame +Recamier acted with her usual promptitude and decision. She had two +objects in view in her plans for the future,--economy, and a separation +from her husband. An asylum in the Abbaye-aux-Bois secured to her both +advantages. She established her husband and father in the vicinity of +the Convent, and they with Ballanche dined with her every day. From +Monsieur Recamier she exacted a promise to engage in no more +speculations, while she supplied his wants. "She anticipated his needs +with a filial affection, and until the last studied to make his life +mild and pleasant,--a singularly easy task on account of his optimism." +Monsieur Recamier had need to be a philosopher. The nominal husband of a +beautiful woman, with whom he had shared his prosperity, he had not only +to bear her indifference, but to see her form friendships and make plans +from which he was excluded. When his misfortunes left him a dependent +upon her bounty, he was a mere cipher in her household,--kindly treated, +but with a kindness that savored more of toleration than affection. +Monsieur Recamier died at the advanced age of eighty. Shortly before his +death, his wife obtained permission from the Convent to remove him to +the Abbaye, where he was tenderly cared for by her in his last moments. + +The retirement forced upon Madame Recamier by her husband's reverses was +far from being seclusion. "_La petite cellule_" as Chateaubriand called +her retreat, was as much frequented as her brilliant _salons_ in Paris +had been, and she was even more highly considered. Chateaubriand visited +her regularly at three o'clock; they passed an hour alone, when other +persons favored by him were admitted. In the evening her door was open +to all. She no longer mingled in society, people came to her, and +nothing could be more delightful than her receptions. All parties and +all ranks met there, and her _salon_ gradually became a literary centre +and focus. Delphine Gay (Madame Emile de Girardin) recited her first +verses there, Rachel declaimed there, and Lamartine's "Meditations" were +read and applauded there before publication. Among distinguished +strangers who sought admittance to the Abbaye, we notice the names of +Humboldt, Sir Humphry Davy, and Maria Edgeworth. De Tocqueville, +Monsieur Ampere, and Sainte-Beuve were frequent visitors. Peace and +serenity reigned there, for Madame Recamier softened asperities and +healed dissensions by the mere magnetism of her presence. "It was +Eurydice," said Sainte-Beuve, "playing the part of Orpheus." But while +she was the presiding genius of this varied and brilliant society, +Chateaubriand was the controlling spirit. Everybody deferred to him, if +not for his sake, then for the sake of her whose greatest happiness was +to see him pleased and amused. + +Madame Recamier has frequently been called cold and heartless. English +reviewers have doubted whether she was capable of any warm, deep +attachment. Sainte-Beuve even, with all his insight, believed that the +desire to be loved had satisfied her heart, and that she herself had +never loved. But he formed this opinion before the publication of Madame +Recamier's memoirs. Chateaubriand's letters, together with other +corroborating facts, warrant a totally different conclusion. It is very +evident that Madame Recamier loved Chateaubriand with all the strength +of a reticent and constant nature. That he was the only man she did +love, we think is also clear. Prince Augustus captivated her for a time, +but her conduct toward him, in contrast with that toward Chateaubriand, +proves that her heart had not then been touched. The one she treated +with caprice and coldness, the other with unvarying consideration and +tenderness. There is no reason to conclude that the Prince ever made her +unhappy, while it is certain that Chateaubriand made her miserable, and +a mere friendship, however deep, does not render a woman wretched. This +attachment not only shaped and colored the remainder of Madame +Recamier's life, but it threatened at one time to completely subvert all +other interests. She who was so equable, such a perfect mistress of +herself, so careful to give every one due meed of attention, became +fitful and indifferent. Her friends saw the change with alarm, and +Montmorency remonstrated bitterly with her. "I was extremely troubled +and ashamed," he writes, "at the sudden change in your manner toward +others and myself. Ah, Madame, the evil that your best friends have been +dreading has made rapid progress in a few weeks! Does not this thought +make you tremble? Ah, turn, while yet there is time, to Him who gives +strength to them who pray for it! He can cure all, repair all. God and a +generous heart are all-sufficient. I implore Him, from the bottom of my +heart, to sustain and enlighten you." + +Ballanche, equally concerned and jealous, strove to interest her in +literature, and urged her to translate Petrarch. Madame Recamier +speedily recovered herself. She listened graciously to the admonitions +of Montmorency, and she consented to undertake Petrarch, but made little +progress in the work. Still, as far as her feelings for Chateaubriand +were concerned, the efforts of her friends were in vain. He occupied the +first place in her affections, and she regulated her time and pursuits +to please and accommodate him, though for a long time he but poorly +repaid her devotion. He admired and perhaps loved her, as well as he was +capable of loving anybody but himself, but it was not until +disappointments had sobered him that he fully appreciated her worth. At +the time their intimacy commenced he was the pet and favorite of the +whole French nation. "The Genius of Christianity" had been received with +acclamations by a people just recovering from the wild skepticism of the +Revolution. The reaction had taken place, the Goddess of Reason was +dethroned, and the burning words and vivid eloquence of Chateaubriand +appealed at once to the heart and the imagination of his countrymen. +They did not criticise, they only admired. Politically he was also a +rising man. The world, or at least the French world, expected great +things from the writer of the pamphlet, "De Buonaparte et des Bourbons." +His manners were courtly and distinguished, and women especially +flattered and courted him. Their attentions fostered his natural vanity, +and his fancy, if not his heart, wandered from Madame Recamier, and she +knew it. The tables were turned: she who had been so passionately +beloved was now to feel some of the pangs she had all her life been +unconsciously inflicting. Wounded and jealous, she stooped to +reproaches. The following extracts from letters addressed to her by +Chateaubriand while he was ambassador at London clearly betray the state +of her mind. + + "I will not ask you again for an explanation, since you will not + give it. I have written you by the last courier a letter which + ought to content you, if you still love me." + + * * * * * + + "Do not delude yourself with the idea that you can fly from me. I + will seek you everywhere. But if I go to the Congress, it will be + an occasion to put you to the proof. I shall see then if you keep + your promises." + + * * * * * + + "_Allons_,--I much prefer to understand your folly than to read + mysterious and angry notes. I comprehend now, or at least I think + I do. It is apparently that woman of whom the friend of the Queen + of Sweden has spoken to you. But, tell me, have I the means to + prevent Vernet, Mademoiselle Levert, who writes me declarations, + and thirty _artistes_, men and women, from coming to England in + order to get money? And if I have been culpable, do you think that + such fancies can do you the least injury, or take from you + anything which I have given you? You have been told a thousand + falsehoods. Herein I recognize my friends. But tranquillize + yourself: the lady leaves, and will never return to England. But + perhaps you would like me to remain here on that account: a very + useless precaution; for, whatever happens, Congress or no + Congress, I cannot live so long separated from you, and am + determined to see you at any cost." + +The letters from which we quote are very characteristic of their author. +While protesting eternal fidelity, and declaring his intention to +renounce the world and live but for Madame Recamier, he begs her at the +same time to use all her influence to get him sent to the approaching +Congress at Vienna as one of the French representatives,--an appointment +which would necessarily separate him still longer from her. "_Songez au +Congres_" is the refrain to all his poetical expressions of attachment. + +It is to be hoped that Madame Recamier did not perceive the +inconsistency of which he was totally unconscious. Though Chateaubriand +was perpetually analyzing himself and his emotions, no man had less +self-knowledge. He was too much absorbed by his "self-study, +self-wonder, and self-worship," as one of his critics styles his +egotism, to be clear-sighted. He had generous impulses, but no uniform +generosity of heart; and while glorying in the few ostentatious +sacrifices he made to pet ideas, he had no perception of the nature of +self-sacrifice. Much, therefore, as he was gratified at the devotion of +a woman of Madame Recamier's position and influence, he did not value it +sufficiently to make any sacrifices to secure it, and consequently she +was continually annoyed and distressed. Her life was also embittered by +his political differences with Mathieu de Montmorency, to whom, by means +which can scarcely be deemed honorable, he had succeeded as Minister of +Foreign Affairs. The confidential friend of both parties, her position +was a very difficult one; but she was equal to the emergency. She +satisfied each, without being false to, or unmindful of, the interests +of either. + +But her relations to Chateaubriand were fast becoming intolerable, and +she resolved to break her chains and leave Paris. He regarded this +resolution as a mere threat. "No," he wrote, "you have not bid farewell +to all earthly joys. If you go, you will return." She did go, however, +taking with her Ballanche and her adopted daughter, whose delicate +health was the ostensible cause of her departure. What it cost her to +leave Paris may well be conjectured, and nothing is more indicative of +her power of self-control than this voluntary withdrawal from a +companionship which fascinated while it tortured her. Chateaubriand sent +letters after her full of protestations and upbraidings; but after a +while he wrote less frequently, and for a year they ceased to +correspond. To a friend who urged her to return Madame Recamier +wrote,--"If I return at present to Paris, I shall again meet with the +agitations that induced me to leave it. If Monsieur Chateaubriand were +unhappy on my account, I should be grieved; if he were not, I should +have another trouble, which I am determined henceforth to avoid. I find +here diversion in art, and a support in religion which shall shelter me +from all these storms. It is painful to me to remain absent six months +longer from my friends; but it is better to make this sacrifice, and I +confess to you that I feel it to be necessary." + +There was much to make a stay in Italy attractive to Madame Recamier, if +she could have forgotten Chateaubriand, Her old admirer, the Duc de +Laval, was ambassador at Rome, and put his horses and servants at her +disposal. She renewed her acquaintance with the celebrated Duchess of +Devonshire, (Lady Elizabeth Foster,) whose career was quite as singular +as her own, while it was more open to reproach. The Duchess was a +liberal patron of the fine arts, and the devoted friend of Cardinal +Gonsalvi, from the shock of whose death she never recovered. Madame +Recamier also found at Rome the Duchess of Saint-Leu, whom she had +slightly known when she was Queen of Holland. For political reasons it +was unwise for them to visit openly, so they contrived private and +romantic interviews. Their friendship seems to have been close and +sincere. Subsequently, Madame Recamier was able, through her political +influence, to serve Hortense in many ways. She also took an interest in +her son Louis Napoleon, and visited him in prison after his +unsuccessful attempt at Strasbourg, which kindness he afterwards +acknowledged in several notes preserved by Madame Lenormant. + +But while accepting all the diversions offered her by the pleasant +society at, Rome, Madame Recamier was not unmindful of Chateaubriand. +She ordered from the artist Tenerani a bas-relief, the subject to be +taken from Chateaubriand's poem of "The Martyrs." She wrote constantly +to her friends in Paris for intelligence respecting him, and watched his +course from afar with interest and anxiety. It was not one to +tranquillize her. He had quarrelled with the President of the Council, +Villele; and being also personally disliked by the King, he was +peremptorily dismissed, and he bore this disgrace with neither dignity +nor composure. Turning his pen against the government, he did as much by +his persistent savage opposition, clothed as it was in the language of +superb invective, to bring about the final overthrow of the elder +Bourbon dynasty, as either the stupid arrogance of Charles X. or the +dogged tyranny of Polignac. Yet no man was more concerned and disgusted +than he was at the result of the Revolution of 1830. So far true to his +convictions, he refused office under Louis Philippe, priding himself +greatly on his allegiance to the exiled princes, when neither his +loyalty nor his services could be of any use. The truth is, that, though +Chateaubriand was fond of meddling and making a noise, he had none of +the fundamental qualities of a statesman. By the inspiration of his +genius, he could seize the right moment for making a telling speech, or +he could promulgate in a pamphlet a striking truth, calculated to +electrify and convince. But he could not be calmly deliberate. Always +enthusiastic, he was never temperate. He was the slave of his +partialities and prejudices. Harriet Martineau, who for keen analysis +and nice discrimination of character has few equals among historians, +characterizes him as "the wordy Chateaubriand," and Guizot says of him, +"It was his illusion to think himself the equal of the most consummate +statesmen, and his soul was filled with bitterness because men would not +admit him to be the rival of Napoleon as well as of Milton." It was this +bitterness with which Madame Recamier had to contend, for his literary +successes did not console him for his political disappointments, and his +temper, never very equable, was now more variable and uncertain. + +After an absence of eighteen months she returned to Paris. She apprised +Chateaubriand of her arrival by a note. He came immediately to see her, +and was rapturous with delight. No word of reproach passed between them, +and he fell at once into his old habits. From this time his behavior was +respectful and devoted. Absence and his disappointments had taught him +the inestimable value of such a friend. She daily became more and more +necessary to him. After his resignation of the Roman embassy in 1829, +which had been secured to him through her instrumentality, he no longer +engaged actively in politics, and, deprived of the stimulus of ambition, +he looked to her for excitement. She encouraged his literary exertions, +drew him out from his fits of depression, and soothed his wounded +self-love. This was no light task; for Chateaubriand's self-complacency +was not of that imperturbable sort which, however intolerable to others, +has at least the merit of keeping its possessor content and tranquil. +With him it partook more of the nature of egotism than of self-conceit, +and it therefore made him always restless and continually dissatisfied. +But no effort was too great for Madame Recamier's devotion. Her friends +looked upon her sacrifices with feelings of mingled regret and +admiration, but she herself was unconscious of them. They were simply a +labor of love; and much as her tranquillity must have been disturbed at +times by the caprices and exactions of this moody, melancholy man, she +was probably happy in being allowed to sacrifice herself. Of the +success of her efforts Sainte-Beuve thus gracefully speaks:--"Madame de +Maintenon was never more ingenious in amusing Louis XIV. than Madame +Recamier in interesting Chateaubriand. 'I have always remarked,' said +Boileau, on returning from Versailles, 'that, when the conversation does +not turn on himself, the King directly gets tired, and is either ready +to yawn or to go away.' Every great poet, when he is growing old, is a +little like Louis XIV. in this respect. Madame Recamier had each day a +thousand pleasant contrivances to excite and flatter him. She assembled +from all quarters friends for him,--new admirers. She chained us all to +the feet of her idol with links of gold." + +One of her most successful efforts in amusing him was the reading of +"Les Memoires d'Outre-Tombe" to a select and admiring audience at the +Abbaye. He first read them in private to Madame Recamier, who passed +judgment upon them, and they were then read aloud by M. Charles +Lenormant. This device worked like a charm; everybody applauded, and the +author was content. The personal interest attached to the chief parties +concerned, no doubt, made these readings very delightful. But it would +now be impossible for any reader to be enthusiastic about the Memoirs +themselves. Out of France it would be difficult to find a more +egotistical piece of self-portraiture. Chateaubriand is not quite so +ostentatious in his egotism as the Prince de Ligne, who headed the +chapters in his "Memoires et Melanges," "De moi pendant le jour," "De +moi pendant la nuit," "De moi encore," "Memoirs pour mon coeur"; still +he parades himself on every possible occasion, and not always to his own +advantage. His conduct in passing himself off as a single man in an +English family who were kind to him during his exile, thereby engaging +the daughter's affections, is entirely inexcusable. That a person of +Madame Recamier's good judgment did not perceive the discredit that must +attach to such revelations is only to be accounted for by supposing her +blind to Chateaubriand's follies. But with all her partiality, it is +still surprising that she should have given her sanction to his +deliberate and cold analysis of the character of his parents, and his +equally heartless and selfish reflections on his marriage. + +Chateaubriand married simply to please his sisters, feeling that he "had +none of the qualifications of a husband," and for years he seemed +entirely oblivious of his wife's existence. After he gave up his +wandering life, and became distinguished, he treated her with more +consideration. Madame de Chateaubriand was a pretty, delicate woman, of +quick natural intelligence. M. Danielo, Chateaubriand's secretary, has +written an interesting sketch of her, which is affixed to her husband's +memoirs. She was a person of eccentric habits, but of a warm heart and +lively sensibilities, and was devoted to her religious duties and the +Infirmary of Maria Theresa. She professed a great contempt for +literature, and asserted that she had never read a line of her husband's +works; but this was regarded as an affectation. Madame de Chateaubriand +was not an amiable person, but very frank and sincere. She often +reproached herself for her faults and love of contradiction. Though she +appears to have loved her husband, she was not blind to his weaknesses, +and he was afraid of her sallies. So vain and sensitive a man could not +feel comfortable in the society of a woman of her keen penetration, and +her wit was not always tempered by discretion. Madame Recamier gained by +the contrast. She believed in him, and "there are few things so +pleasant," says a writer in Fraser, "as to have a woman at hand that +believes in you." Madame Recamier's insight never disturbed +Chateaubriand, for it was of the heart, not of the intellect. It was not +a critical analysis that probes and dissects, but a sympathy that +cheered and tranquillized. There could be but little in common between +two such women, though they were on friendly terms; and when +Chateaubriand left his wife in Paris, he always commended her to Madame +Recamier's care. On one occasion he writes,--"I must again request you +to go and see Madame de Chateaubriand, who complains that she has not +seen you. What would you have? Since you have become associated in my +life, it is necessary to share it fully." + +There is nothing to indicate Madame Recamier's sentiments toward the +wife of her friend, except a significant passage in one of +Chateaubriand's letters:--"Your judgments are very severe on the Rue du +Bac.[D] But think of the difference of habit. If you look upon her +occupations as trifles, she may on her side think the same with regard +to yours. It is only necessary to change the point of view." + +Madame de Chateaubriand died in February, 1847, from the effects of +dieting. A few months after her death her husband offered himself in +marriage to Madame Recamier, who rejected him. "Why should we marry?" +she said. "There can be no impropriety in my taking care of you at our +age. If you find solitude oppressive, I am willing to live with you. The +world, I am confident, will do justice to the purity of our friendship, +and sanction all my efforts to render your old age comfortable and +happy. If we were younger, I would not hesitate,--I would accept with +joy the right to consecrate my life to you. Tears and blindness have +given me that right. Let us change nothing." + +We have heard this refusal of Madame Recamier's urged as a proof that +she did not love Chateaubriand; but when we consider their respective +ages at the time, this objection has little weight. Chateaubriand was +seventy-nine; Madame Recamier seventy. The former was tottering on the +brink of the grave. He had lost the use of his limbs, and his mind was +visibly failing. Madame Recamier was keenly sensible of the decay of his +faculties, though she succeeded so well in concealing the fact from +others that few of the habitual visitors at the Abbaye recognized its +extent. The reason she gave to her friends for refusing him was +undoubtedly the true one. She said that his daily visit to her was his +only diversion, and he would lose that, if she married him. + +The record of these last years of Madame Recamier's life is +inexpressibly touching, telling as it does of self-denial, patient +suffering, and silent devotion. To avert the blindness which was +gradually stealing upon her, she submitted to an operation, which might +have been successful, had she obeyed the injunctions of her physicians. +But Ballanche lay dying in the opposite house, and, true to the noble +instincts of her heart, she could not let the friend who had loved her +so long and well die alone. She crossed the street, and took her place +by his bedside, thus sealing her own fate, for all hopes of recovering +her sight were lost. Her health also was extremely delicate; but, much +as she needed quiet and repose, she kept up her relations with society +and held her receptions for Chateaubriand's sake. But both their lives +were fast approaching to a close. Chateaubriand died on the 4th of July, +1848. For some time before his death he was speechless, but kept his +dying eyes fixed upon Madame Recamier. She could not see him, and this +dark, dreary silence filled her soul with despair. + +Madame Recamier shed no tears over her loss, and uttered no +lamentations. She received the condolences of her friends with +gratitude, and strove to interest herself in their pursuits. But a +deadly paleness, which never left her, spread over her face, and "the +sad smile on her lips was heart-breaking." Sightless and sad, it was +time for her to die. Madame de Stael and Montmorency, the friends of her +youth, had long since departed. Ballanche was gone, and now +Chateaubriand. She survived the latter only eleven months. Stricken with +cholera the following summer, her illness was short, but severe, and her +last words to Madame Lenormant, who bent over her, were, "_Nous nous +reverrons,--nous nous reverrons_." + +So impalpable was the attraction that brought the world to the feet of +Madame Recamier that it is interesting to analyze it. It did not lie in +her beauty and wealth alone; for she lost the one, while time blighted +the other. Nor was it due to power of will; for she was not great +intellectually. And had she been a person of strong convictions, she +would never have been so universally popular. As it was, she pleased +equally persons of every shade of opinion and principle. Her instinctive +coquetry can partly account for her sway over men, but not over women. +What, then, was the secret of her influence? It lay in the subtile power +of a marvellous tact. This tact had its roots deep in her nature. It was +part and parcel of herself, the distinguishing trait in a rare +combination of qualities. Though nurtured and ripened by experience, it +was not the offspring of art. It was an effect, not a cause,--not simply +the result of an intense desire to please, regulated by a fine intuitive +perception, but of higher, finer characteristics, such as natural +sweetness of temper, kindness of heart, and forgetfulness of self. Her +successes were the triumph of impulse rather than of design. In order to +please she did not study character, she divined it. Keenly alive to +outward influences, and losing in part her own personality when coming +in contact with that of others, she readily adapted herself to their +moods,--and her apprehension was quick, if not profound. It is always +gratifying to feel one's self understood, and every person who talked +with Madame Recamier enjoyed this pleasant consciousness. No one felt a +humiliating sense of inferiority in her presence, and this was owing as +much to the character of her intellect as to her tact. Partial friends +detected genius in her conversation and letters, and tried to excite her +to literary effort; but other and stronger evidence forces us to look +upon such praise as mere delicate flattery. A woman more beautiful than +gifted was far more likely to be gratified by a compliment to her +intellect than to her personal charms, as Madame de Stael was more +delighted at an allusion to the beauty of her neck and arms than to the +merits of "L'Allemagne" or "Corinne." But if Madame Recamier did not +possess genius, she had unerring instincts which stood her in lieu of +it, and her mind, if not original, was appreciative. The genuine +admiration she felt for her literary friends stimulated as well as +gratified them. She drew them out, and, dazzled by their own brilliancy, +they gave her credit for thoughts which were in reality their own. To +this faculty of intelligent appreciation was joined another still more +captivating. She was a good listener. "_Bien ecouter c'est presque +repondre_," quotes Jean Paul from Marivaux, and Sainte-Beuve said of +Madame Recamier that she listened "_avec seduction_." She was also an +extremely indulgent and charitable person, and was severe neither on the +faults nor on the foibles of others. "No one knew so well as she how to +spread balm on the wounds that are never acknowledged, how to calm and +exorcise the bitterness of rivalry or literary animosity. For moral +chagrins and imaginary sorrows, which are so intense in some natures, +she was, _par excellence_, the Sister of Charity." The repose of her +manner made this sympathy more effective. Hers was not a stormy nature, +but calm and equable. If she had emotion to master, it was mastered in +secret, and not a ripple on the surface betrayed the agitation beneath. +She had no nervous likes or dislikes, no changeful humors, few unequal +moods. She did not sparkle and then die out. The fire was always kindled +on the hearth, the lamp serenely burning. Some women charm by their +mutability; she attracted by her uniformity. But in her uniformity there +was no monotony. Like the continuous murmur of a brook, it gladdened as +well as soothed. + +It was probably these sweet womanly qualities, together with the +meekness with which she bore her honors, that endeared her to her +feminine friends. All her life had been a series of triumphs, which were +not won by any conscious effort on her part, but were spontaneous gifts +of fortune,-- + + "As though a shower of fairy wreaths + Had fallen upon her from the sky." + +Yet her manner was entirely free from pretension or self-assertion. + +It is not one of the least remarkable things about Madame Recamier, that +one who had been so petted from childhood, so exposed to pernicious +influences, should have continued unspoiled by adulation, uncorrupted by +example. The gay life she led was calculated to make her selfish and +arrogant, yet she was to an eminent degree self-sacrificing and gentle. +Constant in her affections, she never lost a friend through waywardness, +or alienated any by indifference. It has been prettily said of her, that +she brought the art of friendship to perfection. Coquettish she +was,--seldom capricious. Her coquetry was owing more to an instinctive +desire to please than to any systematic attempt to swell the list of her +conquests. She had received the gift of fascination at her birth: and +can a woman be fascinating who has not a touch of coquetry? It was as +natural in Madame Recamier to charm as it was to breathe. It was a +necessity of her nature, which her unnatural position developed and +fostered to a reprehensible extent. But while she permitted herself to +be loved, and rejoiced in the consciousness of this power, she never +carried her flirtations so far as to lose her own self-respect or the +respect of her admirers. She was ever dignified and circumspect, though +gracious and captivating. To most of her lovers, therefore, she was more +a goddess whom they worshipped than a woman whom they loved. Ballanche +compared her to the solitary phoenix, nourished by perfumes, and +living in the purest regions of the air,-- + + "Who sings to the last his own death-lay, + And in music and perfume dies away." + +It is a singular fact, that the men who began by loving her passionately +usually ended by becoming her true friends. Still there were exceptions +to this rule, exceptions which her biographer does not care to dwell +upon, but which the more candid Sainte-Beuve acknowledges, giving as his +authority Madame Recamier, who was fond of talking over the past with +her new friends. "'_C'est une maniere_,' disait-elle, '_de mettre du +passe devant l'amitie_.'" The subtile and piquant critic cannot resist +saying, in regard to these reminiscences, that "_elle se souvenait avec +gout_." Still, pleasant as her recollections were, she often looked back +self-reproachfully upon passages of her youth; and Sainte-Beuve, though +he calls her coquetry "_une coquetterie angelique_," recognizes it as a +blemish. "She, who was so good, brought sorrow to many hearts, not only +to indignant and soured men, but to poor feminine rivals, whom she +sacrificed and wounded without knowing it. It is the dark side of her +life, which she lived to comprehend." + +This "dark side" suggests itself. It is impossible to read the record of +Madame Recamier's conquests without thinking of women slighted and +neglected for her sake. The greater number of her admirers were married +men. That their wives did not hate this all-conquering woman is strange +indeed; that they witnessed her triumphs unmoved is scarcely credible. +For, while French society allows great laxity in such matters, and a +domestic husband, as we understand the term, is a rarity, still French +wives, we imagine, differ very little from other women in wishing to be +considered a first object. Public desertion is rarely relished even +where there is no affection to be wounded, for it is not necessary to +love to be jealous. But whatever heart-aches and jealousies were caused +by Madame Recamier's conquests, they do not appear on the surface. In +her voluminous correspondence we find tender letters from husbands side +by side with friendly notes from their wives. Her biographer parades the +latter with some ostentation, as a proof of the friendship these women +entertained for Madame Recamier. That they respected her is evident; +that they loved her is not so apparent. Mere complimentary notes prove +but little. He must be but a superficial judge of life who draws decided +conclusions simply from appearances. Madame Lucien Bonaparte might +invite Madame Recamier to her _fetes_; but the consciousness that all +her world knew that her husband was _epris_ with her beautiful guest did +not tend to make her cordial at heart. Madame Moreau, young and lovely, +might visit her intimately, and even cherish friendship for her; but she +could scarcely be an indifferent spectator, when the great General +demanded a white ribbon from her friend's dress as a favor, and +afterward wrote to her that he had worn it in every battle, and that it +had been the talisman that led him on to victory. Nor is it probable +that Madame de Montmorency and Madame de Chateaubriand, unloved wives, +saw without a pang another woman possess the influence which they +exerted in vain. But, if they suffered, it was in secret; and, moreover, +they did justice to the character of their rival. Madame Recamier's +reputation was compromised neither in their eyes nor in the eyes of the +world. Society is seldom just to any woman whose career in life is +exceptional; but to her it was not only just, but indulgent. When we +reflect upon her peculiar position, so exposed to injurious suspicions, +the doubtful reputation of some of her associates, the character for +gallantry possessed by many of her avowed admirers, it seems scarcely +possible that she should have escaped calumny. The few scandals caused +by some of her early indiscretions were soon dissipated, and she lived +down all unpleasant rumors. She, indeed, seemed to possess some +talisman, as potent as the magic ring that bewitched King Charlemagne, +by whose spell she disarmed envy and silenced detraction. This attaching +power she exercised on every person who came within the sphere of her +influence. Even the gossiping Duchess D'Abrantes has only words of +respectful admiration for her. The preconceived prejudices of Madame +Swetchine, whom Miss Muloch numbers among her "Good Women," vanished at +a first interview. She wrote to her,--"I found myself a captive before I +dreamt of defending myself. I yielded at once to that penetrating and +undefinable charm which you exert even over those persons to whom you +are indifferent." Madame de Genlis, equally prejudiced, was alike +subdued. She made Madame Recamier the heroine of a novel, and addressed +letters to her full of affectionate admiration and extravagant flattery. +"You are one of the phenomena of the age," she writes, "and certainly +the most amiable.... You can look back upon the past without remorse. At +any age this is the most beautiful of privileges, but at our time of +life it is invaluable." Madame Lenormant, even more enthusiastic, calls +her a saint, which she certainly was not, but a gracious woman of the +world. Some acts of her life it is impossible to defend. They tarnish +the lustre of an otherwise irreproachable career. Still, when we think +of the low tone of morals prevalent in her youth, together with her many +and great temptations, it is surprising that she should have preserved +her purity of heart, and earned the respect and love of the best and +wisest of her contemporaries. No woman has ever received more universal +and uniform homage, or has been more deeply lamented. Her death left a +void in French society that has never been filled. The _salon_, which, +from its origin in the seventeenth century, was so vital an element in +Paris life, no longer exists. That of the Hotel de Rambouillet was the +first; that of the Abbaye-aux-Bois the last. "_On se reunit encore, on +donne des fetes splendides, on ne cause plus_." + + * * * * * + +THE WELLFLEET OYSTERMAN. + + +Having walked about eight miles since we struck the beach, and passed +the boundary between Wellfleet and Truro, a stone post in the sand,--for +even this sand comes under the jurisdiction of one town or another,--we +turned inland over barren hills and valleys, whither the sea, for some +reason, did not follow us, and, tracing up a hollow, discovered two or +three sober-looking houses within half a mile, uncommonly near the +eastern coast. Their garrets were apparently so full of chambers that +their roofs could hardly lie down straight, and we did not doubt that +there was room for us there. Houses near the sea are generally low and +broad. These were a story and a half high; but if you merely counted the +windows in their gable-ends, you would think that there were many +stories more, or, at any rate, that the half-story was the only one +thought worthy of being illustrated. The great number of windows in the +ends of the houses, and their irregularity in size and position, here +and elsewhere on the Cape, struck us agreeably,--as if each of the +various occupants who had their _cunabula_ behind had punched a hole +where his necessities required it, and according to his size and +stature, without regard to outside effect. There were windows for the +grown folks, and windows for the children,--three or four apiece: as a +certain man had a large hole cut in his barn-door for the cat, and +another smaller one for the kitten. Sometimes they were so low under the +eaves that I thought they must have perforated the plate-beam for +another apartment, and I noticed some which were triangular, to fit that +part more exactly. The ends of the houses had thus as many muzzles as a +revolver; and if the inhabitants have the same habit of staring out of +the windows that some of our neighbors have, a traveller must stand a +small chance with them. + +Generally, the old-fashioned and unpainted houses on the Cape looked +more comfortable, as well as picturesque, than the modern and more +pretending ones, which were less in harmony with the scenery, and less +firmly planted. + +These houses were on the shores of a chain of ponds, seven in number, +the source of a small stream called Herring River, which empties into +the Bay. There are many Herring Rivers on the Cape: they will, perhaps, +be more numerous than herrings soon. We knocked at the door of the first +house, but its inhabitants were all gone away. In the mean while we saw +the occupants of the next one looking out of the window at us, and +before we reached it an old woman came out and fastened the door of her +bulkhead, and went in again. Nevertheless, we did not hesitate to knock +at her door, when a grizzly-looking man appeared, whom we took to be +sixty or seventy years old. He asked us, at first, suspiciously, where +we were from, and what our business was; to which we returned plain +answers. + +"How far is Concord from Boston?" he inquired. + +"Twenty miles by railroad." + +"Twenty miles by railroad," he repeated. + +"Didn't you ever hear of Concord of Revolutionary fame?" + +"Didn't I ever hear of Concord? Why, I heard the guns fire at the Battle +of Bunker Hill." (They hear the sound of heavy cannon across the Bay.) +"I am almost ninety: I am eighty-eight year old. I was fourteen year old +at the time of Concord Fight,--and where were you then?" + +We were obliged to confess that we were not in the fight. + +"Well, walk in, we'll leave it to the women," said he. + +So we walked in, surprised, and sat down, an old woman taking our hats +and bundles, and the old man continued, drawing up to the large, +old-fashioned fireplace,-- + +"I am a poor good-for-nothing crittur, as Isaiah says; I am all broken +down this year. I am under petticoat-government here." + +The family consisted of the old man, his wife, and his daughter, who +appeared nearly as old as her mother,--a fool, her son, (a +brutish-looking, middle-aged man, with a prominent lower face, who was +standing by the hearth when we entered, but immediately went out,) and a +little boy of ten. + +While my companion talked with the women, I talked to the old man. They +said that he was old and foolish, but he was evidently too knowing for +them. + +"These women," said he to me, "are both of them poor good-for-nothing +critturs. This one is my wife. I married her sixty-four years ago. She +is eighty-four years old, and as deaf as an adder, and the other is not +much better." + +He thought well of the Bible,--or at least he _spoke_ well, and did not +_think_ ill, of it, for that would not have been prudent for a man of +his age. He said that he had read it attentively for many years, and he +had much of it at his tongue's end. He seemed deeply impressed with a +sense of his own nothingness, and would repeatedly exclaim,-- + +"I am a nothing. What I gather from my Bible is just this: that man is a +poor good-for-nothing crittur, and everything is just as God sees fit +and disposes." + +"May I ask your name?" I said. + +"Yes," he answered,--"I am not ashamed to tell my name. My name is ----. +My great-grandfather came over from England and settled here." + +He was an old Wellfleet oysterman, who had acquired a competency in that +business, and had sons still engaged in it. + +Nearly all the oyster-shops and stands in Massachusetts, I am told, are +supplied and kept by natives of Wellfleet, and a part of this town is +still called Billingsgate, from the oysters having been formerly planted +there; but the native oysters are said to have died in 1770. Various +causes are assigned for this, such as a ground frost, the carcasses of +black-fish kept to rot in the harbor, and the like; but the most common +account of the matter is,--and I find that a similar superstition with +regard to the disappearance of fishes exists almost everywhere,--that, +when Wellfleet began to quarrel with the neighboring towns about the +right to gather them, yellow specks appeared in them, and Providence +caused them to disappear. A few years ago sixty thousand bushels were +annually brought from the South and planted in the harbor of Wellfleet +till they attained "the proper relish of Billingsgate"; but now they are +imported commonly full-grown, and laid down near their markets, at +Boston and elsewhere, where the water, being a mixture of salt and +fresh, suits them better. The business was said to be still good and +improving. + +The old man said that the oysters were liable to freeze in the winter, +if planted too high; but if it were not "so cold as to strain their +eyes," they were not injured. The inhabitants of New Brunswick have +noticed that "ice will not form over an oyster-bed, unless the cold is +very intense indeed; and when the bays are frozen over, the oyster-beds +are easily discovered by the water above them remaining unfrozen, or, as +the French residents say, _degele_." Our host said that they kept them +in cellars all winter. + +"Without anything to eat or drink?" I asked. + +"Without anything to eat or drink," he answered. + +"Can the oysters move?" + +"Just as much as my shoe." + +But when I caught him saying that they "bedded themselves down in the +sand, flat side up, round side down," I told him that my shoe could not +do that, without the aid of my foot in it; at which he said that they +merely settled down as they grew; if put down in a square, they would be +found so; but the clam could move quite fast. I have since been told by +oystermen of Long Island, where the oyster is still indigenous and +abundant, that they are found in large masses attached to the parent in +their midst, and are so taken up with their tongs; in which case, they +say, the age of the young proves that there could have been no motion +for five or six years at least. And Buckland, in his "Curiosities of +Natural History," (page 50,) says,--"An oyster, who has once taken up +his position and fixed himself when quite young, can never make a +change. Oysters, nevertheless, that have not fixed themselves, but +remain loose at the bottom of the sea, have the power of locomotion; +they open their shells to their fullest extent, and then suddenly +contracting them, the expulsion of the water forwards gives a motion +backwards. A fisherman at Guernsey told me that he had frequently seen +oysters moving in this way." + +Some still entertain the question whether the oyster was indigenous in +Massachusetts Bay, and whether Wellfleet Harbor was a natural habitat of +this fish; but, to say nothing of the testimony of old oystermen, which, +I think, is quite conclusive, though the native oyster may now be +extinct there, I saw that their shells, opened by the Indians, were +strewn all over the Cape. Indeed, the Cape was at first thickly settled +by Indians on account of the abundance of these and other fish. We saw +many traces of their occupancy, after this, in Truro, near Great Hollow, +and at High-Head, near East-Harbor River,--oysters, clams, cockles, and +other shells, mingled with ashes and the bones of deer and other +quadrupeds. I picked up half a dozen arrow-heads, and in an hour or two +could have filled my pockets with them. The Indians lived about the +edges of the swamps, then probably in some instances ponds, for shelter +and water. Moreover, Champlain, in the edition of his "Voyages" printed +in 1613, says that in the year 1606 he and Poitrincourt explored a +harbor (Barnstable Harbor?) in the southerly part of what is now called +Massachusetts Bay, in latitude 42 deg., about five leagues south, one point +west of _Cap Blanc_, (Cape Cod,) and there they found many good oysters, +and they named it _Le Port aux Huistres_ (Oyster-Harbor). In one edition +of his map, (1632,) the "_R. aux Escailles_" is drawn emptying into the +same part of the Bay, and on the map "_Novi Belgii_" in Ogilby's +"America," (1670,) the words "_Port aux Huistres_" are set against the +same place. Also William Wood, who left New England in 1633, speaks, in +his "New England's Prospect," published in 1634, of "a great +oyster-bank" in Charles River, and of another in the Mystic, each of +which obstructed the navigation. "The oysters," he says, "be great ones, +in form of a shoe-horn; some be a foot long; these breed on certain +banks that are bare every spring-tide. This fish without the shell is so +big that it must admit of a division before you can well get it into +your mouth." Oysters are still found there. (See, also, Thomas Morton's +"New English Canaan," page 90.) + +Our host told us that the sea-clam, or hen, was not easily obtained; it +was raked up, but never on the Atlantic side, only cast ashore there in +small quantities in storms. The fisherman sometimes wades in water +several feet deep, and thrusts a pointed stick into the sand before him. +When this enters between the valves of a clam, he closes them on it, and +is drawn out. The clam has been known to catch and hold coot and teal +which were preying on it. I chanced to be on the bank of the Acushnet at +New Bedford one day, watching some ducks, when a man informed me, that, +having let out his young ducks to seek their food amid the samphire +(_Salicornia_) and other weeds along the river-side at low tide that +morning, at length he noticed that one remained stationary amid the +weeds, something preventing it from following the others, and on going +to it he found its foot tightly shut in a quahaug'a shell. He took up +both together, carried them home, and his wife, opening the shell with +a knife, released the duck and cooked the quahaug. The old man said that +the great clams were good to eat, but that they always took out a +certain part, which was poisonous, before cooking them. "People said it +would kill a cat." I did not tell him that I had eaten a large one +entire that afternoon, but began to think that I was tougher than a cat. +He stated that peddlers came round there, and sometimes tried to sell +the women-folks a skimmer, but he told them that their women had got a +better skimmer than _they_ could make, in the shell of their clams; it +was shaped just right for this purpose. They call them "skim-alls" in +some places. He also said that the sun-squawl was poisonous to handle, +and when the sailors came across it, they did not meddle with it, but +hove it out of their way. I told him that I had handled it that +afternoon, and had felt no ill effects as yet. But he said it made the +hands itch, especially if they had previously been scratched,--or if I +put it into my bosom, I should find out what it was. + +He informed us that ice never formed on the back side of the Cape, or +not more than once in a century, and but little snow lay there, it being +either absorbed or blown or washed away. Sometimes in winter, when the +tide was down, the beach was frozen, and afforded a hard road up the +back side for some thirty miles, as smooth as a floor. One winter, when +he was a boy, he and his father "took right out into the back side +before daylight, and walked to Provincetown and back to dinner." + +When I asked what they did with all that barren-looking land, where I +saw so few cultivated fields,-- + +"Nothing," he said. + +"Then why fence your fields?" + +"To keep the sand from blowing and covering up the whole." + +"The yellow sand," said he, "has some life in it, but the white little +or none." + +When, in answer to his questions, I told him that I was a surveyor, he +said that those who surveyed his farm were accustomed, where the ground +was uneven, to loop up each chain as high as their elbows; that was the +allowance they made, and he wished to know if I could tell him why they +did not come out according to his deed, or twice alike. He seemed to +have more respect for surveyors of the old school, which I did not +wonder at. "King George the Third," said he, "laid out a road four rods +wide and straight the whole length of the Cape"; but where it was now he +could not tell. + +This story of the surveyors reminded me of a Long-Islander, who once, +when I had made ready to jump from the bow of his boat to the shore, and +he thought that I underrated the distance and would fall short,--though +I found afterward that he judged of the elasticity of my joints by his +own,--told me, that, when he came to a brook which he wanted to get +over, he held up one leg, and then, if his foot appeared to cover any +part of the opposite bank, he knew that he could jump it. "Why," I told +him, "to say nothing of the Mississippi, and other small watery streams, +I could blot out a star with my foot, but I would not engage to jump +that distance," and asked how he knew when he had got his leg at the +right elevation. But he regarded his legs as no less accurate than a +pair of screw-dividers or an ordinary quadrant, and appeared to have a +painful recollection of every degree and minute in the arc which they +described; and he would have had me believe that there was a kind of +hitch in his hip-joint which answered the purpose. I suggested that he +should connect his two ankles by a string of the proper length, which +should be the chord of an arc measuring his jumping ability on +horizontal surfaces,--assuming one leg to be a perpendicular to the +plane of the horizon, which, however, may have been too bold an +assumption in this case. Nevertheless, this was a kind of geometry in +the legs which it interested me to hear of. + +Our host took pleasure in telling us the names of the ponds, most of +which we could see from his windows, and making us repeat them after +him, to see if we had got them right. They were Gull Pond, (the largest +and a very handsome one, clear and deep, and more than a mile in +circumference,) Newcomb's, Swett's, Slough, Horse-Leech, Round, and +Herring Ponds,--all connected at high-water, if I do not mistake. The +coast-surveyors had come to him for their names, and he told them of one +which they had not detected. He said that they were not so high as +formerly. There was an earthquake about four years before he was born, +which cracked the pans of the ponds, which were of iron, and caused them +to settle. I did not remember to have read of this. Innumerable gulls +used to resort to them; but the large gulls were now very scarce, for, +as he said, the English robbed their nests far in the North, where they +breed. He remembered well when gulls were taken in the gull-house, and +when small birds were killed by means of a frying-pan and fire at night. +His father once lost a valuable horse from this cause. A party from +Wellfleet having lighted their fire for this purpose, one dark night, on +Billingsgate Island, twenty horses which were pastured there, and this +colt among them, being frightened by it, and endeavoring in the dark to +cross the passage which separated them from the neighboring beach, and +which was then fordable at low tide, were all swept out to sea and +drowned. I observed that many horses were still turned out to pasture +all summer on the islands and beaches in Wellfleet, Eastham, and +Orleans, as a kind of common. He also described the killing of what he +called "wild hens" here, after they had gone to roost in the woods, when +he was a boy. Perhaps they were "Prairie hens" (pinnated grouse). + +He liked the beach pea, (_Lathyrus maritimus_,) cooked green, as well as +the cultivated. He had seen them growing very abundantly in +Newfoundland, where also the inhabitants ate them, but he had never been +able to obtain any ripe for seed. We read, under the head of Chatham, +that, "in 1555, during a time of great scarcity, the people about +Orford, in Sussex (England) were preserved from perishing by eating the +seeds of this plant, which grew there in great abundance on the +sea-coast. Cows, horses, sheep, and goats eat it." But the writer who +quoted this could not learn that they had ever been used in Barnstable +County. + +He had been a voyager, then? + +Oh, he had been about the world in his day. He once considered himself a +pilot for all our coast; but now, they had changed the names so, he +might be bothered. + +He gave us to taste what he called the Summer Sweeting, a pleasant apple +which he raised, and frequently grafted from, but had never seen growing +elsewhere, except once,--three trees on Newfoundland, or at the Bay of +Chaleur, I forget which, as he was sailing by. He was sure that he could +tell the tree at a distance. + +At length the fool, whom my companion called the wizard, came in, +muttering between his teeth, "Damn book-peddlers,--all the time talking +about books. Better do something. Damn 'em, I'll shoot 'em. Got a doctor +down here. Damn him, I'll get a gun and shoot him"; never once holding +up his head. Whereat the old man stood up and said in a loud voice, as +if he were accustomed to command, and this was not the first time he had +been obliged to exert his authority there,--"John, go sit down, mind +your business,--we've heard you talk before,--precious little you'll +do,--your bark is worse than your bite." But, without minding, John +muttered the same gibberish over again, and then sat down at the table +which the old folks had left. He ate all there was on it, and then +turned to the apples which his aged mother was paring, that she might +give her guests some apple-sauce for breakfast; but she drew them away, +and sent him off. + +When I approached this house the next summer, over the desolate hills +between it and the shore, which are worthy to have been the birthplace +of Ossian, I saw the wizard in the midst of a cornfield on the +hillside, but, as usual, he loomed so strangely that I mistook him for a +scarecrow. + +This was the merriest old man that we had ever seen, and one of the +best-preserved. His style of conversation was coarse and plain enough to +have suited Rabelais. He would have made a good Panurge. Or rather he +was a sober Silenus, and we were the boys Chromis and Mnasilus who +listened to his story. + + "Not by Haemonian hills the Thracian bard, + Nor awful Phoebus was on Pindus heard + With deeper silence or with more regard." + +There was a strange mingling of past and present in his conversation, +for he had lived under King George, and might have remembered when +Napoleon and the moderns generally were born. He said that one day, when +the troubles between the Colonies and the mother-country first broke +out, as he, a boy of fifteen, was pitching hay out of a cart, one Doane, +an old Tory, who was talking with his father, a good Whig, said to him, +"Why, Uncle Bill, you might as well undertake to pitch that pond into +the ocean with a pitchfork as for the Colonies to undertake to gain +their independence." He remembered well General Washington, and how he +rode his horse along the streets of Boston, and he stood up to show us +how he looked. + +"He was a r-a-ther large and portly-looking man, a manly and +resolute-looking officer, with a pretty good leg, as he sat on his +horse.--There, I'll tell you, this was the way with Washington." Then he +jumped up again, and bowed gracefully to right and left, making show as +if he were waving his hat. Said he, "_That_ was Washington." + +He told us many anecdotes of the Revolution, and was much pleased when +we told him that we had read the same in history, and that his account +agreed with the written. + +"Oh," he said, "I know, I know! I was a young fellow of sixteen, with my +ears wide open; and a fellow of that age, you know, is pretty wide +awake, and likes to know everything that's going on. Oh, I know!" + +He told us the story of the wreck of the Franklin, which took place +there the previous spring: how a boy came to his house early in the +morning to know whose boat that was by the shore, for there was a vessel +in distress; and he, being an old man, first ate his breakfast, and then +walked over to the top of the hill by the shore, and sat down there, +having found a comfortable seat, to see the ship wrecked. She was on the +bar, only a quarter of a mile from him, and still nearer to the men on +the beach, who had got a boat ready, but could render no assistance on +account of the breakers, for there was a pretty high sea running. There +were the passengers all crowded together in the forward part of the +ship, and some were getting out of the cabin-windows and were drawn on +deck by the others. + +"I saw the captain get out his boat," said he; "he had one little one; +and then they jumped into it, one after another, down as straight as an +arrow. I counted them. There were nine. One was a woman, and she jumped +as straight as any of them. Then they shoved off. The sea took them +back, one wave went over them, and when they came up there were six +still clinging to the boat: I counted them. The next wave turned the +boat bottom upward, and emptied them all out. None of them ever came +ashore alive. There were the rest of them all crowded together on the +forecastle, the other parts of the ship being under water. They had seen +all that happened to the boat. At length a heavy sea separated the +forecastle from the rest of the wreck, and set it inside of the worst +breaker, and the boat was able to reach them, and it saved all that were +left, but one woman." + +He also told us of the steamer Cambria's getting aground on his shore a +few months before we were there, and of her English passengers who +roamed over his grounds, and who, he said, thought the prospect from the +high hill by the shore "the most delightsome they had ever seen," and +also of the pranks which the ladies played with his scoop-net in the +ponds. He spoke of these travellers, with their purses full of guineas, +just as our Provincial fathers used to speak of British bloods in the +time of King George III. + +_Quid loquar?_ Why repeat what he told us? + + "Aut Scyllam Nisi, quam fama secuta est, + Candida succinctam latrantibus inguina monstris, + Dulichias vexasse rates, et gurgite in alto + Ah timidos nautas canibus lacerasse marinis?" + +In the course of the evening I began to feel the potency of the clam +which I had eaten, and I was obliged to confess to our host that I was +no tougher than the cat he told of; but he answered, that he was a +plain-spoken man, and he could tell me that it was all imagination. At +any rate, it proved an emetic in my case, and I was made quite sick by +it for a short time, while he laughed at my expense. I was pleased to +read afterward, in Mourt's Relation of the Landing of the Pilgrims in +Provincetown Harbor, these words:--"We found great muscles," (the old +editor says that they were undoubtedly sea-clams,) "and very fat and +full of sea-pearl; but we could not eat them, for they made us all sick +that did eat, as well sailors as passengers, ... but they were soon well +again." It brought me nearer to the Pilgrims to be thus reminded by a +similar experience that I was so like them. Moreover, it was a valuable +confirmation of their story, and I am prepared now to believe every word +of Mourt's "Relation." I was also pleased to find that man and the clam +lay still at the same angle to one another. But I did not notice +sea-pearl. Like Cleopatra, I must have swallowed it. I have since dug +these clams on a flat in the Bay, and observed them. They could squirt +full ten feet before the wind, as appeared by the marks of the drops on +the sand. + +"Now I am going to ask you a question," said the old man, "and I don't +know as you can tell me; but you are a learned man, and I never had any +learning, only what I got by natur."--It was in vain that we reminded +him that he could quote Josephus to our confusion.--"I've thought, if I +ever met a learned man, I should like to ask him this question. Can you +tell me how _Axy_ is spelt, and what it means? _Axy_," says he; "there's +a girl over here is named _Axy_. Now what is it? What does it mean? Is +it Scriptur? I've read my Bible twenty-five years over and over, and I +never came across it." + +"Did you read it twenty-five years for this object?" I asked. + +"Well, _how_ is it spelt? Wife, how is it spelt?" + +She said,--"It is in the Bible; I've seen it." + +"Well, how do you spell it?" + +"I don't know. A c h, ach, s e h, seh,--Achseh." + +"Does that spell Axy? Well, do _you_ know what it means?" asked he, +turning to me. + +"No," I replied,--"I never heard the sound before." + +"There was a schoolmaster down here once, and they asked him what it +meant, and he said it had no more meaning than a bean-pole." + +I told him that I held the same opinion with the schoolmaster. I had +been a schoolmaster myself, and had had strange names to deal with. I +also heard of such names as Zoheth, Beriah, Amaziah, Bethuel, and +Shearjashub, hereabouts. + +At length the little boy, who had a seat quite in the chimney-corner, +took off his stockings and shoes, warmed his feet, and went off to bed; +then the fool followed him; and finally the old man. He proceeded to +make preparations for retiring, discoursing meanwhile with Panurgic +plainness of speech on the ills to which old humanity is subject. We +were a rare haul for him. He could commonly get none but ministers to +talk to, though sometimes ten of them at once, and he was glad to meet +some of the laity at leisure. The evening was not long enough for him. +As I had been sick, the old lady asked if I would not go to bed,--it was +getting late for old people; but the old man, who had not yet done his +stories, said,-- + +"You a'n't particular, are you?" + +"Oh, no," said I,--"I am in no hurry. I believe I have weathered the +Clam cape." + +"They are good," said he; "I wish I had some of them now." + +"They never hurt me," said the old lady. + +"But then you took out the part that killed a cat," said I. + +At last we cut him short in the midst of his stories, which he promised +to resume in the morning. Yet, after all, one of the old ladies who came +into our room in the night to fasten the fire-board, which rattled, as +she went out took the precaution to fasten us in. Old women are by +nature more suspicious than old men. However, the winds howled around +the house, and made the fire-boards as well as the casements rattle well +that night. It was probably a windy night for any locality, but we could +not distinguish the roar which was proper to the ocean from that which +was due to the wind alone. + +The sounds which the ocean makes must be very significant and +interesting to those who live near it. When I was leaving the shore at +this place the next summer, and had got a quarter of a mile distant, +ascending a hill, I was startled by a sudden, loud sound from the sea, +as if a large steamer were letting off steam by the shore, so that I +caught my breath and felt my blood run cold for an instant, and I turned +about, expecting to see one of the Atlantic steamers thus far out of her +course; but there was nothing unusual to be seen. There was a low bank +at the entrance of the Hollow, between me and the ocean, and suspecting +that I might have risen into another stratum of air in ascending the +hill, which had wafted to me only the ordinary roar of the sea, I +immediately descended again, to see if I lost the sound; but, without +regard to my ascending or descending, it died away in a minute or two, +and yet there was scarcely any wind all the while. The old man said that +this was what they called the "rut," a peculiar roar of the sea before +the wind changes, which, however, he could, not account for. He thought +that he could tell all about the weather from the sounds which the sea +made. + +Old Josselyn, who came to New England in 1638, has it among his +weather-signs, that "the resounding of the sea from the shore, and +murmuring of the winds in the woods, without apparent wind, sheweth wind +to follow." + +Being on another part of the coast one night afterwards, I heard the +roar of the surf a mile distant, and the inhabitants said it was a sign +that the wind would work round east, and we should have rainy weather. +The ocean was heaped up somewhere at the eastward, and this roar was +occasioned by its effort to preserve its equilibrium, the wave reaching +the shore before the wind. Also the captain of a packet between this +country and England told me that he sometimes met with a wave on the +Atlantic coming against the wind, perhaps in a calm sea, which indicated +that at a distance the wind was blowing from an opposite quarter, but +the undulation had travelled faster than it. Sailors tell of "tide-rips" +and "ground-swells," which they suppose to have been occasioned by +hurricanes and earthquakes, and to have travelled many hundred, and +sometimes even two or three thousand miles. + +Before sunrise the next morning they let us out again, and I ran over to +the beach to see the sun come out of the ocean. The old woman of +eighty-four winters was already out in the cold morning wind, +bare-headed, tripping about like a young girl, and driving up the cow to +milk. She got the breakfast with despatch, and without noise or bustle; +and meanwhile the old man resumed his stories. + +After breakfast we looked at his clock, which was out of order, and +oiled it with some "hen's grease," for want of sweet oil, for he +scarcely could believe that we were not tinkers or peddlers; meanwhile +he told a story about visions, which had reference to a crack in the +clock-case made by frost one night. He was curious to know to what +religious sect we belonged. He said that he had been to hear thirteen +kinds of preaching in one month, when he was young, but he did not join +any of them,--he stuck to his Bible: there was nothing like any of them +in his Bible. While I was shaving in the next room, I heard him ask my +companion to what sect he belonged, to which he answered,-- + +"Oh, I belong to the Universal Brotherhood." + +"What's that?" he asked,--"Sons o' Temperance?" + +Finally, filling our pockets with doughnuts, which he was pleased to +find that we called by the same name that he did, and paying for our +entertainment, we took our departure; but he followed us out of doors, +and made us tell him the names of the vegetables which he had raised +from seeds that came out of the Franklin. They were cabbage, broccoli, +and parsley. As I had asked him the names of so many things, he tried me +in turn with all the plants which grew in his garden, both wild and +cultivated. It was about half an acre, which he cultivated wholly +himself. Besides the common garden-vegetables, there were Yellow-Dock, +Lemon-Balm, Hyssop, Gill-go-over-the-ground, Mouse-ear, Chickweed, Roman +Wormwood, Elecampane, and other plants. As we stood there, I saw a +fish-hawk stoop to pick a fish out of his pond. + +"There," said I, "he has got a fish." + +"Well," said the old man, who was looking all the while, but could see +nothing, "he didn't dive, he just wet his claws." + +And, sure enough, he did not this time, though it is said that they +often do, but he merely stooped low enough to pick him out with his +talons; but as he bore his shining prey over the bushes, it fell to the +ground, and we did not see that he recovered it. That is not their +practice. + +Thus, having had another crack with the old man, he standing bareheaded +under the eaves, he directed us "athwart the fields," and we took to the +beach again for another day, it being now late in the morning. + +It was but a day or two after this that the safe of the Provincetown +Bank was broken open and robbed by two men from the interior, and we +learned that our hospitable entertainers did at least transiently harbor +the suspicion that we were the men. + + * * * * * + +CHARLES LAMB'S UNCOLLECTED WRITINGS. + +THIRD PAPER. + + +"I remember," says "The Spectator," "upon Mr. Baxter's death, there was +published a sheet of very good sayings, inscribed, 'The Last Words of +Mr. Baxter.' The title sold so great a number of these papers that about +a week after there came out a second sheet, inscribed, 'More Last Words +of Mr. Baxter.'" And so kindly and gladly did the public--or at least +that portion of the public that read the "Atlantic Monthly"--receive the +specimens of Charles Lamb's uncollected writings, published somewhile +since in these pages, that I am induced to print another paper on the +same pleasant and entertaining subject. + +The success of that piece of "ingenious nonsense," that gem of +biographical literature, the unique and veracious "Memoir of Liston," +over which the lovers of wit and the lovers of Charles Lamb have had +many a good laugh, was so great that Lamb was encouraged to try his hand +at another theatrical memoir, and produced a mock and mirthful +autobiography of his old friend and favorite comedian, Munden, whom he +had previously immortalized in one of the best and most admired of the +"Essays of Elia." + +Those who enjoyed the biography of Liston will chuckle over the +autobiography of Munden. It was certainly a happy idea to represent +Munden as writing a sketch of his life,--not to gratify his own vanity, +or for the pleasure and entertainment of the public, but solely and +purposely to prevent the truthful and matter-of-fact biographer of +Liston from making the old player the subject of a biographical work. +The veteran actor's vehement protests against being represented as a +Presbyterian or Anabaptist, and his brief, but pungent comments on +certain passages in the Liston biography, are delightful. Methinks I see +the old man,-- + + "The gray-haired man of glee,"-- + +the great and wonderful impersonator of the "Cobbler of Preston" and +"Old Dozey,"--methinks I see this fine actor, this genial and jovial +comedian, and his son, gravely and carefully examining the great map of +Kent in search of Lupton Magna! + +Leigh Hunt, in his Autobiography, speaking of some of Elia's +contributions to the "London Magazine," thus mentions these two +"he-children" of Lamb's:-- + +"He wrote in the same magazine two lives of Liston and Munden, which the +public took for serious, and which exhibit an extraordinary jumble of +imaginary facts and truth of by-painting. Munden he made born at "Stoke +Pogis"; the very sound of which was like the actor speaking and digging +his words." + + * * * * * + +THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MR. MUNDEN. + +_In a Letter to the Editor of the "London Magazine."_ + +Hark'ee, Mr. Editor. A word in your ear. They tell me you are going to +put me in print,--in print, Sir; to publish my life. What is my life to +you, Sir? What is it to you whether I ever lived at all? My life is a +very good life, Sir. I am insured at the Pelican, Sir. I am threescore +years and six,--six; mark me, Sir: but I can play Polonius, which, I +believe, few of your corre--correspondents can do, Sir. I suspect +tricks, Sir; I smell a rat: I do, I do. You would cog the die upon us: +you would, you would, Sir. But I will forestall you, Sir. You would be +deriving me from William the Conqueror, with a murrain to you. It is no +such thing, Sir. The town shall know better, Sir. They begin to smoke +your flams, Sir. Mr. Liston may be born where he pleases, Sir; but I +will not be born at Lup--Lupton Magna for anybody's pleasure, Sir. My +son and I have looked over the great map of Kent together, and we can +find no such place as you would palm upon us, Sir,--palm upon us, I say. +Neither Magna nor Parva, as my son says; and he knows Latin, +Sir,--Latin. If you write my life true, Sir, you must set down, that I, +Joseph Munden, comedian, came into the world upon Allhallows Day, Anno +Domini 1759,--1759; no sooner nor later, Sir: and I saw the first +light--the first light, remember, Sir--at Stoke Pogis,--Stoke Pogis, +_comitatu_ Bucks, and not at Lup--Lup Magna, which I believe to be no +better than moonshine,--moonshine; do you mark me, Sir? I wonder you can +put such flim-flams upon us, Sir: I do, I do. It does not become you, +Sir: I say it,--I say it. And my father was an honest tradesman, Sir: he +dealt in malt and hops, Sir; and was a Corporation-man, Sir; and of the +Church of England, Sir; and no Presbyterian, nor Ana--Anabaptist, Sir; +however you may be disposed to make honest people believe to the +contrary, Sir. Your bams are found out, Sir. The town will be your +stale puts no longer, Sir; and you must not send us jolly fellows, +Sir,--we that are comedians, Sir,--you must not send us into groves and +Charn--Charnwoods a-moping, Sir. Neither Charns, nor charnel-houses, +Sir. It is not our constitutions, Sir: I tell it you,--I tell it you. I +was a droll dog from my cradle. I came into the world tittering, and the +midwife tittered, and the gossips spilt their caudle with tittering; and +when I was brought to the font, the parson could not christen me for +tittering. So I was never more than half baptized. And when I was little +Joey, I made 'em all titter; there was not a melancholy face to be seen +in Pogis. Pure nature, Sir. I was born a comedian. Old Screwup, the +undertaker, could tell you, Sir, if he were living. Why, I was obliged +to be locked up every time there was to be a funeral at Pogis. I was, I +was, Sir. I used to _grimace_ at the mutes, as he called it, and put 'em +out with my mops and my mows, till they couldn't stand at a door for me. +And when I was locked up, with nothing but a cat in my company, I +followed my bent with trying to make her laugh; and sometimes she would, +and sometimes she would not. And my schoolmaster could make nothing of +me: I had only to thrust my tongue in my cheek,--in my cheek, Sir,--and +the rod dropped from his fingers; and so my education was limited, Sir. +And I grew up a young fellow, and it was thought convenient to enter me +upon some course of life that should make me serious; but it wouldn't +do, Sir. And I articled to a dry-salter. My father gave forty pounds +premium with me, Sir. I can show the indent--dent--dentures, Sir. But I +was born to be a comedian, Sir: so I ran away, and listed with the +players, Sir; and I topt my parts at Amersham and Gerrard's Cross, and +played my own father to his face, in his own town of Pogis, in the part +of Gripe, when I was not full seventeen years of age; and he did not +know me again, but he knew me afterwards; and then he laughed, and I +laughed, and, what is better, the dry-salter laughed, and gave me up my +articles for the joke's sake: so that I came into court afterwards with +clean hands,--with clean hands; do you see, Sir? + +[Here the manuscript becomes illegible for two or three sheets onwards, +which we presume to be occasioned by the absence of Mr. Munden, jun., +who clearly transcribed it for the press thus far. The rest (with the +exception of the concluding paragraph, which seemingly is resumed in the +first handwriting) appears to contain a confused account of some lawsuit +in which the elder Munden was engaged; with a circumstantial history of +the proceedings on a case of breach of promise of marriage, made to or +by (we cannot pick out which) Jemima Munden, spinster, probably the +comedian's cousin, for it does not appear he had any sister; with a few +dates, rather better preserved, of this great actor's engagements,--as +"Cheltenham, [spelt Cheltnam,] 1776," "Bath, 1779," "London, +1789,"--together with stage-anecdotes of Messrs. Edwin, Wilson, Lee, +Lewis, etc.; over which we have strained our eyes to no purpose, in the +hope of presenting something amusing to the public. Towards the end, the +manuscript brightens up a little, as we have said, and concludes in the +following manner.] + +---- stood before them for six-and-thirty years, [we suspect that Mr. +Munden is here speaking of his final leave-taking of the stage,] and to +be dismissed at last. But I was heart-whole,--heart-whole to the last, +Sir. What though a few drops did course themselves down the old +veteran's cheeks? who could help it, Sir? I was a giant that night, Sir, +and could have played fifty parts, each as arduous as Dozey. My +faculties were never better, Sir. But I was to be laid upon the shelf. +It did not suit the public to laugh with their old servant any longer, +Sir. [Here some moisture has blotted a sentence or two.] But I can play +Polonius still, Sir: I can, I can. + + Your servant, Sir, + JOSEPH MUNDEN. + + * * * * * + +In the "Reflector," a short-lived periodical set up by Leigh Hunt, and +in which Lamb's quaint and beautiful poem, "A Farewell to Tobacco," and +his masterly critical essays on "The Tragedies of Shakspeare," and on +"The Genius of Hogarth," and other of his early writings, appeared, I +find the following characteristic article from Elia's pen. + +The reader will observe (and smile as he observes) that there is a great +difference between the "good clerk" of fifty years ago and the "good +clerk" of to-day. He of yesterday is a wonderfully simple, humble, +automaton-like person, in comparison with the brisk, dashing, +independent "votaries of the desk" of the year eighteen hundred and +sixty-four. + + * * * * * + +THE GOOD CLERK: A CHARACTER. + +THE GOOD CLERK.--He writeth a fair and swift hand, and is +competently versed in the four first rules of arithmetic, in the Rule of +Three, (which is sometimes called the Golden Rule,) and in Practice. We +mention these things that we may leave no room for cavillers to say that +anything essential hath been omitted in our definition; else, to speak +the truth, these are but ordinary accomplishments, and such as every +understrapper at a desk is commonly furnished with. The character we +treat of soareth higher. + +He is clean and neat in his person, not from a vainglorious desire of +setting himself forth to advantage in the eyes of the other sex,--with +which vanity too many of our young sparks nowadays are infected,--but to +do credit, as we say, to the office. For this reason, he evermore taketh +care that his desk or his books receive no soil; the which things he is +commonly as solicitous to have fair and unblemished as the owner of a +fine horse is to have him appear in good keep. + +He riseth early in the morning,--not because early rising conduceth to +health, (though he doth not altogether despise that consideration,) but +chiefly to the intent that he may be first at the desk. There is his +post, there he delighteth to be, unless when his meals or necessity +calleth him away; which time he alway esteemeth as lost, and maketh as +short as possible. + +He is temperate in eating and drinking, that he may preserve a clear +head and steady hand for his master's service. He is also partly induced +to this observation of the rules of temperance by his respect for +religion and the laws of his country; which things, it may once for all +be noted, do add especial assistances to his actions, but do not and +cannot furnish the main spring or motive thereto. His first ambition, as +appeareth all along, is to be a good clerk; his next, a good Christian, +a good patriot, etc. + +Correspondent to this, he keepeth himself honest, not for fear of the +laws, but because he hath observed how unseemly an article it maketh in +the day-book or ledger when a sum is set down lost or missing; it being +his pride to make these books to agree and to tally, the one side with +the other, with a sort of architectural symmetry and correspondence. + +He marrieth, or marrieth not, as best suiteth with his employer's views. +Some merchants do the rather desire to have married men in their +counting-houses, because they think the married state a pledge for their +servants' integrity, and an incitement to them to be industrious; and it +was an observation of a late Lord-Mayor of London, that the sons of +clerks do generally prove clerks themselves, and that merchants +encouraging persons in their employ to marry, and to have families, was +the best method of securing a breed of sober, industrious young men +attached to the mercantile interest. Be this as it may, such a character +as we have been describing will wait till the pleasure of his employer +is known on this point, and regulateth his desires by the custom of the +house or firm to which he belongeth. + +He avoideth profane oaths and jesting, as so much time lost from his +employ. What spare time he hath for conversation, which in a +counting-house such as we have been supposing can be but small, he +spendeth in putting seasonable questions to such of his fellows (and +sometimes _respectfully_ to the master himself) who can give him +information respecting the price and quality of goods, the state of +exchange, or the latest improvements in book-keeping; thus making the +motion of his lips, as well as of his fingers, subservient to his +master's interest. Not that be refuseth a brisk saying, or a cheerful +sally of wit, when it comes unforced, is free of offence, and hath a +convenient brevity. For this reason, he hath commonly some such phrase +as this in his mouth,-- + + "It's a slovenly look + To blot your book." + +Or, + + "Red ink for ornament, black for use: + The best of things are open to abuse." + +So upon the eve of any great holiday, of which he keepeth one or two at +least every year, he will merrily say, in the hearing of a confidential +friend, but to none other,-- + + "All work and no play' + Makes Jack a dull boy." + +Or, + + "A bow always bent must crack at last." + +But then this must always be understood to be spoken confidentially, +and, as we say, _under the rose_. + +Lastly, his dress is plain, without singularity,--with no other ornament +than the quill, which is the badge of his function, stuck behind the +dexter ear, and this rather for convenience of having it at hand, when +he hath been called away from his desk, and expecteth to resume his seat +there again shortly, than from any delight which he taketh in foppery or +ostentation. The color of his clothes is generally noted to be black +rather than brown, brown rather than blue or green. His whole deportment +is staid, modest, and civil. His motto is "Regularity." + + * * * * * + +This character was sketched in an interval of business, to divert some +of the melancholy hours of a counting-house. It is so little a creature +of fancy, that it is scarce anything more than a recollection of some of +those frugal and economical maxims which about the beginning of the last +century (England's meanest period) were endeavored to be inculcated and +instilled into the breasts of the London apprentices[E] by a class of +instructors who might not inaptly be termed "The Masters of Mean +Morals." The astonishing narrowness and illiberality of the lessons +contained in some of those books is inconceivable by those whose studies +have not led them that way, and would almost induce one to subscribe to +the hard censure which Drayton has passed upon the mercantile spirit,-- + + "The gripple merchant, born to be the curse + Of this brave isle." + +In the laudable endeavor to eke out "a something contracted income," +Lamb, in his younger days, essayed to write lottery-puffs,--(Byron, we +know, was accused of writing lottery-puffs,)--but he did not succeed +very well in the task. His samples were returned on his hands, as "done +in too severe and terse a style." Some Grub-Street hack--a +nineteenth-century Tom Brown or Mr. Dash--succeeded in composing these +popular and ingenious productions; but the man who wrote the Essays of +Elia could not write a successful lottery-puff. At this exult, O +mediocrity! and take courage, man of genius! + +Although Elia was an unsuccessful lottery-puffer, he always took special +interest in lotteries, and was present at the drawing of many of them. + +Mr. Bickerstaff, we remember,--though I fear that in these days the +pleasant and profitable pages of "The Father" are hardly more known to +the generality of readers than the lost books of Livy or the missing +cantos of the "Faerie Queene,"--possibly we may remember, I say, that +the wise, witty, learned, eloquent, delightful Mr. Bickerstaff, in order +to raise the requisite sum to purchase a ticket in the (then) newly +erected lottery, sold off a couple of globes and a telescope (the +venerable Isaac was a Professor of Palmistry and Astrology, as well as +Censor of Great Britain); and finding by a learned calculation that it +was but a hundred and fifty thousand to one against his being worth one +thousand pounds for thirty-two years, he spent many days and nights in +preparing his mind for this change of fortune. + +And albeit I do not believe that Lamb, in his poorest and most needy +days, was ever tempted by any Alnaschar-dreams of wealth to exchange the +raggedest and least valuable of his "midnight darlings" for the +wherewithal to purchase lottery-tickets, I dare say the money which Elia +had saved for the purchase of some choice and long-coveted old folio or +other went into the coffers of the lottery-dealers. Though Lamb drew +nothing but blanks, "or those more vexatious tantalizers of the spirit, +denominated small prizes," yet he held himself largely indebted to the +Lottery, and, upon its abolition in England in 1825, he wrote a long, +eloquent, pathetic discourse on the great departed. It appeared in +Colburn's "New Monthly Magazine," and is, I think, a very pleasant, +entertaining paper, worthy of its subject, and not unworthy of the pen +of Charles Lamb. I take great pleasure in introducing the article to the +readers of the "Atlantic." + + * * * * * + +THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEFUNCT.[F] + + "Nought but a blank remains, a dead void space, + A step of life that promised such a race." + + --Dryden. + +Napoleon has now sent us back from the grave sufficient echoes of his +living renown: the twilight of posthumous fame has lingered long enough +over the spot where the sun of his glory set; and his name must at +length repose in the silence, if not in the darkness of night. In this +busy and evanescent scene, other spirits of the age are rapidly snatched +away, claiming our undivided sympathies and regrets, until in turn they +yield to some newer and more absorbing grief. Another name is now added +to the list of the mighty departed,--a name whose influence upon the +hopes and fears, the fates and fortunes of our countrymen, has rivalled, +and perhaps eclipsed, that of the defunct "child and champion of +Jacobinism," while it is associated with all the sanctions of legitimate +government, all the sacred authorities of social order and our most holy +religion. We speak of one, indeed, under whose warrant heavy and +incessant contributions were imposed upon our fellow-citizens, but who +exacted nothing without the signet and the sign-manual of most devout +Chancellors of the Exchequer. Not to dally longer with the sympathies of +our readers, we think it right to premonish them that we are composing +an epicedium upon no less distinguished a personage than the Lottery, +whose last breath, after many penultimate puffs, has been sobbed forth +by sorrowing contractors, as if the world itself were about to be +converted into a blank. There is a fashion of eulogy, as well as of +vituperation, and, though the Lottery stood for some time in the latter +predicament, we hesitate not to assert that "_multis ille bonis flebilis +occidit_." Never have we joined in the senseless clamor which condemned +the only tax whereto we became voluntary contributors, the only +resource which gave the stimulus without the danger or infatuation of +gambling, the only alembic which in these plodding days sublimized our +imaginations, and filled them with more delicious dreams than ever +flitted athwart the sensorium of Alnaschar. + +Never can the writer forget, when, as a child, he was hoisted upon a +servant's shoulder in Guildhall, and looked down upon the installed and +solemn pomp of the then drawing Lottery. The two awful cabinets of iron, +upon whose massy and mysterious portals the royal initials were +gorgeously emblazoned, as if, after having deposited the unfulfilled +prophecies within, the King himself had turned the lock, and still +retained the key in his pocket,--the blue-coat boy, with his naked arm, +first converting the invisible wheel, and then diving into the dark +recess for a ticket,--the grave and reverend faces of the commissioners +eying the announced number,--the scribes below calmly committing it to +their huge books,--the anxious countenances of the surrounding +populace,--while the giant figures of Gog and Magog, like presiding +deities, looked down with a grim silence upon the whole +proceeding,--constituted altogether a scene which, combined with the +sudden wealth supposed to be lavished from those inscrutable wheels, was +well calculated to impress the imagination of a boy with reverence and +amazement. Jupiter, seated between the two fatal urns of good and evil, +the blind goddess with her cornucopia, the Parcae wielding the distaff, +the thread of life, and the abhorred shears, seemed but dim and shadowy +abstractions of mythology, when I had gazed upon an assemblage +exercising, as I dreamt, a not less eventful power, and all presented to +me in palpable and living operation. Reason and experience, ever at +their old spiteful work of catching and destroying the bubbles which +youth delighted to follow, have indeed dissipated much of this illusion; +but my mind so far retained the influence of that early impression, that +I have ever since continued to deposit my humble offerings at its +shrine, whenever the ministers of the Lottery went forth with type and +trumpet to announce its periodical dispensations; and though nothing has +been doled out to me from its uudiscerning coffers but blanks, or those +more vexatious tantalizers of the spirit denominated small prizes, yet +do I hold myself largely indebted to this most generous diffuser of +universal happiness. Ingrates that we are, are we to be thankful for no +benefits that are not palpable to sense, to recognize no favors that are +not of marketable value, to acknowledge no wealth unless it can be +counted with the five fingers? If we admit the mind to be the sole +depositary of genuine joy, where is the bosom that has not been elevated +into a temporary Elysium by the magic of the Lottery? Which of us has +not converted his ticket, or even his sixteenth share of one, into a +nest-egg of Hope, upon which he has sat brooding in the secret +roosting-places of his heart, and hatched it into a thousand fantastical +apparitions? + +What a startling revelation of the passions, if all the aspirations +engendered by the Lottery could be made manifest! Many an impecuniary +epicure has gloated over his locked-up warrant for future wealth, as a +means of realizing the dream of his namesake in the "Alchemist":-- + + "My meat shall all come in in Indian shells,-- + Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded + With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies; + The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels, + Boiled i' the spirit of Sol, and dissolved in pearl + (Apicius' diet 'gainst the epilepsy); + And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber + Headed with diamant and carbuncle. + My footboy shall eat pheasants, calvered salmons, + Knots, goodwits, lampreys. I myself will have + The beards of barbels served; instead of salads, + Oiled mushrooms, and the swelling unctuous paps + Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off, + Dressed with an exquisite and poignant sauce, + For which I'll say unto my cook, 'There's gold: + Go forth, and he a knight.'" + +Many a doting lover has kissed the scrap of paper whose promissory +shower of gold was to give up to him his otherwise unattainable Danae; +Nimrods have transformed the same narrow symbol into a saddle by which +they have been enabled to bestride the backs of peerless hunters; while +nymphs have metamorphosed its Protean form into + + "Rings, gauds, conceits, + Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats," + +and all the braveries of dress, to say nothing of the obsequious +husband, the two-footmaned carriage, and the opera-box. By the simple +charm of this numbered and printed rag, gamesters have, for a time at +least, recovered their losses, spendthrifts have cleared off mortgages +from their estates, the imprisoned debtor has leaped over his lofty +boundary of circumscription and restraint and revelled in all the joys +of liberty and fortune, the cottage-walls have swelled out into more +goodly proportion than those of Baucis and Philemon, poverty has tasted +the luxuries of competence, labor has lolled at ease in a perpetual +armchair of idleness, sickness has been bribed into banishment, life has +been invested with new charms, and death deprived of its former terrors. +Nor have the affections been less gratified than the wants, appetites, +and ambitions of mankind. By the conjurations of the same potent spell, +kindred have lavished anticipated benefits upon one another, and charity +upon all. Let it be termed a delusion,--a fool's Paradise is better than +the wise man's Tartarus; be it branded as an _ignis-fatuus_,--it was at +least a benevolent one, which, instead of beguiling its followers into +swamps, caverns, and pitfalls, allured them on with all the +blandishments of enchantment to a garden of Eden, an ever-blooming +Elysium of delight. True, the pleasures it bestowed were evanescent: but +which of our joys are permanent? and who so inexperienced as not to know +that anticipation is always of higher relish than reality, which strikes +a balance both in our sufferings and enjoyments? "The fear of ill +exceeds the ill we fear"; and fruition, in the same proportion, +invariably falls short of hope. "Men are but children of a larger +growth," who may amuse themselves for a long time in gazing at the +reflection of the moon in the water; but, if they jump in to grasp it, +they may grope forever, and only get the farther from their object. He +is the wisest who keeps feeding upon the future, and refrains as long as +possible from undeceiving himself by converting his pleasant +speculations into disagreeable certainties. + +The true mental epicure always purchased his ticket early, and postponed +inquiry into its fate to the last possible moment, during the whole of +which intervening period he had an imaginary twenty thousand locked up +in his desk: and was not this well worth all the money? Who would +scruple to give twenty pounds interest for even the ideal enjoyment of +as many thousands during two or three months? "_Crede quod habes, et +habes_"; and the usufruct of such a capital is sorely not dear at such a +price. Some years ago, a gentleman, in passing along Cheapside, saw the +figures 1,069, of which number he was the sole proprietor, flaming on +the window of a lottery-office as a capital prize. Somewhat flurried by +this discovery, not less welcome than unexpected, he resolved to walk +round St. Paul's that he might consider in what way to communicate the +happy tidings to his wife and family; but, upon repassing the shop, he +observed that the number was altered to 10,069, and, upon inquiry, had +the mortification to learn that his ticket was a blank, and had only +been stuck up in the window by a mistake of the clerk. This effectually +calmed his agitation; but he always speaks of himself as having once +possessed twenty thousand pounds, and maintains that his ten-minutes' +walk round St. Paul's was worth ten times the purchase-money of the +ticket. A prize thus obtained has, moreover, this special advantage: it +is beyond the reach of fate; it cannot be squandered; bankruptcy cannot +lay siege to it; friends cannot pull it down, nor enemies blow it up; it +bears a charmed life, and none of woman born can break its integrity, +even by the dissipation of a single fraction. Show me the property in +these perilous times that is equally compact and impregnable. We can no +longer become enriched for a quarter of an hour; we can no longer +succeed in such splendid failures: all our chances of making such a miss +have vanished with the last of the Lotteries. + +Life will now become a flat, prosaic routine of matter-of-fact; and +sleep itself, erst so prolific of numerical configurations and +mysterious stimulants to lottery-adventure, will be disfurnished of its +figures and figments. People will cease to harp upon the one lucky +number suggested in a dream, and which forms the exception, while they +are scrupulously silent upon the ten thousand falsified dreams which +constitute the rule. Morpheus will stifle Cocker with a handful of +poppies, and our pillows will be no longer haunted by the book of +numbers. + +And who, too, shall maintain the art and mystery of puffing in all its +pristine glory, when the lottery-professors shall have abandoned its +cultivation? They were the first, as they will assuredly be the last, +who fully developed the resources of that ingenious art,--who cajoled +and decoyed the most suspicious and wary reader into a perusal of their +advertisements by devices of endless variety and cunning,--who baited +their lurking schemes with midnight murders, ghost-stories, crim-cons, +bon-mots, balloons, dreadful catastrophes, and every diversity of joy +and sorrow, to catch newspaper-gudgeons. Ought not such talents to be +encouraged? Verily the abolitionists have much to answer for! + +And now, having established the felicity of all those who gained +imaginary prizes, let us proceed to show that the equally numerous class +who were presented with real blanks have not less reason to consider +themselves happy. Most of us have cause to be thankful for that which is +bestowed; but we have all, probably, reason to be still more grateful +for that which is withheld, and more especially for our being denied the +sudden possession of riches. In the Litany, indeed, we Call upon the +Lord to deliver us "in all time of our wealth"; but how few of us are +sincere in deprecating such a calamity! Massinger's _Luke_, and Ben +Jonson's _Sir Epicure Mammon_, and Pope's _Sir Balaam_, and our own +daily observation, might convince us that the Devil "now tempts by +making rich, not making poor." We may read in the "Guardian" a +circumstantial account of a man who was utterly ruined by gaining a +capital prize; we may recollect what Dr. Johnson said to Garrick, when +the latter was making a display of his wealth at Hampton Court,--"Ah, +David! David! these are the things that make a death-bed terrible"; we +may recall the Scripture declaration as to the difficulty a rich man +finds in entering into the kingdom of heaven; and, combining all these +denunciations against opulence, let us heartily congratulate one another +upon our lucky escape from the calamity of a twenty or thirty thousand +pound prize! The fox in the fable, who accused the unattainable grapes +of sourness, was more of a philosopher than we are generally willing to +allow. He was an adept in that species of moral alchemy which turns +everything to gold, and converts disappointment itself into a ground of +resignation and content. Such we have shown to be the great lesson +inculcated by the Lottery, when rightly contemplated; and if we might +parody M. de Chateaubriand's jingling expression, "_Le Roi est mort: +vive le Roi_!" we should be tempted to exclaim, "The Lottery is no more: +long live the Lottery!" + + * * * * * + +The foregoing article, as the reader may possibly remember, was not +Lamb's only contribution to the "New Monthly Magazine." Indeed, it was +in that pleasant and popular periodical,--then at the height of its +popularity, with many of the most admired writers in Great Britain among +its contributors, and edited by the elegant and polished poet who sang +the "Pleasures of Hope,"--it was in this magazine that Elia's admirable +"Popular Fallacies" were first given to the world. (I fear, however, +that the exquisite grace, beauty, and polish of these delightful papers +were hardly appreciated by the readers of the "New Monthly.") And it was +for this publication that he undertook to write a novel. Although Elia +had but little fancy for novels himself, and in the writing of them +would not have done justice, perhaps, to his rare genius, yet, +nevertheless, I suspect that all admirers of "Rosamund Gray," if not all +readers of novels, regret that he did not complete the work of fiction +he began for the "New Monthly Magazine." Judging from the specimen that +was published, it would have been, had the author seen fit to finish it, +quite an original and very characteristic production. Here is the first +chapter of the story. Though advertised to be continued, this is all of +it that ever appeared. + + * * * * * + +REMINISCENCES OF JUKE JUDKINS, ESQ., OF BIRMINGHAM + +I am the only son of a considerable brazier in Birmingham, who, dying in +1803, left me successor to the business, with no other incumbrance than +a sort of rent-charge, which I am enjoined to pay out of it, of +ninety-three pounds sterling _per annum_, to his widow, my mother, and +which the improving state of the concern, I bless God, has hitherto +enabled me to discharge with punctuality. (I say, I am enjoined to pay +the said sum, but not strictly obligated: that is to say, as the will is +worded, I believe the law would relieve me from the payment of it; but +the wishes of a dying parent should in some sort have the effect of +law.) So that, though the annual profits of my business, on an average +of the last three or four years, would appear to an indifferent +observer, who should inspect my shop-books, to amount to the sum of one +thousand three hundred and three pounds, odd shillings, the real +proceeds in that time have fallen short of that sum to the amount of the +aforesaid payment of ninety-three pounds sterling annually. + +I was always my father's favorite. He took a delight, to the very last, +in recounting the little sagacious tricks and innocent artifices of my +childhood. One manifestation thereof I never heard him repeat without +tears of joy trickling down his cheeks. It seems, that, when I quitted +the parental roof, (August 27th, 1788,) being then six years and not +quite a month old, to proceed to the Free School at Warwick, where my +father was a sort of trustee, my mother--as mothers are usually +provident on these occasions--had stuffed the pockets of the coach, +which was to convey me and six more children of my own growth that were +going to be entered along with me at the same seminary, with a +prodigious quantity of gingerbread, which I remember my father said was +more than was needed: and so, indeed, it was; for, if I had been to eat +it all myself, it would have got stale and mouldly before it had been +half spent. The consideration whereof set me upon my contrivances how I +might secure to myself as much of the gingerbread as would keep good for +the next two or three days, and yet none of the rest in a manner be +wasted. I had a little pair of pocket-compasses, which I usually carried +about me for the purpose of making draughts and measurements, at which I +was always very ingenious, of the various engines and mechanical +inventions in which such a town as Birmingham abounded. By the means of +these, and a small penknife which my father had given me, I cut out the +one half of the cake, calculating that the remainder would reasonably +serve my turn; and subdividing it into many little slices, which were +curious to see for the neatness and niceness of their proportion, I sold +it out in so many pennyworths to my young companions as served us all +the way to Warwick, which is a distance of some twenty miles from this, +town: and very merry, I assure you, we made ourselves with it, feasting +all the way. By this honest stratagem, I put double the prime cost of +the gingerbread into my purse, and secured as much as I thought would +keep good and moist for my next two or three days' eating. When I told +this to my parents, on their first visit to me at Warwick, my father +(good man) patted me on the cheek, and stroked my head, and seemed as if +he could never make enough of me; but my mother unaccountably burst into +tears, and said "it was a very niggardly action," or some such +expression, and that "she would rather it would please God to take +me"--meaning, God help me, that I should die--"than that she should live +to see me grow up a _mean man_": which shows the difference of parent +from parent, and how some mothers are more harsh and intolerant to their +children than some fathers,--when we might expect quite the contrary. My +father, however, loaded me with presents from that time, which made me +the envy of my school-fellows. As I felt this growing disposition in +them, I naturally sought to avert it by all the means in my power; and +from that time I used to eat my little packages of fruit and other nice +things in a corner, so privately that I was never found out. Once, I +remember, I had a huge apple sent me, of that sort which they call +_cats'-heads_. I concealed this all day under my pillow; and at night, +but not before I had ascertained that my bed-fellow was sound +asleep,--which I did by pinching him rather smartly two or three times, +which he seemed to perceive no more than a dead person, though once or +twice he made a motion as if he would turn, which frightened me,--I say, +when I had made all sure, I fell to work upon my apple; and though it +was as big as an ordinary man's two fists, I made shift to get through +it before it was time to get up. And a more delicious feast I never +made,--thinking all night what a good parent I had (I mean my father) to +send me so many nice things, when the poor lad that lay by me had no +parent or friend in the world to send him anything nice; and thinking of +his desolate condition, I munched and munched as silently as I could, +that I might not set him a-longing, if he overheard me. And yet, for all +this considerateness and attention to other people's feelings; I was +never much a favorite with my school-fellows; which I have often +wondered at, seeing that I never defrauded any one of them of the value +of a halfpenny, or told stories of them to their master, as some little +lying boys would do, but was ready to do any of them all the services in +my power that were consistent with my own well-doing. I think nobody can +be expected to go further than that.--But I am detaining my reader too +long in the recording of my juvenile days. It is time that I should go +forward to a season when it became natural that I should have some +thoughts of marrying, and, as they say, settling in the world. +Nevertheless, my reflections on what I may call the boyish period of my +life may have their use to some readers. It is pleasant to trace the man +in the boy, to observe shoots of generosity in those young years, and to +watch the progress of liberal sentiments, and what I may call a genteel +way of thinking, which is discernible in some children at a very early +age, and usually lays the foundation of all that is praiseworthy in the +manly character afterwards. + +With the warmest inclinations towards that way of life, and a serious +conviction of its superior advantages over a single one, it has been the +strange infelicity of my lot never to have entered into the respectable +estate of matrimony. Yet I was once very near it. I courted a young +woman in my twenty-seventh year,--for so early I began to feel symptoms +of the tender passion! She was well to do in the world, as they call +it, but yet not such a fortune as, all things considered, perhaps I +might have pretended to. It was not my own choice altogether; but my +mother very strongly pressed me to it. She was always putting it to me, +that I "had comings-in sufficient,--that I need not stand upon a +portion"; though the young woman, to do her justice, had considerable +expectations, which yet did not quite come up to my mark, as I told you +before. She had this saying always in her mouth: that I "had money +enough; that it was time I enlarged my housekeeping, and to show a +spirit befitting my circumstances." In short, what with her +importunities, and my own desires _in part_ cooeperating,--for, as I +said, I was not yet quite twenty-seven, a time when the youthful +feelings may be pardoned, if they show a little impetuosity,--I +resolved, I say, upon all these considerations, to set about the +business of courting in right earnest. I was a young man then, and +having a spice of romance in my character, (as the reader doubtless has +observed long ago,) such as that sex is apt to be taken with, I had +reason in no long time to think my addresses were anything but +disagreeable. + +Certainly the happiest part of a young man's life is the time when he is +going a-courting. All the generous impulses are then awake, and he feels +a double existence in participating his hopes and wishes with another +being. Return yet again for a brief moment, ye visionary views, +transient enchantments! ye moonlight rambles with Cleora in the Silent +Walk at Vauxhall,--(N.B.--About a mile from Birmingham, and resembling +the gardens of that name near London, only that the price of admission +is lower,)--when the nightingale has suspended her notes in June to +listen to our loving discourses, while the moon was overhead! (for we +generally used to take our tea at Cleora's mother's before we set out, +not so much to save expenses as to avoid the publicity of a repast in +the gardens,--coming in much about the time of half-price, as they call +it)--ye soft intercommunions of soul, when, exchanging mutual vows, we +prattled of coming felicities! The loving disputes we have had under +those trees, when this house (planning our future settlement) was +rejected, because, though cheap, it was dull, and the other house was +given up, because, though agreeably situated, it was too +high-rented,--one was too much in the heart of the town, another was too +far from business. These minutiae will seem impertinent to the aged and +the prudent. I write them only to the young. Young lovers, and +passionate as being young, (such were Cleora and I then,) alone can +understand me. After some weeks wasted, as I may now call it, in this +sort of amorous colloquy, we at length fixed upon the house in the High +Street, No. 203, just vacated by the death of Mr. Hutton of this town, +for our future residence. I had till that time lived in lodgings (only +renting a shop for business) to be near to my mother,--near, I say: not +in the same house with her, for that would have been to introduce +confusion into our housekeeping, which it was desirable to keep +separate. Oh, the loving wrangles, the endearing differences I had with +Cleora, before we could quite make up our minds to the house that was to +receive us!--I pretending, for argument's sake, that the rent was too +high, and she insisting that the taxes were moderate in proportion, and +love at last reconciling us in the same choice. I think at that time, +moderately speaking, she might have had anything out of me for asking. I +do not, nor shall ever, regret that my character at that time was marked +with a tinge of prodigality. Age comes fast enough upon us, and, in its +good time, will prune away all that is inconvenient in these excesses. +Perhaps it is right that it should do so. Matters, as I said, were +ripening to a conclusion between us, only the house was yet not +absolutely taken. Some necessary arrangements, which the ardor of my +youthful impetuosity could hardly brook at that time (love and youth +will be precipitate)--some preliminary arrangements, I say, with the +landlord, respecting fixtures,--very necessary things to be considered +in a young man about to settle in the world, though not very accordant +with the impatient state of my then passions,--some obstacles about the +valuation of the fixtures,--had hitherto precluded (and I shall always +think providentially) my final closes with his offer, when one of those +accidents, which, unimportant in themselves, often arise to give a turn +to the most serious intentions of our life, intervened, and put an end +at once to my projects of wiving and of housekeeping. + +I was never much given to theatrical entertainments,--that is, at no +time of my life was I ever what they call a regular play-goer; but on +some occasion of a benefit-night, which was expected to be very +productive, and indeed turned out so, Cleora expressing a desire to be +present, I could do no less than offer, as I did very willingly, to +squire her and her mother to the pit. At that time it was not customary +in our town for tradesfolk, except some of the very topping ones, to +sit, as they now do, in the boxes. At the time appointed I waited upon +the ladies, who had brought with them a young man, a distant relation, +whom it seems they had invited to be of the party. This a little +disconcerted me, as I had about me barely silver enough to pay for our +three selves at the door, and did not at first know that their relation +had proposed paying for himself. However, to do the young man justice, +he not only paid for himself, but for the old lady besides,--leaving me +only to pay for two, as it were. In our passage to the theatre, the +notice of Cleora was attracted to some orange-wenches that stood about +the doors vending their commodities. She was leaning on my arm; and I +could feel her every now and then giving me a nudge, as it is called, +which I afterwards discovered were hints that I should buy some oranges. +It seems, it is a custom at Birmingham, and perhaps in other places, +when a gentleman treats ladies to the play, especially when a full night +is expected, and that the house will be inconveniently warm, to provide +them with this kind of fruit, oranges being esteemed for their cooling +property. But how could I guess at that, never having treated ladies to +a play before, and being, as I said, quite a novice at these kind of +entertainments? At last she spoke plain out, and begged that I would buy +some of "those oranges," pointing to a particular barrow. But when I +came to examine the fruit, I did not think that the quality of it was +answerable to the price. In this way I handled several baskets of them; +but something in them all displeased me. Some had thin rinds, and some +were plainly over-ripe, which is as great a fault as not being ripe +enough; and I could not (what they call) make a bargain. While I stood +haggling with the women, secretly determining to put off my purchase +till I should get within the theatre, where I expected we should have +better choice, the young man, the cousin, (who, it seems, had left us +without my missing him,) came running to us with his pockets stuffed out +with oranges, inside and out, as they say. It seems, not liking the look +of the barrow-fruit any more than myself, he had slipped away to an +eminent fruiterer's, about three doors distant, which I never had the +sense to think of, and had laid out a matter of two shillings in some of +the best St. Michael's, I think, I ever tasted. What a little hinge, as +I said before, the most important affairs in life may turn upon! The +mere inadvertence to the fact that there was an eminent fruiterer's +within three doors of us, though we had just passed it without the +thought once occurring to me, which he had taken advantage of, lost me +the affections of my Cleora. From that time she visibly cooled towards +me, and her partiality was as visibly transferred to this cousin. I was +long unable to account for this change in her behavior; when one day, +accidentally discoursing of oranges to my mother, alone, she let drop a +sort of reproach to me, as if I had offended Cleora by my _nearness_, as +she called it, that evening. Even now, when Cleora has been wedded some +years to that same officious relation, as I may call him, I can hardly +be persuaded that such a trifle could have been the motive to her +inconstancy; for could she suppose that I would sacrifice my dearest +hopes in her to the paltry sum of two shillings, when I was going to +treat her to the play, and her mother too, (an expense of more than four +times that amount,) if the young man had not interfered to pay for the +latter, as I mentioned? But the caprices of the sex are past finding +out: and I begin to think my mother was in the right; for doubtless +women know women better than we can pretend to know them. + + * * * * * + +WORKS AND DAYS. + + --"Ritorna a tua scienza! + Che vuol, quanto la cosa e piu perfetta, + Piu senta il bene, e cosi la doglienza."--DANTE. + + + Record, O Muse! and let the record stand, + That, when Bellona ravaged half the land, + When even these groves, from bloody fields afar, + Oft shook and shuddered at the sounds of war, + When the drum drowned the music of the flail, + And midnight marches broke the peace of Yale, + Then gathered here amid these vacant bowers + A band of scholars, men of various powers, + Various in motion, but with one desire, + Through wreck and war to watch the sacred fire, + The authentic fire that great forethoughted Mind + Stole from the gods for good of humankind. + + Say, Terebinthia, from thy tree of pine, + Nymph of New England! Muse beyond the Nine! + Great Berkeley's goddess! giver oftentimes + Of strength to him, and now and then of rhymes,-- + Whose tears were balsam to the Bishop's brain, + To cheer, but not infuriate his vein,-- + Tell me, sad virgin, who came after terms + In these dry fields to stir the slumbering germs? + + Their names were few,--but Agassiz was one, + And Peirce, the lord of numbers, and alone: + Arithmeticians many more will be, + But when another to outrival thee? + Then those Professors,--Philadelphian pair, + Winlock, the wise, and watchful as a hare, + Bright Benjamin that bears the golden name, + (Apthorp the quick,) Augustus of the same, + And that strict student, evermore exact, + One of the Wymans,--both such men of fact,-- + If observation with extensive view + More such observers can observe, they're few. + + Ye sacred shades where Silliman made gray + Those hairs that greet him eighty-five to-day! + Good names be these! good names to stand with his,-- + Fit to record with Yale's old histories, + When sage Timotheus woke the Western lyre + That Hillhouse touched, and Percival with fire! + + Declare now, Clio! 'mid this gifted band, + Who held the reins?--what scientific hand? + Did He preside? did Franklin's honored heir + With wonted influence possess the chair? + No: bowed with cares, a servant of the State, + In loftier fields he held his watch sedate: + Bache could not come,--for us a mighty void! + Yet well for him,--for he was best employed + High on his tented mountain's breezy slope, + Might but those maidens meet him--Health and Hope! + + Yet wouldst thou know who stood superior there, + Where all seemed equal, this I may declare:-- + Of all the wise that wandered from the East + Or West or South to sit in solemn feast, + Two men did mostly fascinate the Muse, + Differing in genius, but with equal views: + One measuring heaven, in starry lore supreme; + The other lighting, like the morning beam, + Old Ocean's bed, or his fresh Alpine snows, + Reading the laws whereby the glacier grows, + Or life, through some half-intimated plan, + Rose from a star-fish to the race of man: + Choose thine own monarch! either well might reign! + I knew but one before,--and now but twain. + + Now shut the gates,--the fields have drunk enough + The time demands a Muse of sterner stuff; + No more one bard, exempt from vulgar throng, + May sing through Roman towns the Ascraean song, + Or court in Learning's elmy bowers relief + From individual shame or general grief: + Silence is music to a soul outworn + With the wild clangor of the warlike horn, + The paltry fife, the brain-benumbing drum. + When, white Astraea! will thy kingdom come,-- + The chaster period that our boyhood saw,-- + Arts above arms, and without conquest, Law,-- + Rights well maintained without the strength of steel + And milder manners for the gentle weal,-- + That Freedom's promise may not come to blight, + And Wisdom fail, and Knowledge end in night? + +NEW HAVEN, _August 8_. + + * * * * * + +PAUL JONES AND DENIS DUVAL. + + +Ingham and his wife have a habit of coming in to spend the evening with +us, unless we go there, or unless we both go to Haliburton's, or unless +there is something better to do elsewhere. + +We talk, or we play besique, or Mrs. Haliburton sings, or we sit on the +stoup and hear the crickets sing; but when there is a new Trollope or +Thackeray,--alas, there will never be another new Thackeray!--all else +has always been set aside till we have read that aloud. + +When I began the last sentence of the last Thackeray that ever was +written, Ingham jumped out of his seat, and cried,-- + +"There, I said I remembered this _Duval_, and you made fun of me. Go +on,--and I will tell you all about him, when you have done." + +So I read on to the sudden end:-- + +"We had been sent for in order to protect a fleet of merchantmen that +were bound to the Baltic, and were to sail under the convoy of our ship +and the Countess of Scarborough, commanded by Captain Piercy. And thus +it came about, that, after being twenty-five days in His Majesty's +service, I had the fortune to be present at one of the most severe and +desperate combats that have been fought in our or in any time. + +"I shall not attempt to tell that story of the battle of the 23d of +September, which ended in our glorious captain striking his own colors +to our superior and irresistible enemy." (This enemy, as Mr. Thackeray +has just said, is "Monsieur John Paul Jones, afterwards Knight of His +Most Christian Majesty's Order of Merit.") "Sir Richard [Pearson, of the +English frigate Serapis] has told the story of his disaster in words +nobler than any I could supply, who, though indeed engaged in that fatal +action, in which our flag went down before a renegade Briton and his +motley crew, saw but a very small portion of the battle which ended so +fatally for us. It did not commence till nightfall. How well I remember +the sound of the enemy's gun, of which the shot crashed into our side in +reply to the challenge of our captain who hailed her! Then came a +broadside from us,--the first I had ever heard in battle."[G] + +Ingham did not speak for a little while. None of us did. And when we +did, it was not to speak of Denis Duval, so much as of the friend we +lost, when we lost the monthly letter, or at least, Roundabout Paper, +from Mr. Thackeray. How much we had prized him,--how strange it was that +there was ever a day when we did not know about him,--how strange it was +that anybody should call him cynical, or think men must apologize for +him:--of such things and of a thousand more we spoke, before we came +back to Denis Duval. + +But at last Fausta said,--"What do you mean, Fred, by saying you +remember Denis Duval?" + +And I,--"Did you meet him at the Battle of Pavia, or in Valerius +Flaccus's Games in Numidia?" For we have a habit of calling Ingham "The +Wandering Jew." + +But he would not be jeered at; he only called us to witness, that, from +the first chapter of Denis Duval, he had said the name was +familiar,--even to the point of looking it out in the Biographical +Dictionary; and now that it appeared Duval fought on board the Serapis, +he said it all came back to him. His grandfather, his mother's father, +was a "volunteer"-boy, preparing to be midshipman, on the Serapis,--and +he knew he had heard him speak of Duval! + +Oh, how we all screamed! It was so like Ingham! Haliburton asked him if +his grandfather was not _best-man_ when Denis married Agnes. Fausta +asked him if he would not continue the novel in the "Cornhill." I said +it was well known that the old gentleman advised Montcalm to surrender +Quebec, interpreted between Cook and the first Kamehameha, piloted La +Perouse between the Centurion and the Graves in Boston harbor, and +called him up with a toast at a school-dinner;--that I did not doubt, +therefore, that it was all right,--and that he and Duval had sworn +eternal friendship in their boyhood, and now formed one constellation in +the southern hemisphere. But after we had all done, Ingham offered to +bet Newport for the Six that he would substantiate what he said. This is +by far the most tremendous wager in our little company; it is never +offered, unless there be certainty to back it; it is, therefore, never +accepted; and the nearest approach we have ever made to Newport, as a +company, was one afternoon when we went to South-Boston Point in the +horse-car, and found the tide down. Silence reigned, therefore, and the +subject changed. + +The next night we were at Ingham's. He unlocked a ravishing old black +mahogany secretary he has, and produced a pile of parchment-covered +books of different sizes, which were diaries of old Captain Heddart's. +They were often called log-books,--but, though in later years kept on +paper ruled for log-books, and often following to a certain extent the +indications of the columns, they were almost wholly personal, and +sometimes ran a hundred pages without alluding at all to the ship on +which he wrote. Well! the earliest of these was by far the most elegant +in appearance. My eyes watered a little, as Ingham showed me on the +first page, in the stiff Italian hand which our grandmothers wrote in, +when they aspired to elegance, the dedication,-- + + "TO MY DEAR FRANCIS, + _who will write something here every day, because he loves his_ + MOTHER." + +That old English gentleman, whom I just remember, when Ingham first went +to sea, as the model of mild, kind old men, at Ingham's mother's +house,--then he went to sea once himself for the first time,--and he had +a mother himself,--and as he went off, she gave him the best album-book +that Thetford Regis could make,--and wrote this inscription in ink that +was not rusty then! + +Well, again! in this book, Ingham, who had been reading it all day, had +put five or six newspaper-marks. + +The first was at this entry,-- + + "A new boy came into the mess. They said he was a French boy, but + the first luff says he is the Capptain's own nef-few." + +Two pages on,-- + + "The French boy fought Wimple and beat him. They fought seeventeen + rounds." + +Farther yet,-- + + "Toney is offe on leave. So the French boy was in oure watch. He + is not a French boy. His name is Doovarl." + +In the midst of a great deal about the mess, and the fellows, and the +boys, and the others, and an inexplicable fuss there is about a +speculation the mess entered into with some illicit dealer for an +additional supply, not of liquor, but of sugar,--which I believe was +detected, and which covers pages of badly written and worse spelled +manuscript, not another distinct allusion to the French boy,--not near +so much as to Toney or Wimple or Scroop, or big Wallis or little Wallis. +Ingham had painfully toiled through it all, and I did after him. But in +another volume, written years after, at a time when the young officer +wrote a much more rapid, though scarcely more legible hand, he found a +long account of an examination appointed to pass midshipmen, and, to our +great delight, as it began, this exclamation:-- + +"When the Amphion's boat came up, who should step up but old Den, whom I +had not seen since we were in the Rainbow. We were together all +day,--and it was very good to see him." + +And afterwards, in the detail of the examination, he is spoken of as +"Duval." The passage is a little significant. + +Young Heddart details all the questions put to him, as thus:-- + +"'Old Saumarez asked me which was the narrowest part of the Channel, and +I told him. Then he asked how Silly [_sic_] bore, if I had 75 fathom, +red sand and gravel. I said, 'About N.W.,' and the old man said, 'Well, +yes,--rather West of N.W., is not it so, Sir Richard?' And Sir Richard +did not know what they were talking about, and they pulled out +Mackenzie's Survey," etc., etc., etc.,--more than any man would delve +through at this day, unless he were searching for Paul Jones or Denis +Duval, or some other hero. "What is the mark for going into Spithead?" +"What is the mark for clearing Royal Sovereign Shoals?"--let us hope +they were all well answered. Evidently, in Mr. Heddart's mind, they were +more important than any other detail of that day, but fortunately for +posterity then comes this passage:-- + +"After me they called up Brooke, and Calthorp, and Clements,--and then +old Wingate, Tom Wingate's father, who had examined them, seemed to get +tired, and turned to Pierson, and said, 'Sir Richard, you ought to take +your turn." And so Sir Richard began, and, as if by accident, called up +Den. + +"'Mr. Duval,' said he, 'how do you find the variation of the compass by +the amplitudes or azimuths?' + +"Of course any fool knew that. And of course he could not ask all such +questions. So, when he came on _practice_, he said,-- + +"'Mr. Duval, what is the mark for Stephenson's Shoal?' + +"Oh, dear! what fun it was to hear Den answer,--Lyd Church and the ruins +of Lynn Monastery must come in one. The Shoal was about three miles from +Dungeness, and bore S.W. or somewhere from it. The Soundings were red +sand--or white sand or something,--very glib. Then-- + +"'How would you anchor under Dungeness, Mr. Duval?' + +"And Duval was not too glib, but very certain. He would bring it to bear +S.W. by W., or, perhaps, W.S.W.; he would keep the Hope open of Dover, +and he would try to have twelve fathoms water. + +"'Well, Mr. Duval, how does Dungeness bear from Beachy Head?'--and so +on, and so on. + +"And Den was very good and modest, but quite correct all the same, and +as true to the point as Cocker and Gunter together. Oh, dear! I hope the +post-captains did not know that Sir Richard was Den's uncle, and that +Den had sailed in and out of Winchelsea harbour, in sight of Beachy Head +and Dungeness, ever since the day after he was born! + +"But he made no secret of it when we passed-mids dined at the Anchor. + +"A jolley time we had! I slept there." + +With these words, Denis Duval vanishes from the Diary. + + +Of course, as soon as we had begged Ingham's pardon, we turned back to +find the battle with the Bon Homme Richard. Little enough was there. The +entry reads thus,--this time rather more in log-book shape. + +On the left-hand page, in columns elaborately ruled,-- + +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days. |Sept. 1779.|Wind.|Courses. |Dist.|Lat. |Long. | Bearings. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- + | | |Waiting for | | | | Flamboro. +Wednesday,\| 22.23. | S.E.|Convoy till |None.|54 deg. 9'|0 deg.5' E.| H. +Thursday. /| | |11 of | | | | N. by W. + | | |Thursday. | | | | +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +The rest of that page is blank. The right page, headed, "_Remarks, &c., +on board H.M.S. Serapis_," in the boy's best copy-hand, goes on with +longer entries than any before. + +"42 vessels reported for the convoy. Mr. Mycock says we shall not wait +for the rest." + +"10 o'clock, A.M. Thursday. Two men came on board with news of the +pirate Jones. Signal for a coast-pilot,--weighed and sailed as soon as +he came. As we pass Flamboro' Head, two sails in sight S.S.W., which the +men say are he and his consort." + +Then, for the next twenty-four hours,-- + +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days.|Sept. 1779.|Wind. |Courses.|Dist. |Lat. |Long. | Bearings. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- + | | | | | | |Flamb. H. +Thursday,\| 23.24. |S.S.W.| E.S.E. |Nothing.|52.13.|0.11. E.|W. aftern. +Friday. /| | | W.S.W. | | | |W. by N. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +"Foggy at first,--clear afterwards. + +"At 1 P.M. beat to quarters. All my men at quarters but West, who was on +shore when we sailed, the men say on leave,--and Collins in the sick +bay. (MEM. _shirked_.) The others in good spirits. Mr. Wallis made us a +speech, and the men cheered well. Engaged the enemy at about 7.20 P.M. +Mr. Wallis had bade me open my larboard ports, and I did so; but I did +not loosen the stern-guns, which are fought by my crew, when necessary. +The captain hailed the stranger twice, and then the order came to fire. +Our gun No. 2 (after-gun but one) was my first piece. No. 1 flashed, and +the gunner had to put on new priming. Fired twice with those guns, but +before we had loaded the second time, for the third fire, the enemy ran +into us. One of my men (Craik) was badly jammed in the shock,--squeezed +between the gun and the deck. But he did not leave the gun. Tried to +fire into the enemy, but just as we got the gun to bear, and got a new +light, he fell off. It was very bad working in the dark. The lanthorns +are as bad as they can be. Loaded both guns, got new portfires, and we +ran into the enemy. We were wearing, and I believe our jib-boom got into +his mizzen rigging. The ships were made fast by the men on the upper +deck. At first I could not bring a gun to bear, the enemy was so far +ahead of me. But as soon as we anchored, our ship forged ahead a +little,--and by bringing the hind axle-trucks well aft, I made both my +starboard guns bear on his bows. Fired right into his forward ports. I +do not think there was a man or a gun there. In the second battery, +forward of me, they had to blow our own ports open, because the enemy +lay so close. Stopped firing three times for my guns to cool. No. 2 +cools quicker than No. 1, or I think so. Forward we could hear +musket-shot, and grenadoes,--but none of these things fell where we were +at work. A man came into port No. 5, where little Wallis was, and said +that the enemy was sinking, and had released him and the other +prisoners. But we had no orders to stop firing. Afterwards there was a +great explosion. It began at the main hatch, but came back to me and +scalded some of my No. 2 men horribly. Afterwards Mr. Wallis came and +took some of No. 2's men to board. I tried to bring both guns to bear +with No. 1's crew. No. 2's crew did not come back. At half-past ten all +firing stopped on the upper deck. Mr. Wallis went up to see if the enemy +had struck. He did not come down,--but the master came down and said we +had struck, and the orders were to cease firing. + +"We had struck to the Richard, 44, Commodore Jones, and the Alliance, +40, which was the vessel they saw from the quarter-deck. Our consort, +the Countess Scarborough, had struck to the enemy's ship Pallas. The +officers and crew of the Richard are on board our ship. The mids talk +English well, and are good fellows. They are very sorry for Mr. Mayrant, +who was stabbed with a pike in boarding us, and Mr. Potter, another +midshipman, who was hurt. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- +Week-days.|Sept., 1779.|Wind. |Courses.|Dist.|Lat. |Long. |Bearings. +----------------------------------------------------------------------- +Friday, \|24th, 25th. |S.S.W.| |None.|As |As |As above. +Saturday./| | | | |above. |above. | +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +"The enemy's sick and wounded and prisoners were brought on board. At +ten on the 25th, his ship, the Richard, sank. Played chess with Mr. +Merry, one of the enemy's midshipmen. Beat him twice out of three. + +"There is a little French fellow named Travaillier among their +volunteers. When I first saw him he was naked to his waist. He had used +his coat for a wad, and his shirt wet to put out fire. Plenty of our men +had their coats burnt off, but they did not live to tell it." + +Then the diary relapses into the dreariness of most ship-diaries, till +they come into the Texel, when it is to a certain extent relieved by +discussions about exchanges. + + * * * * * + +Such a peep at the most remarkable frigate-action in history, as that +action was seen by a boy in the dark, through such key-hole as the +after-ports of one of the vessels would give him, stimulated us all to +"ask for more," and then to abuse Master Robert Heddart, "volunteer," a +little, that he had not gone into more detail. Ingham defended his +grandfather by saying that it was the way diaries always served you, +which is true enough, and that the boy had literally told what he saw, +which was also true enough, only he seemed to have seen "mighty little," +which, I suppose, should be spelled "mity little." When we said this, +Ingham said it was all in the dark, and Haliburton added, that "the +battle-lanterns were as bad as they could be," Ingham said, however, +that he thought there was more somewhere,--he had often heard the old +gentleman tell the story in vastly more detail. + +Accordingly, a few days after, he sent me a yellow old letter on long +foolscap sheets, in which the old gentleman had written out his +recollections for Ingham's own benefit, after some talk of old times on +Thanksgiving evening. It is all he has ever found in his grandfather's +rather tedious papers about the battle, and one passing allusion in it +drops the curtain on Denis Duval. + +Here it is. + + "JAMAICA PLAIN, NOV. 29, 1824. + + "MY DEAR BOY,--I am very glad to comply with your request + about an account of the great battle between the Serapis and the + Bon Homme Richard and her consort. I had rather you should write + out what I told you all on Thanksgiving evening at your mother's, + for you hold a better pen than I do. But I know my memory of the + event is strong, for it was the first fight I ever saw; and + although it does not compare with Rodney's great fight with De + Grasse, which I saw also, yet there are circumstances connected + with it which will always make it a remarkable fight in history. + + "You said, at your mother's, that you had never understood why the + men on each side kept inquiring if the others had struck. The + truth is, we had it all our own way below. And, as it proved, when + our captain, Pearson, struck, most of his men were below. I know, + that, in all the confusion and darkness and noise, I had no idea, + aft on the main deck, that we were like to come off second best. + On the other hand, at that time, the Richard probably had not a + man left between-decks, unless some whom they were trying to keep + at her pumps. But on her upper deck and quarter-deck and in her + tops she had it all her own way. Jones himself was there; by that + time Dale was there; and they had wholly cleared our upper deck, + as we had cleared their main deck and gun-room. This was the + strangeness of that battle. We were pounding through and through + her, while she did not fight a gun of her main battery. But Jones + was working his quarter-deck guns so as almost to rake our deck + from stem to stern. You know, the ships were foul and lashed + together. Jones says in his own account he aimed at our main-mast + and kept firing at it. You can see that no crew could have lived + under such a fire as that. There you have the last two hours of + the battle: Jones's men all above, our men all below; we pounding + at his main deck, he pelting at our upper deck. If there had not + been some such division, of course the thing could not have lasted + so long, even with the horrid havoc there was. I never saw + anything like it, and I hope, dear boy, you may never have to." + + [_Mem._ by Ingham. I had just made my first cruise as a midshipman + in the U.S. navy on board the Intrepid, when the old gentleman + wrote this to me. He made his first cruise in the British navy in + the Serapis. After he was exchanged, he remained in that service + till 1789, when he married in Canso, N.S., resigned his + commission, and settled there.] + +The letter continues:-- + + "I have been looking back on my own boyish journal of that time. + My mother made me keep a log, as I hope yours does. But it is + strange to see how little of the action it tells. The truth is, I + was nothing but a butterfly of a youngster. To save my conceit, + the first lieutenant, Wallis, told me I was assigned to keep an + eye on the after-battery, where were two fine old fellows as ever + took the King's pay really commanding the crews and managing the + guns. Much did I know about sighting or firing them! However, I + knew enough to keep my place. I remember tying up a man's arm with + my own shirt-sleeves, by way of showing I was not frightened, as + in truth I was. And I remember going down to the cockpit with a + poor wretch who was awfully burned with powder,--and the sight + there was so much worse than it was at my gun that I was glad to + get back again. Well, you may judge, that, from two + after-portholes below, first larboard, then starboard, I _saw_ + little enough of the battle. But I have talked about it since, + with Dale, who was Jones's first lieutenant, and whom I met at + Charlestown when he commanded the yard there. I have talked of it + with Wallis many times. I talked of it with Sir Richard Pearson, + who was afterwards Lt.-Gov. of Greenwich, and whom I saw there. + Paul Jones I have touched my hat to, but never spoke to, except + when we all took wine with him one day at dinner. But I have met + his niece, Miss Janet Taylor, who lives in London now, and + calculates nautical tables. I hope you will see her some day. Then + there is a gentleman named Napier in Edinburgh, who has the + Richard's log-book. Go and see it, if you are ever there,--Mr. + George Napier. And I have read every word I could find about the + battle. It was a remarkable fight indeed. 'All of which I was, + though so little I saw.'" + + [_Mem._ by F.C. And dear Ingham's nice old grandfather is a little + slow in getting into action, _me judice_. It was a way they had in + the navy before steam.] + +The letter continues:-- + + "I do not know that Captain Pearson was a remarkable man; but I do + know he was a brave man. He was made Sir Richard Pearson by the + King for his bravery in this fight. When Paul Jones heard of that, + he said Pearson deserved the knighthood, and that he would make + him an earl the next time he met him. Of course, I only knew the + captain as a midshipman (we were 'volunteers' then) knows a + post-captain, and that for a few months only. We joined in summer + (the Serapis was just commissioned for the first time). We were + taken prisoners in September, but it was mid-winter before we were + exchanged. He was very cross all the time we were in Holland. I do + not suppose he wrote as good a letter as Jones did. I have heard + that he could not spell well. But what I know is that he was a + brave man. + + "Paul Jones is one of the curiosities of history. He certainly was + of immense value to your struggling cause. He kept England in + terror; he showed the first qualities as a naval commander; he + achieved great successes with very little force. Yet he has a + damaged reputation. I do not think he deserves this reputation; + but I know he has it. Now I can see but one difference between him + and any of your land-heroes or your water-heroes whom all the + world respects. This is, that he was born on our side, and they + were born on the American side. This ought not to make any + difference. But in actual fact I think it did. Jones was born in + the British Islands. The popular feeling of England made a + distinction between the allegiance which he owed to King George + and that of born Americans. It ought not to have done so, because + he had in good faith emigrated to America before the Rebellion, + and took part in it with just the same motives which led any other + American officer.[H] + + "He had a fondness for books and for society, and thought himself + gifted in writing. I should think he wrote too much. I have seen + verses of his which were very poor." + + [_Mem_. by F.C. I should think Ingham's grandfather wrote too + much. I have seen letters of his which were very long, before they + came to their subject.] + +The letter continues:-- + + "To return. The Serapis, as I have said, was but just built. She + had been launched that spring. She was one of the first 44-gun + frigates that were ever built in the world. We (the English) were + the first naval power to build frigates, as now understood, at + all. I believe the name is Italian, but in the Mediterranean it + means a very different thing. We had little ships-of-the-line, + which were called fourth-rates, and which fought sixty, and even + as low as fifty guns; they had two decks, and a quarter-deck + above. But just as I came into the service, the old Phoenix and + Rainbow and Roebuck were the only 44s we had: they were successful + ships, and they set the Admiralty on building 44-gun frigates, + which, even when they carried 50 guns, as we did, were quite + different from the old fourth-rates. Very useful vessels they + proved. I remember the Romulus, the Ulysses, the Actaeon, and the + Endymion: the Endymion fought the President forty years after. As + I say, the Serapis was one of a batch of these vessels launched in + the spring of 1779. + + "We had been up the Cattegat that summer, waiting for what was + known as the Baltic fleet.[I] If there were room and time, I could + tell you good stories of the fun we had at Copenhagen. At last we + got the convoy together, and got to sea,--no little job in that + land-locked sailing. We got well across the North Sea, and, for + some reason, made Sunderland first, and afterwards Scarborough. + + "We were lying close in with Scarborough, when news came off that + Paul Jones, with a fleet, was on the coast. Captain Pearson at + once tried to signal the convoy back,--for they were working down + the coast towards the Humber,--but the signals did no good till + they saw the enemy themselves, and then they scud fast enough, + passing us, and running into Scarborough harbor. We had not a + great deal of wind, and the other armed vessel we had, the + Countess of Scarborough, was slow, so that I remember we lay to + for her. Jones was as anxious as we were to fight. We neared each + other steadily till seven in the evening or later. The sun was + down, but it was full moon,--and as we came near enough to speak, + we could see everything on his ship. At that time the Poor Richard + was the only ship we had to do with. His other ships were after + our consort. The Richard was a queer old French Indiaman, you + know. She was the first French ship-of-war I had ever seen. She + had six guns on her lower deck, and six ports on each side + there,--meaning to fight all these guns on the same side. On her + proper gun-deck, above these, she had fourteen guns on each + side,--twelves and nines. Then she had a high quarter, and a high + forecastle, with eight more guns on these,--having, you know, one + of those queer old poops you see in old pictures. She was, + therefore, a good deal higher than we; for our quarter-deck had + followed the fashion and come down. We fought twenty guns on our + lower deck, twenty on our upper deck, and on the forecastle and + quarter-deck we had ten little things,--fifty guns,--not unusual, + you know, in a vessel rated as a forty-four. We had twenty-two in + broadside. I remember I supposed for some time that all French + ships were black, because the Richard was. + + "As I said, I was on the main deck, aft. We were all lying + stretched out in the larboard ports to see and hear what we could, + when Captain Pearson himself hailed, "What ship is that?" I could + not hear their answer, and he hailed again, and then said, if they + did not answer, he would fire. We all took this as good as an + order, and, hearing nothing, tumbled in and blazed away. The Poor + Richard fired at the same time. It was at that first broadside of + hers, as you remember, that two of Jones's heavy guns, below his + main deck, burst. We could see that as we sighted for our next + broadside, because we could see how they hove up the gun-deck + above them. As for our shot, I suppose they all told. We had ten + eighteen-pounders in that larboard battery below. I do not see why + any shot should have failed. + + "However, he had no thought of being pounded to pieces by his own + firing and ours, and so he bore right down on us. He struck our + quarter, just forward of my forward gun,--struck us hard, too. We + had just fired our second shot, and then he closed, so I could not + bring our two guns to bear. This was when he first tried to fasten + the ships together. But they would not stay fastened. He could not + bring a gun to bear,--having no forward ports that served + him,--till we fell off again, and it was then that Captain Pearson + asked, in that strange stillness, if he had struck. Jones + answered, 'I have not begun to fight.' And so it proved. Our sails + were filled, he backed his top-sails, and we wore short round. As + he laid us athwart-hawse, or as we swung by him, our jib-boom ran + into his mizzen-rigging. They say Jones himself then fastened our + boom to his mainmast. Somebody did, but it did not hold, but one + of our anchors hooked his quarter, and so we fought, fastened + together, to the end,--both now fighting our starboard batteries, + and being fixed stern to stem. + + "On board the Serapis our ports were not open on the starboard + side, because we had been firing on the other. And as we ran + across and loosened those guns, the men amidships actually found + they could not open their ports, the Richard was so close. They + therefore fired their first shots right through our own port-lids, + and blew them off. I was so far aft that my port-lids swung free. + + "What I said, in beginning this letter, will explain to you the + long continuance of the action after this moment, when, you would + say, it must be ended by boarding, or in some other way, very + soon. As soon as we on our main deck got any idea of the Richard's + main deck, we saw that almost nobody replied to us there. In + truth, two of the six guns which made her lower starboard battery + had burst, and Jones's men would not fight what were left, nor do + I blame them. Above, their gun-deck had been hoisted up, and, as + it proved the next day, we were cutting them right through. We + pounded away at what we could see,--and much more at what we could + not see,--for it was now night, and there was a little smoke, as + you may fancy. But above, the Richard's upper deck was a good deal + higher than ours, and there Jones had dragged across upon his + quarter a piece from the larboard battery, so that he had three + nine-pounders, with which he was doing his best, almost raking us, + as you may imagine. No one ever said so to me, that I know, but I + doubt whether we could get elevation enough from any of our light + guns on our upper deck (nines) to damage his battery much, he was + so much higher than we. As for musketry, there is not much + sharp-shooting when you are firing at night in the smoke, with the + decks swaying under you. + + "Many a man has asked me why neither side boarded,--and, in fact, + there is a popular impression that Jones took our ship by + boarding, as he did not. As to that, such questions are easier + asked than answered. This is to be said, however: about ten + o'clock, an English officer, who had commanded the Union + letter-of-marque, which Jones had taken a few days before, came + scrambling through one of our ports from the Richard. He went up + aft to Captain Pearson at once, and told him that the Richard was + sinking, that they had had to release all her prisoners (and she + had hundreds) from the hold and spar-deck, himself among them, + because the water came in so fast, and that, if we would hold on a + few minutes more, the ship was ours. Every word of this was true, + except the last. Hearing this, Captain Pearson--who, if you + understand, was over my head, for he kept the quarter-deck almost + throughout--hailed to ask if they had struck. He got no answer, + Jones in fact being at the other end of his ship, on his quarter, + pounding away at our main-mast. Pearson then called for boarders; + they were formed hastily, and dashed on board to take the prize. + But the Richard had not struck, though I know some of her men had + called for quarters. Her men were ready for us,--under cover, + Captain Pearson says in his despatch,--Jones himself seized a pike + and headed his crew, and our men fell back again. One of the + accounts says we tried to board earlier, as soon as the vessels + were made fast to each other. But of this I knew nothing. + + "Meanwhile Jones's people could not stay on his lower deck,--and + could not do anything, if they had stayed there. They worked their + way above. His main deck (of twelves) was fought more + successfully, but his great strength was on his upper deck and in + his tops. To read his own account, you would almost think he + fought the battle himself with his three quarter-deck cannon, and + I suppose it would be hard to overstate what he did do. Both he + and Captain Pearson ascribe the final capture of the Serapis to + this strange incident. + + "The men in the Richard's tops were throwing hand-grenades upon + our decks, and at last one fellow worked himself out to the end of + the main-yard with a bucket filled with these missiles, lighted + them one by one, and threw them fairly down our main hatchway. + Here, as our ill luck ordered, was a row of our eighteen-gun + cartridges, which the powder-boys had left there as they went for + more,--our fire, I suppose, having slackened there:--cartridges + were then just coming into use in the navy. One of these grenades + lighted the row, and the flash passed--bang--bang--bang--back to + me. Oh, it was awful! Some twenty of our men were fairly blown to + pieces. There were other men who were stripped naked, with nothing + on but the collars of their shirts and their wristbands. Farther + aft there was not so much powder, perhaps, and the men were + scorched or burned more than they were wounded. I do not know how + I escaped, but I do know that there was hardly a man forward of my + guns who did escape,--some hurt,--and the groaning and shrieking + were terrible. I will not ask you to imagine all this,--in the + utter darkness of smoke and night below-decks, almost every + lantern blown out or smashed. But I assure you I can remember it. + There were agonies there which I have never trusted my tongue to + tell. Yet I see, in my journal, in a boy's mock-man way, this is + passed by, as almost nothing. I did not think so or feel so, I can + tell you. + + "It was after this that the effort was made to board. I know I had + filled some buckets of water from our lee ports, and had got some + of the worst hurt of my men below, and was trying to understand + what Brooks, who was jammed, but not burned, thought we could do, + to see if we could not at least clear things enough to fight one + gun, when boarders were called, and he left me. Cornish, who had + really been captain of the other gun, was badly hurt, and had gone + below. Then came the effort to board, which, as I say, failed; and + that was really our last effort. About half-past ten, Captain + Pearson struck. He was not able to bring a gun to bear on the + Alliance, had she closed with us; his ship had been on fire a + dozen times, and the explosion had wholly disabled our main + battery, which had been, until this came, our chief strength. But + so uncertain and confused was it all, that I know, when I heard + the cry, 'They've struck,' I took it for granted it was the + Richard. In fact, Captain Pearson had struck our flag with his own + hands. The men would not expose themselves to the fire from the + Richard's tops. Mr. Mayrant, a fine young fellow, one of Jones's + midshipmen, was wounded in boarding us after we struck, because + some of our people did not know we had struck. I know, when + Wallis, our first lieutenant, heard the cry, he ran + up-stairs,--supposing that Jones had struck to us, and not we to + him. + + "It was Lieutenant Dale who boarded us. He is still living, a fine + old man, at Philadelphia. He found Captain Pearson on the lee of + our quarter-deck again, and said,-- + + "'Sir, I have orders to send you on board the ship along-side.' + + "Up the companion comes Wallis, and says to Captain Pearson,-- + + "'Have they struck?' + + "'No, Sir,' said Dale,--'the contrary: he has struck to us.' + + "Wallis would not take it, and said to Pearson,-- + + "'Have you struck, Sir?' + + "And he had to say he had. Wallis said, 'I have nothing more to + say,' and turned to come down to us, but Dale would not let him. + Wallis said he would silence the lower-deck guns, but Dale sent + some one else, and took them both aboard the Richard. Little + Duval--a volunteer on board, not yet rated as midshipman--went + with them. Jones gave back our captain's sword, with the usual + speech about bravery,--but they quarrelled awfully afterwards. + + "I suppose Paul Jones was himself astonished when daylight showed + the condition of his ship. I am sure we were. His ship was still + on fire: ours had been a dozen times, but was out. Wherever our + main battery could hit him, we had torn his ship to + pieces,--knocked in and knocked out the sides. There was a + complete breach from the main-mast to the stern. You could see the + sky and sea through the old hulk anywhere. Indeed, the wonder was + that the quarter-deck did not fall in. The ship was sinking fast, + and the pumps would not free her. For us, our jib-boom had been + wrenched off at the beginning; our main-mast and mizzentop fell as + we struck, and at day-break the wreck was not cleared away. Jones + put Lieutenant Lunt on our vessel that night, but the next day he + removed all his wounded, and finally all his people, to the + Serapis, and at ten the Poor Richard went to the bottom. I have + always wondered that your Naval Commissioners never named another + frigate for her. + + "And so, my dear boy, I will stop. I hope in God, it will never be + your fate to see such a fight, or any fight, between an English + and an American frigate. + + "We drifted into Holland. Our wounded men were sent into hospital + in the fort of the Texel. At last we were all transferred to the + French Government as prisoners, and that winter we were exchanged. + The Serapis went into the French navy, and the only important + result of the affair in history was that King George had to make + war with Holland. For, as soon as we were taken into the Texel, + the English minister claimed us of the Dutch. But the Dutch + gentlemen said they were neutrals, and could not interfere in the + Rebel quarrel. "Interfere or fight," said England,--and the first + clause of the manifesto which makes war with Holland states this + grievance, that the Dutch would not surrender us when asked for. + That is the way England treats neutrals who offer hospitality to + rebels." + +So ends the letter. I suppose the old gentleman got tired of writing. I +have observed that the end of all letters is more condensed than the +beginning. Mr. Weller, indeed, pronounces the "sudden pull-up" to be the +especial charm of letter-writing. I had a mind to tell what the old +gentleman saw of Kempenfelt and the Royal George, but this is enough. As +Denis Duval scrambles across to Paul Jones's quarter-deck, at eleven +o'clock of that strange moonlight night, he vanishes from history. + + * * * * * + +THE FUTURE SUMMER. + + + Summer in all! deep summer in the pines, + And summer in the music on the sands, + And summer where the sea-flowers rise and fall + About the gloomy foreheads of stern rocks + And the green wonders of our circling sphere. + + Can mockery be hidden in such guise, + To peep, like sunlight, behind shifting leaves, + And dye the purple berries of the field, + Or gleam like moonlight upon juniper, + Or wear the gems outshining jewelled pride? + Can mockery do this, and we endure + In Nature's rounded palace of the world? + + Where, then, has fled the summer's wonted peace? + Sweeter than breath borne on the scented seas, + Over fresh fields, and brought to weary shores, + It should await the season's worshipper; + But as a star shines on the daisy's eye, + So shines great Conscience on the face of Peace, + And lends it calmer lustre with the dew: + When that star dims, the paling floweret fades! + + Yet there be those who watch a serpent crawl + And, blackening, sleep within a blossom's heart, + Who will not slay, but call their gazing "Peace." + Even thus within the bosom of our land + Creeps, serpent-like, Sedition, and hath gnawed + In silence, while a timid crowd stood still. + + O suffering land! O dear long-suffering land, + Slay thou the serpent ere he slime the core! + Take thou our houses and amenities, + Take thou the hand that parting clings to ours, + And going bears our heart into the fight; + Take thou, but slay the serpent ere he kill! + + Now, as a lonely watcher on the strand, + Hemmed by the mist and the quick coming waves, + Hears but one voice, the voice of warning bell, + That solemn speaks, "Beware the jaws of death!" + Death on the sea, and warning on the strand! + Such is our life, while Summer, mocking, broods. + + O mighty heart! O brave, heroic soul! + Hid in the dim mist of the things that be, + We call thee up to fill the highest place! + Whether to till thy corn and give the tithe, + Whether to grope a picket in the dark, + Or, having nobly served, to be cast down, + And, unregarded, passed by meaner feet, + Or, happier thou, to snatch the fadeless crown, + And walk in youth and beauty to God's rest,-- + The purpose makes the hero, meet thy doom! + + We call to thee, where'er thy pillowed head + Rests lonely for the brother who has gone, + To fix thy gaze on Freedom's chrysolite, + Which rueful fate can neither crack nor mar, + And, hand in hand indissolubly bound + To thy next fellow, hand and purpose one, + Stretch thus, a living wall, from the rock coast + Home to our ripe and yellow heart of the West, + Impenetrable union triumphing. + + The solemn Autumn comes, the gathering-time! + Stand we now ripe, a harvest for the Right! + That, when fair Summer shall return to earth, + Peace may inhabit all her sacred ways, + Lap in the waves upon melodious sands, + And linger in the swaying of the corn, + Or sit with clouds upon the ambient skies,-- + Summer and Peace brood on the grassy knolls + Where twilight glimmers over the calm dead, + While clustered children chant heroic tales. + + * * * * * + +DEMOCRACY AND THE SECESSION WAR. + + +The interest which foreign peoples take in our civil war proceeds from +two causes chiefly, though there are minor causes that help swell the +force of the current of feeling. The first of these causes is the +contemplation of the check which has been given by the war's occurrence +to our march to universal American dominion. For about seventy-two years +our "progress," as it was called, was more marvellous than the dreams of +other nations. In spite of Indian wars, of wars with France and England +and Mexico, of depredations on our commerce by France and England and +Barbary, of a currency that seemed to have been created for the +promotion of bankruptcy and the organization of instability, of biennial +changes in our tariffs and systems of revenue, of competition that ought +to have been the death of trade,--in spite of these and other evils, +this country, in the brief term of one not over-long human life, +increased in all respects at a rate to excite the gravest fears in the +minds of men who had been nursed on the balance-of-power theory. A new +power had intruded itself into the old system, and its disturbing force +was beyond all calculation. Between the day on which George Washington +took the Presidential oath and the day when South Carolina broke her +oath, our population had increased from something like three millions to +more than thirty-one millions; and in all the elements of material +strength our increase had far exceeded our growth in numbers. When the +first Congress of the old Union met, our territory was confined to a +strip of land on the western shore of the Atlantic,--and that territory +was but sparsely settled. When the thirty-sixth Congress broke up, our +territory had extended to the Pacific, on which we had two States, while +other communities there were preparing to become States. It did seem as +if Coleridge's "august conception" was about to become a great fact. +"The possible destiny of the United States of America," said that mighty +genius, "as a nation of a hundred millions of freemen, stretching from +the Atlantic to the Pacific, living under the laws of Alfred, and +speaking the language of Shakspeare and Milton, is an august +conception." To all appearance in 1860, there would be a hundred +millions of freemen here, and not far from twenty millions of slaves, at +the close of the nineteenth century; and middle-aged men were not +unreasonable in their expectation of seeing the splendid spectacle. The +rate of increase in population that we had known warranted their most +sanguine hopes. Such a nation,--a nation that should grow its own food, +make its own cloths, dig or pick up its own gold and silver and +quicksilver, mine its own coal and iron, supply itself, and the rest of +the world too, with cotton and tobacco and rice and sugar, and that +should have a mercantile tonnage of not less than fifteen millions, and +perhaps very much more,--such a nation, we say, it was reasonable to +expect the United States would become by the year 1900. But because the +thought of it was pleasing to us, we are not to conclude that it would +be so to European sovereigns and statesmen. On the contrary, they had +abundant reason to dread the accumulation of so much strength in one +empire. Even in 1860 we had passed the point at which it was possible +for us to have any fear of European nations, or of a European alliance. +We had but to will it, and British America, and what there was left of +Spanish America and Mexico, would all have been gathered in, reaped by +that mowing-machine, the American sword. Had our rulers of that year +sought to stave off civil war by plunging us into a foreign war, we +could have made ourselves masters of all North America, despite the +opposition of all Europe, had all Europe been ready to try the question +with us, whether the Monroe doctrine were a living thing or a dirty +skeleton from the past. But all Europe would not have opposed us, seeing +that England would have been the principal sufferer from our success; +and England is unpopular throughout Continental Europe,--in France, in +Germany, and in Russia. Probably the French Emperor would have preferred +a true cordial understanding with us to a nominal one with England, and, +confining his labors to Europe and the East, would have obtained her +"natural boundaries" for France, and supremacy over Egypt. The war might +have left but three great powers in the world, namely, France, Russia, +and America, or the United States, the latter to include Canada and +Mexico, with the Slave-Power's ascendency everywhere established in +North America. It was on the cards that we might avoid dissension and +civil strife by extending the Union, and by invading and conquering the +territories of our neighbors. Why this course was not adopted it is not +our purpose now to discuss; but that it would have been adopted, if the +Secession movement had been directed from the North against the rule of +the Democratic party, we are as firmly convinced as we are of the +existence of the tax-gatherer,--and no man in this country can now +entertain any doubt of his existence, or of his industry and exactions. + +When, therefore, our Union was severed in twain by the action of the +Southern Secessionists, and the Confederacy was established, it was the +most natural thing in the world that most European governments, and by +far the larger part of the governing classes in most European nations, +should sympathize with the Rebels: not because they altogether approved +of what the Rebels avowed to be their principles, or of their scandalous +actions in the cause of lawlessness; but because their success would +break down a nation that was becoming too strong to have any regard for +European opinion, and the continuance and growth of which were believed +to be incompatible with the safety of Europe, and the retention of its +controlling position in the world. England was relieved of her fears +with regard to her North-American possessions; and Spain saw an end put +to those insulting demands that she should sell Cuba, which for years +had proceeded from Democratic administrations,--President Buchanan, in +the very last days of his term, and while the Union was falling to +pieces around him, persisting in a demand which then had become as +ridiculous as it had ever been wicked. Austria and Prussia could have no +objection to the breaking-up of a nation which had sympathized with +Poland, Hungary, and Italy, and which, so far as it acted at all, had +acted in behalf of European Liberalism. France, which would have been +willing to act with us, had we remained in condition to render our +action valuable, had no idea of risking anything in our behalf, and +turned her attention to Mexico, as a field well worthy of her +cultivation, and which our troubles had laid open to her enterprise and +ambition. The kingdom of Italy was of too recent birth to have much +influence; and, though its sympathies were with us, it was forced by +circumstances to conform to the example of France and England. Even +Russia, though unquestionably our friend, and sincerely anxious for our +success, probably did not much regret that something had here occurred +which might teach us to become less ready to prompt Poles to rebel, and +not so eager to help them when in rebellion. Most of the lesser +governments of Europe saw our difficulties with satisfaction, because +generally they are illiberal in their character, and our example was +calculated to render their subjects disaffected. + +The feeling of which we speak is one that arose from the rapid growth of +this country, and of the fears that that growth had created as to the +safety of European States. It had nothing to do with the character of +our national polity, or with the political opinions of our people. It +would have existed all the same, if we had been governed by an Autocrat +or a Stratocrat, instead of having a movable President for our chief. It +would have been as strong, if our national legislature had been as +quiescent as Napoleon I.'s Senate, instead of being a reckless and an +undignified Congress. It owed its existence to our power, our growth, +our ambition, our "reannexing" spirit, our disposition to meddle with +the affairs of others, our restlessness, and our frequent avowals of an +intention to become masters of all the Occident. We might have been +regarded as even more dangerous than we were, had our government been as +firmly founded as that of Russia, or had it, like that of France, the +power that proceeds at once from the great intellect and the great name +of its chief. A Napoleon or a Nicholas at the head of a people so +intelligent and so active as Americans would indeed have been a most +formidable personage, and likely to employ his power for the disturbance +of mankind. + +But in addition to the fear that was created by our rapid growth in +greatness, the rulers of foreign nations regarded us with apprehension +because of our political position. We stood at the head of the popular +interest of Christendom, and all that we effected was carried to the +credit of popular institutions. We stood in antagonism to the +monarchical and aristocratical polities of Europe. The greater our +success, the stronger was the testimony borne by our career against the +old forms of government. Our example was believed to have brought about +that French movement which had shaken the world. The French Revolution +was held to be the child of the American Revolution; and if we had +accomplished so much in our weak youth, what might not be expected from +our example when we should have passed into the state of ripened +manhood? Our existence in full proportions would be a protest against +hereditary rule and exclusiveness. Imitation would follow, and every +existing political interest in Europe was alarmed at the thought of the +attacks to which it was exposed, and which might be precipitated at any +moment. On the other hand, if our "experiment" should prove a failure, +if democracy should come to utter grief in America, if civil war, debt, +and the lessening of the comforts of the masses should be the final +result of our attempt to establish the sovereignty of the people, would +not the effect be fatal to the popular cause in Europe? Certainly there +would be a great reaction, perhaps as great, and even as permanent, as +that Catholic reaction which began in the generation that followed the +death of Luther, and which has been so forcibly painted by the greatest +literary artists of our time. This was the second cause of that interest +in our conflict which has prevailed in Europe, which still prevails +there, and which has compelled Europeans of all classes, our foes as +well as our friends, to turn their attention to our land. "The eyes of +the world are upon us!" is a common saying with egotistical communities +and parties, and mostly it is ridiculously employed; but it was the +soberest of facts for the three years that followed the Battle of Bull +Run. If that gaze has latterly lost some of its intensity, it is because +the thought of intervention in our quarrel has, to appearance, been +abandoned even by the most inveterate of Tories who are not at the same +time fools or the hireling advocates of the Confederate cause. +Intervention in Mexico, too, whatever its success, has proved a more +difficult and a more costly business than was expected, and has +indisposed men who wish our fall to be eager in taking any part in +bringing it about. It may be, too, that the opinion prevails in Europe +that the Rebels are quite equal to the work which there it is desired +should here be wrought, and that policy requires that both parties +should be allowed to bleed to death, perishing by their own hands. If +American democracy is bent upon suicide, why should European aristocrats +interfere openly in the conflict? + +We admit that the inference which the European foes of freedom are +prepared to draw from our unhappy quarrel would be perfectly correct, if +they started from a correct position. If our polity is a democratic +polity, and if the end thereof is disunion, civil war, debt, immense +suffering, and the fear of the conflict assuming even a social character +before it shall have been concluded and peace restored, then is the +conclusion inevitable that a democracy is no better than any other form +of government, and is as bad as aristocracy or pure monarchy, under both +of which modes of governing states there have been civil wars, heavy +expenditures, much suffering for all classes of men, and great +insecurity for life and property. Assuredly, democracy never could hope +for a fairer field than has here existed; and if here it has failed, the +friends of democracy must suffer everywhere, and the cause of democracy +receive a check from which it cannot hope to recover for generations. As +"the horrors of the French Revolution" have proved most prejudicial to +the popular cause for seventy years, so must the failure of the American +"experiment" prove prejudicial to that cause throughout Christendom. Our +failure must be even more prejudicial than that of France; for the +French movement was undertaken under circumstances that rendered failure +all but certain, whereas ours was entered upon amid the most favoring +conditions, such as seemed to make failure wellnigh impossible. But we +do not admit that the position assumed by our European enemies is a +sound one, and therefore we hold that the conclusion to which they have +come, and from which they hope to effect so much for the cause of +oppression, is entirely erroneous. Whether we have failed or not, the +democratic principle remains unaffected. As we never have believed that +our example was fairly quotable by European democrats, even when we +appeared to be, and in most respects were, the most successful of +constitutionally governed nations, so do we now deny that our failure to +preserve peace in the old Union can be adduced in evidence against the +excellence of democracy, as that is understood by the advanced liberals +of Europe. As there is nothing in the history of the French Revolution +that should make reflecting men averse to constitutional liberty, so is +there nothing in the history of our war that should cause such men to +become hostile to that democratic idea which, as great observers assure +us, is to overcome and govern the world. + +If we have failed, _if_ our conflict is destined to end in a "general +break-down," so unhappy a close to a grand movement will not be due to +the ascendency of democracy here, but rather to democracy having by us +been kept down and depressed. Our polity is not a democratic polity. It +was never meant that it should be a democratic polity. Judging from the +history of the doings of the national convention which made the Federal +Constitution, and of the State conventions which ratified it, we should +be justified in saying that the chief object of "the fathers" was to +prevent the existence of a democracy in America. Their words and deeds +are alike adverse to the notion that democracy had many friends here in +the years that followed the achievement of our nationality. What might +have happened, had the work of constitution-making been entered upon two +or three years later, so that we should have had to read of Frenchmen +and Americans engaged at the same time in the same great business, it +might be interesting to inquire, as matter of curiosity; but our +government under the Constitution had been fairly organized some days +before the last States-General of France met, and, much as this country +was subsequently influenced by considerations that proceeded from the +French Revolution, they did not affect our polity, while they largely +affected our policy. Some eminent men, who were much under the influence +of French ideas, and others who were democratically inclined by their +mental constitution, did not altogether approve of the polity which had +been formed and ratified, and they represented the extreme left of the +country,--as others, who thought that polity too liberal, (too feeble, +they would have said,) represented the extreme right. These men agreed +in nothing but this, that the Federal Constitution was but a temporary +contrivance, and destined to last only until one extreme party or the +other should succeed in overthrowing it, and substituting for it a +polity in which either liberty or power should embody a complete +triumph. Probably not one of their number ever dreamed that it would +have seventy-two years of unbroken existence, or that the first serious +attack made on it would proceed from the quarter whence that attack was +destined to come. + +That our polity ever should have been looked upon as democratical in its +character, as well at home as abroad, is one of the strangest facts in +political history. Probably it is owing to some popular expressions in +the Constitution itself. "We, the People of the United States," are the +first words of the instrument, and they are represented as ordaining and +establishing the Constitution. Some of the provisions of the +Constitution are of a popular character, beyond doubt; but they are, in +most instances, not inspirations, but derived from English +experience,--and it will hardly be pretended that England was an armory +from which democracy would think of drawing special weapons. Our +fathers, as it were, codified English ideas and practices, because they +knew them well, and knew them to be good. The two legislative chambers, +the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus, the good-behavior tenure of +judges, and generally the modes of procedure, were taken from England; +and they are not of democratic origin, while they are due to the action +of aristocrats. The English Habeas-Corpus Act has been well described as +"the most stringent curb that ever legislation imposed on tyranny"; and +that act was the work of the English Whigs, the most aristocratical +party that ever existed, and it was as dear to Tories as to Whigs. +Democracy had no more to do with its existence than with the existence +of the earth. No democratic movement has ever aimed to extend this +blessing to other countries. In forming our judicial system, the men of +1787-'91 paid little regard to democracy, making judges practically +independent. There have been but two Chief Justices of the United States +for wellnigh sixty-four years, though it is well known that +Chief-Justice Marshall was as odious to the Jeffersonians of the early +part of the century as Chief-Justice Taney is to the ascendent party of +the last four years. Mansfield did not hold his seat more securely in +England than Marshall held his in America, though Mansfield was as +emphatically a favorite of George III. as Marshall was detestable in the +eyes of President Jefferson, who seems to have looked upon the Federal +Supreme Court with feelings not unlike to those with which James II. +regarded the Habeas-Corpus Act. Had he been the head of a democratic +polity, as he was the head of the democratic party, President Jefferson +would have got rid of the obnoxious Chief Justice as summarily as ever a +Stuart king ridded himself of an independent judge. And he would have +been supported by his political friends,--democrats being quite as ready +to support tyranny, and to punish independent officials, as ever were +aristocrats or monarchists. + +The manner in which Congress is constituted ought alone to suffice to +show that our polity is thoroughly anti-democratic. The House of +Representatives has the appearance of being a popular body; but a +popular body it is not, in any extended sense. The right to vote for +members of the House is restricted, in some States essentially so. As +matters stood during the whole period between the first election of +Representatives and the closing days of 1860, a large number of members +were chosen as representatives of property in men, a number sufficiently +large to decide the issue of more than one great political question. In +the Congress that met in December, 1859, the last Congress of the old +_regime_, one eleventh part of the Representatives, or thereabout, +represented slaves! Could anything be more opposed to democratic ideas +than such a basis of representation as that? Does any one suppose it +would be possible to incorporate into a democratic constitution that +should be formed for a European nation a provision giving power in the +legislature to men because they were slaveholders, allowing them to +treat their slaves as beasts from one point of view, and to regard them +as men and women from another point of view? Even in the Free States, +and down to recent times, large numbers of men have been excluded from +voting for Members of Congress because of the closeness of State laws. +At this very time, the State of Rhode Island--a State which in opinion +has almost invariably been in advance of her sisters--maintains a +suffrage-system that is considered illiberal, if not odious, in +Massachusetts; and Massachusetts herself is very careful to guard the +polls so jealously that she will not allow any man to vote who does not +pay roundly for the "privilege" of voting, while she provides other +securities that operate so stringently as sometimes to exclude even men +who have paid their money. Universal suffrage exists nowhere in the +United States, nor has its introduction ever been proposed in any part +of this country. The French imperial system of voting approaches much +nearer to universality than anything that ever has been known in +America; and yet England manages to get along tolerably well with her +imperial and democratic neighbor. Perhaps imperialism sweetens democracy +for her, just as democracy salts imperialism in France. + +But our House of Representatives, as originally constituted, was a +democratic body, when compared with "the upper chamber," the Senate. The +very existence of an "upper chamber" was an invasion of democratic +ideas. If the people are right, why institute a body expressly for the +purpose of checking their operations? Yet, in making our Constitution, +not only was such a body instituted, but it was rendered as +anti-democratic and as aristocratical as it could possibly be made. Its +members were limited to two from each State, so that perfect equality +between the States existed in the Senate, though one State might have +four million inhabitants, and its neighbor not one hundred thousand. How +this worked in practice will appear from the statement of a few facts. +The year before the war began, the three leading States of the Union, +New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio, had, in round numbers, ten millions of +people, and they sent six members to the Senate, or the same number with +Delaware, Florida, and Oregon, which had not above a twelfth part as +many. Massachusetts had seven times as many people as Rhode Island, and +each had two Senators. And so on through the whole roll of States. The +Senators are not popularly elected, but are chosen by the State +legislatures, and for the long term of six years, while Representatives +are elected by the people, every two years. The effect was, that the +Senate became the most powerful body in the Republic, which it really +ruled during the last twelve years of the old Union's existence, when +our Presidents were of the Forcible-Feeble order of men. The English +have Mr. Mason in their country, and they make much of him; and he will +tell them, if asked, that the Senate was the chief power of the American +State in its last days. That it was so testifies most strongly to the +fact that our polity is not democratic. Yet it was to the peculiar +constitution of the Senate that the seventy-two years of the Union were +due; and had nothing occurred to disturb its formation, we should have +had no Secession War. There was no danger that Secession could happen +but what came from the existence of Slavery; and so long as the number +of Slave States and of Free States remained the same, it was impossible +to convince any large portion of the slaveholders that their beloved +institution could be put in danger. But latterly the Free States got +ahead of the Slave States, and then the Secessionists had an opportunity +to labor to some purpose, and that opportunity they did not neglect. It +was to preserve the relative position of the two "sections" that the +Missouri Compromise was repealed in 1854, in the hope and expectation +that several new States might be made that should set up Slavery, and be +represented by slaveholders. Had this nefarious scheme succeeded, it +would have saved us from the Secession War; but it would have brought +other evils upon the country, which, in the long run, might have proved +as great as those under which we are now suffering. We were reduced to a +choice of evils; and though we chose blindly, it is by no means certain +that we did not choose wisely. As in all other cases, the judgment must +depend upon the event,--and the judges are gentlemen who sit in +courts-martial. + +The manner in which the President and Vice-President of the United +States were chosen was the reverse of democratical. Each State had the +right to cast as many Electoral votes as it had Representatives in +Congress, which was a democratic arrangement up to a certain point; but +as a score and upward of the Representatives owed their existence to the +existence of Slavery, the equality of the arrangement was more apparent +than real. Yet farther in the direction of inequality: each State was +allowed two Electors who answered to its Senators, which placed New +Jersey on a footing with New York, Delaware with Pennsylvania, and +Florida with Ohio, in utter disregard of all democratic ideas. The +simple creation of Electoral Colleges was an anti-democratic proceeding. +The intention of the framers of the Constitution was that the Electors +of each State should be a perfectly independent body, and that they +should vote according to their own sense of duty. We know that they +never formed an independent body, and that they became at once mere +agents of parties. This failure was in part owing to a sort of +Chalcedonian blindness in the National Convention of 1787. That +convention should have placed the choice of Electors where it placed the +choice of Senators,--in the State legislatures. This would not have made +the Electors independent, but it would have worked as well as the plan +for choosing Senators, which has never been changed, and which it has +never been sought to change. The mode of choosing a President by the +National House of Representatives, when the people have failed to elect +one, is thoroughly anti-democratic. The voting is then by States, the +small States being equal to the great ones. Delaware then counts for as +much as New York, though Delaware has never had but one Representative, +and during one decennial term New York's Representatives numbered forty! +Twice in our history--in 1801 and in 1825--have Presidents been chosen +by the House of Representatives. + +The manner in which it is provided that amendments to the Constitution +shall be effected amounts to a denial of the truth of what is considered +to be an American truism, namely, that the majority shall rule. +Two-thirds of both Houses of Congress, or two-thirds of the legislatures +of the several States, must unite in the first instance, before +amendments can be proposed, or a convention called in which to propose +them. If thus far effected, they must be ratified by three-fourths of +the States, before they can be incorporated into the Constitution. The +process is as difficult as that which awaited the proposer of an +amendment to the legislation of the Locrian lawgiver, who made his +motion with a rope round his neck, with which he was strangled, if that +motion was negatived. The provisions of Article V. pay no more attention +to the mere majority of the people than Napoleon III would pay to a +request from the majority of Frenchmen to abdicate that imperial +position which he won for himself, and which it is his firm purpose +shall remain in his family. + +It would be no difficult matter to point out other anti-democratic +provisions in our National Constitution; and it would be easy to show +that in the Constitutions of most of our States, if not in all of them, +there are provisions which flagrantly violate the democratic principle, +and of which European democrats never could approve. All through the +organic laws of the Nation and the States there are to be found +restraints on numbers, as if the leading idea of the Constitution-makers +of America were aversion to mere majorities, things that fluctuate from +year to year,--almost from day to day,--and therefore are not to be +trusted. We are stating the fact, and it does not concern our purpose to +discuss the wisdom of what has here been done. How happened it, then, +that our polity was so generally regarded as purely democratical in its +character? Partly this was owing to the extremely popular nature of all +our political action, and to the circumstances of the country not +admitting of any struggle between the rich and the poor. Because there +was no such struggle, it was inferred that the rich had been conquered +by the poor, when the truth was, that, outside of the cities and large +towns, there were no poor from whom to form a party. Degrees of wealth, +and of means below wealth, there were, and there were poor men; but +there was no class of poor people, and hence no material from which to +form a proletarian party. In all our great party-conflicts the wealth +and talents of the country were not far from equally divided, the wealth +and ability of the South being mostly with the democratic party, while +those of the North were on the side of their opponents; but to this rule +there were considerable exceptions. Foreigners could not understand +this; and their conclusion was that the masses had their own way in +America, and that property was at their mercy, as it is said by some +writers to have been at the mercy of the democracy of Athens.[J] We +were said to have established universal suffrage, when in fact suffrage +was limited in every State, and in some States essentially limited, the +abuses that from time to time occurred happening in great towns for the +most part. Most citizens were legal voters in the larger number of the +States; but this was owing, not altogether to the liberal character of +our polity or legislation, but to the general prosperity of the country, +which made tax-paying easy and intelligence common, and hence caused +myriads of men to take a warm interest in politics who in other +countries never would have thought of troubling themselves about +politics, save in times of universal commotion. The political appearance +presented by the country was that of a democracy, beyond all question. +America seemed to be a democratic flat to the foreigner. To him the +effect was much the same as follows from looking upon a map. Look upon a +map, and there is nothing but flatness to be seen, the most perfect +equality between all parts of the earth. There are neither mountains nor +villages, neither elevations nor chasms, nothing but conventional marks +to indicate the existence of such things. The earth is a boundless +plain, on which the prairie is as high as Chimborazo. The observer of +the real earth knows that such is not the case, and that inequality is +the physical world's law. So was it here, to the foreign eye. All +appeared to be on the same level, when he looked upon us from his home; +but when he came amongst us, he found that matters here differed in no +striking respect from those of older nations. Yet so wedded were +foreigners to the notion that we were all democrats, and that here the +majority did as it pleased them to do, that, but a short time before his +death,--which took place just a year before the beginning of the +Secession movement,--Lord Macaulay wrote a letter in which he expressed +his belief that we should fall because of a struggle between the rich +and the poor, for which we had provided by making suffrage universal! He +could not have been more ignorant of the real sources of the danger that +threatened us, if he had been an American who resolutely closed his +eyes, and then would not believe in what he would not see. When such a +man could make such a mistake, and supposed that we were to perish from +an agrarian revolt,--we being then on the eve of a revolt of the +slaveholders,--it cannot be matter for wonder that the common European +belief was that the United States constituted a pure and perfect +democracy, or that most Europeans of the higher classes should have +considered that democracy as the most impure and imperfect of political +things.[K] + +The long and almost unbroken ascendency of the democratic party in this +country had much to do with creating the firm impression that our system +was democratic in its character,--men not discriminating closely between +that party and the polity of which it had charge. Originally, some +reproach attached to the word _Democrat_, considered as a party-name; +and it was not generally accepted until after the Jeffersonian time had +passed away. Men who would now be called _Democrats_ were known as +_Republicans_ in the early part of the century. But the word conquered a +great place for itself, and became the most popular of political names, +so that even respectable Whigs did not hesitate to appropriate it to +their own use. Whatever name it was known by, the democratic party took +possession of the Federal Government in 1801, and held it through an +unbroken line of Virginia Presidents for twenty-four years. The +Presidential term of Mr. J.Q. Adams was no breach of democratic +party-rule in fact, whatever it was in name, for almost every man who +held high office under Mr. Adams was a Jeffersonian democrat. In 1829 +the new democratic party came into power, and held office for twelve +successive years. The Whig victory of 1840 hardly interrupted that rule, +as President Harrison's early death threw power into the hands of Mr. +Tyler, who was an ultra-Jeffersonian democrat, a Pharisee of the +Pharisees. Mr. Polk, a Jacksonian democrat, was President from 1845 to +1849. The four years that followed saw the Presidential chair filled by +Whigs, General Taylor and Mr. Fillmore; and those four years form the +only time in which men who had had no connection with the democratic +party wielded the executive power of the United States. General Pierce +and Mr. Buchanan, both democrats, were at the head of the Government for +the eight years that followed Mr. Fillmore's retirement. Thus, during +the sixty years that followed Mr. Jefferson's inauguration in 1801, the +Presidency was held by democrats for fifty-six years, President Harrison +himself being a democrat originally,--and if he is to be counted on the +other side, the counting would not amount to much, as he was President +less than five weeks. Even in those years in which the democrats did not +have the Presidency, they were powerful in Congress, and generally +controlled Federal legislation. It was natural, when the democratic +party was so successful under our polity, that that polity should itself +be considered democratic. In point of fact, the polity was as democratic +as the party,--our democrats seldom displaying much sympathy with +liberal ideas, and in their latter days becoming even servilely +subservient to Slavery. It is but fair to add, that down to 1854 their +sins with respect to Slavery were rather those of position than of +principle, and that their action was no worse than would have been that +of their opponents, had the latter been the ruling party. But, as the +democratic party did rule here, and was supposed to hold to democratic +principles, the conclusion was not unreasonable that we were living +under a democratic polity, the overthrow of which would be a warning to +the Liberals of Europe. + +Our polity was constitutional in its character, strictly so; and if it +has failed,--which we are far indeed from admitting,--the inference +would seem fairly to be, that Constitutionalism has received a blow, not +Democracy. As England is the greatest of constitutional countries, our +failure, supposing it to have occurred, tells with force against her, +from whose system we have drawn so much, and not adversely to the cause +of European democracy, from whose principles and practice we have taken +little. To us it seems that our war bears hard upon no government but +our own, upon no people but ourselves, upon no party but American +parties. It is as peculiar in its origin as in its modes. It had its +origin in the existence of Slavery, and Slavery here existed in the +worst form ever known among men. Until Slavery shall be found elsewhere +in combination with Constitutionalism or Democracy, it would be unfair +to quote our contest as a warning to other liberally governed lands. We +were a nation with a snake in its bosom; and as no other nation is +similarly afflicted, our misfortune cannot be cited in the case of any +other community. Free institutions are to be judged by their effect when +they have had fair play, and not by what has happened in a republic +which sought to have them in an unnatural alliance with the most +detestable form of tyrannical oppression. REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES. + + +_A Summer Cruise on the Coast of New England._ By Robert Carter. Boston: +Crosby & Nichols, pp. 261. + +In these days, when the high price of paper makes it easy for authors to +sell by the pound what no one would take by the single copy, he is +luckiest who has made the heaviest book. Our morning newspaper nowadays +is a kind of palimpsest, and one cannot help wondering how many dead +volumes, how many hopes and disappointments, lie buried under that +surface made smooth for the Telegraph (sole author who is sure of +readers) to write upon. We seem to detect here and there a flavor of +Jones's Poem or Smith's History, something like the rhythm of the one +and the accuracy of the other. _Quot libras autore summo invenies?_ is +the question for booksellers now. + +In a metaphysical sense, one is apt to find many heavy books for one +weighty one, and it is as difficult to make light reading that shall +have any nutriment in it as to make light bread. Mr. Carter has +succeeded in giving us something at once entertaining and instructive. +One who introduces us to a new pleasure close by our own doors, and +tells us how we may have a cheap vacation of open air, with fresh +experience of scenery and adventure at every turn, deserves something of +the same kind of gratitude as he who makes two blades of grass grow +where one grew before. Americans, above all other men, need to be taught +to take a vacation, and how to spend one so as to find in it the rest +which mere waste of time never gives. Mr. Carter teaches us how we may +have all the pleasure without any of the responsibilities of yachting, +and, reversing the method of our summer migration, shows us the shore +from the sea. + +Hakluyt and Purchas have made us familiar with, the landscape of our +coast to the early voyagers,--with its fringe of forest to the water's +edge, its fair havens, its swarms of wild fowl, its wooded islets +tangled with grape-vines, its unknown mountains looming inland, and its +great rivers flowing out of the realm of dream; but its present aspect +is nearly as unfamiliar to us as to them. We know almost as little of +the natives as Gosnold. Mr. Carter's voyage extends from Plymouth to +Mount Desert, and he lands here and there to explore a fishing-village +or seaport town, with all the interest of an outlandish man. He +describes scenery with the warmth of a lover of Nature and the accuracy +of a geographer. Acting as a kind of volunteer aide-de-camp to a +naturalist, he dredges and fishes both as man of science and amateur, +and makes us more familiarly acquainted with many queer denizens of +fin-land. He mingles with our fishermen, and finds that the schoolmaster +has been among them also. His book is lively without being flippant, and +full of information without that dulness which is apt to be the evil +demon of statistics. The moral of it is, that, as one may travel from +Dan to Beersheba and see nothing, so one needs but to open his eyes to +the life and Nature around him to find plenty of entertainment and +knowledge. + + +_Azarian_: An Episode. By Harriet E. Prescott, Author of "The Amber +Gods," etc. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. + +If one opened the costly album of some rare colorist, and became +bewildered amid successive wreaths of pictured flowers, with hues that +seemed to burn, and freshness that seemed fragrant, one could hardly +quarrel with a few stray splashes of purple or carmine spilt heedlessly +on the pages. Such a book is "Azarian"; and if few are so lavish and +reckless with their pigments as Harriet Prescott, it is because few have +access to such wealth. If one proceeds from the theory that all life in +New England is to be pictured as bare and pallid, it must seem very +wrong in her to use tints so daring; but if one believes that life here, +as elsewhere, may be passionate as Petrarch and deep as Beethoven, there +appears no reason why all descriptive art should be Quaker-colored. + +Nature and cultivation gave to this writer a rare inventive skill, an +astonishing subtilty in the delineation of character, and a style +perhaps unequalled among contemporaries in a certain Keats-like +affluence. Yet her plots have usually been melodramatic, her characters +morbid, and her descriptions overdone. These are undoubtedly great +offences, and have grievously checked her growing fame. But the American +public, so ready to flatter early merit, has itself to thank, if that +flattery prove a pernicious atmosphere. That fatal cheapness of +immediate reputation which stunts most of our young writers, making the +rudiments of fame so easy to acquire, and fame itself so +difficult,--which dwarfs our female writers so especially that not one +of them, save Margaret Fuller, has ever yet taken the pains to train +herself for first-class literary work,--has no doubt had a transient +influence on Harriet Prescott. Add to this, perhaps, the common and +fatal necessity of authorship which pushes even second-best wares into +the market. It is evident, that, with all the instinct of a student and +an artist, she has been a sensation-writer against her will. The whole +structure of "Azarian," which is evidently a work of art and of love, +indicates these higher aspirations, and shows that she is resolved to +nourish them, not by abandoning her own peculiar ground, but by training +her gifts and gradually exorcising her temptations. Like her "Amber +Gods," the book rests its strength on its descriptive and analytic +power, not on its events; but, unlike that extraordinary story, it is +healthful in its development and hopeful in its ending. The name of "An +Episode" seems to be given to it, not in affectation, but in humility. +It is simply a minute study of character, in the French style, though +with a freshness and sweetness which no Frenchman ever yet succeeded in +transferring into language, and which here leave none of that bad taste +in the mouth of which Charlotte Bronte complained. The main situation is +one not new in fiction, being simply unequal love and broken troth, but +it is one never to be portrayed too often or too tenderly, and it is not +desecrated, but ennobled by the handling. It is refreshing to be able to +say for Miss Prescott that she absolutely reaches the end of the book +without a suicide or a murder, although the heroine for a moment +meditates the one and goes to the theatre to behold the other. The +dialogue, usually a weak point with this writer, is here for better +managed than usual, having her customary piquancy, with less of +disfigurement from flippancy and bad puns. The plot shows none of those +alarming pieces of incongruity and bathos which have marred some of her +stories. And one may fancy that it is not far to seek for the originals +of Azarian, Charmian, and Madame Sarator. + +It is the style of the book, however, to which one must revert with +admiration, not unmingled with criticism, and, it may be, a trifle of +just indignation. There are not ten living writers in America of whom it +can be said that their style is in itself a charm,--that it has the +range, the flexibility, the delicacy, the ease, the strength, which +constitute permanent power,--that it is so saturated with life, with +literary allusion, with the symbolism of Nature, as to make us dwell on +the mere sentences with delight, apart from all thought of argument or +theme. This it is to be a literary artist; and as Miss Prescott may +justly claim to rank among these favored ones, she must be tried by the +code which befits her station. There is not, perhaps, another individual +among us who could have written the delicious descriptions of external +Nature which this book contains,--not one of the multitude of young +artists, now devoting their happy hours to flower-painting, who can +depict color by color as she depicts it by words. We hold in our hands +an illuminated missal, some Gospel of Nature according to June or +October, as the case may be. The price she pays for this astonishing +gift is to be often overmastered by it, to be often betrayed into +exuberant and fantastic phrases, and wanderings into the realm of words +unborn. One fancies the dismay of the accomplished corrector of the +University Press, as his indignant pencil hung over "incanting" and +"reverizing" and "cose." Yet closer examination always shows that she, +too, has studied grammar and dictionary, algebra and the Greek alphabet; +and her most daring verbal feats are never vague or wayward, for there +is always an eager and accurate brain behind them. She dares too much to +escape blunders, yet, after all, commits fewer in proportion than those +who dare less. The basis of all good writing is truth in details; and +her lavish wealth of description would be a gaudy profanation, were it +not based on a fidelity of observation which is Thoreau-like, so far as +it goes. "Sabbatia sprays, those rosy ghosts that haunt the Plymouth +ponds,"--"the cardinal, with the very glitter of the stream it loves +meshed like a silver mist behind its scarlet sheen,"--"the wide rhodora +marshes, where some fleece of burning mist seemed to be fallen and +caught and tangled in countless filaments upon the bare twigs,"--such +traits as these are not to be found in the newspapers nor in the +botanies. With all her seeming lavishness, she rarely wastes a word. +Though she may sometimes heap upon a frail hepatica some greater +accumulation of fine-spun fancies than its slender head will bear, she +yet can so characterize a flower with a touch that any one of its lovers +would know it without the name. If she hints at "those slipshod little +anemones that cannot stop to count their petals, but take one from their +neighbor or leave another behind them," it is because she knows how +peculiarly this fantastic variableness belongs to the rue-leaved +species, so unlike the staid precision of its cousin, the wind-flower, +from which not one pedestrian in a hundred can yet distinguish it. If +she simply says, "great armfuls of blue lupines," she has said enough, +because this is almost the only wild-flower whose size, shape, and +abundance naturally tempt one to gather it thus: imagine her speaking of +armfuls of violets or wild roses! From this basis of accurate fact her +fancy can safely unfold its utmost wings, as in her fancied +illustrations for the Garden-Song in "Maud," or in the wonderful +descriptions of Azarian's lonely nights on the water. "He leaned over +his boat-side, miles away from any shore, a star looked down from far +above, a star looked up from far below, the glint passed as instantly, +and left him the sole spirit between immense concaves of void and +fulness, shut in like the flaw in a diamond." How the subscribers to the +Circulating Library of the enterprising Mr. Loring must catch their +breaths in amazement, when that courteous gentleman hands them for the +last new novel--sandwiched between "Pique" and "Woodburn"--thoughts of +such a compass as that! + +There are sometimes fictitious writers who sweep across the land in a +great wave of popularity and then pass away,--as Frederika Bremer twenty +years ago,--and leave no visible impression behind. But Harriet +Prescott's fame rests on a foundation of sure superiorities, so far as +she possesses it; and no one has impaired or can impair it, except +herself. If it has not grown as was at first anticipated, it has been +her own doing, and "Azarian" has come none too soon to give a better +augury for the future. There is no literary laurel too high for her to +grasp, if her own will, and favoring circumstances, shall enable her to +choose only noble and innocent themes, and to use canvas firm and pure +enough for the rare colors she employs. + + +_The Wrong of Slavery, the Right of Emancipation, and the Future of the +African Race in the United States_. By Robert Dale Owen. Philadelphia: +J.B. Lippincott & Co. 12mo. + +"Book, Sir, book! It's the _title_!" This is the reputed saying of +Longman, the publisher, when asked for the key to bookselling. It is a +pity that Mr. Owen's book has so cumbrous a name to carry; for +everything else about it is compact and portable. Few American works on +statistics or political economy possess either brevity or an index, and +this combines both treasures. "In this small volume, which a busy man +may read in a few hours," the author condenses an immense deal,--and it +is a blessed sign, if a man who has been in Congress can still be so +economical of words. If his brother Congressmen would only imitate his +precious example, what a blessed hope! How gladly would one subscribe +for the "Congressional Globe," with the assurance that it would +henceforth be the only tedious book in his library, that all the chaff +would hereafter be safely winnowed into that, and all the sense put into +comfortable little duo-decimos like this! + +Mr. Owen's opportunities, as Chairman of the American Freedmen's +Commission, have been very great, and he has used them well. The history +of slavery and the slave-trade,--the practical consequences of +both,--the constitutionality of emancipation,--the present condition of +the freed slaves, and their probable future,--all this ground is +comprehended within two hundred and fifty pages. The points last named +have, of course, the most immediate value, and his treatment of these +is exceedingly manly and sensible. He shows conclusively that the whole +demeanor of the freed slaves has done them infinite credit, and that the +key to their successful management is simply to treat them with justice. +That this justice includes equal rights of citizenship he fully asserts, +and states the gist of the matter in one of the most telling paragraphs +of the book. "God, who made the liberation of the negro the condition +under which alone we could succeed in this war, has now, in His +providence, brought about a position of things under which it would seem +that a full recognition of that negro's rights as a citizen becomes +indispensable to stability of government in peace." For, as Mr. Owen +shows, even if under any other circumstances we might excuse ourselves +for delaying the recognition of the freedman's right to suffrage, +because of his ignorance and inexperience, yet it would be utterly +disastrous to do so now, when two-thirds of the white population will +remain disloyal, even when conquered. We cannot safely reorganize a +republican government on the basis of one-sixth of its population, and +shall be absolutely compelled to avail ourselves of that additional +three-sixths which is loyal and black. Fortunately, as a matter of fact, +there are no obstacles to the citizenship of the Southern negro greater +than those in the way of the average foreign immigrant. The emancipated +negro is at least as industrious and thrifty as the Celt, takes more +pride in self-support, is far more eager for education, and has fewer +vices. It is impossible to name any standard of requisites for the full +rights of citizenship which will give a vote to the Celt and exclude the +negro. + +Much as has been written on this point, Mr. Owen has yet some +astonishing facts to contribute. He shows, for instance, by the official +statements, that, amidst the great distress produced in the city of St. +Louis at the beginning of the war, by the gathering of white and black +refugees from all parts of the State, when ten thousand persons received +public aid, only two out of that whole vast number were of negro blood. +These two were all who applied, one being lame, the other bedridden, and +both women. He shows, upon similar authority, that the free colored +people of Louisiana, under serious civil disabilities, are, on the +average, richer, by seven and a half per cent., than the people of the +Northern States. Their average wealth in 1860 was five hundred and +twenty dollars, while the average wealth in the loyal Free States is +only four hundred and eighty-four dollars. Such facts show how utterly +gratuitous is the frequent assumption that the emancipated slave does +not sufficiently know the value of a dollar. + +Upon some disputed points Mr. Owen does not, perhaps, make his facts +quite cover his inferences, as, for instance, on the vexed question of +the vigor and vitality of the mulatto, upon which the more extended +observations of the last three years have as yet shed little light. It +is the same with the whole obscure problem of amalgamation; indeed, he +slips into an absolute contradiction, in pronouncing judgment rather too +hastily here. "I believe," he says, "that the effect of general +emancipation will be to discourage amalgamation. It is rare in Canada." +(p. 219.) But, however it may be in Canada, he has already admitted, +four pages before, that "the proportion of mulattoes among the free +colored is much greater than among the slaves," which is, doubt less, +true, except, perhaps, in a few large cities of the South. It is a +subject of common remark that the Southern colored regiments are +generally of far darker complexion than those recruited at the North, +and this is inexplicable except on the supposition that freedom, even +more than slavery, tends thus far to amalgamation. What further step in +reasoning this suggests, it is, fortunately, not needful to inquire; +like all other mysteries of human destiny, this will safely work itself +out. It is not for nothing that the black man thrives in contact with +the white, while the red man dies; and there certainly are practical +anxieties enough to last us for a month or two, without borrowing any +from the remoter future. + + +_Enoch Arden_, etc. By ALFRED TENNYSON, D.C.L., Poet-Laureate. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields. + +In his new volume Tennyson has thrown out some verses, graceful, +defiant, triumphant, and yet a little touched with sadness, in which he +assails the thieves who have stolen his seed of poetry, and made the +flower so common that the people call it--as, indeed, they did when +first it blossomed--a weed. It may be for the reason here indicated that +he has chosen for his later poems a form--that of the Idyl--the +versification, construction, and use of which he has made his own by a +delicate and yet indisputable stamp of sovereignty: whatever may be the +reason, let us be thankful for the choice. He has worked in no field of +whose resources he was more completely master, or which has yielded him +more full and varied development of his rare genius. The work of his +riper years, with the results of his fidelity in discipline, his +generous culture, his catholic and earnest intercourse with men, and his +clear and thoughtful observation lying ready for his use, he has crowned +the green glory of his past with a chaplet that will grow more sure of +permanence with the scrutiny of every succeeding year. In his "Idyls of +the King" we recognized the best moral qualities of many of his previous +works; and in "Enoch Arden," which gives the title to his last volume, +he has turned the full light of his perfected genius on the simple +scenes of domestic joy and sorrow. + +We have always deemed it one of the greatest of Tennyson's great and +good qualities, that he is unfaltering in the tribute of honor which he +pays to the sterling virtues and to the beauty and heroism which he +rejoices to point us to in the daily walk of the humblest life. A +blameless character, pure desire, manly ambition, a fervent faith, and a +strong will, resting on the firm innermost foundation of a Christian +spirit, are as real to him in the fisherman as in the peerless prince. +The temptations, the strength, and the temper of the hero are so common +to both, and so clearly brought out in each, that we feel the Man in the +Prince, and the high aim of the Prince in the true Man. There is the +"grand, heroic soul" in Enoch as in Arthur,-- + + "Who reverenced his conscience as his king; + Whose glory was redressing human wrong; + Who spoke no slander, no, nor listened to it; + Who loved one only, and who clave to her." + +Our poet never strays from Nature; which has for him two sides,--the old +duality, which is also forever,--the real and the ideal. To the one he +brings the most patient fidelity of study; the other he reflects in +every part of his poems in glowing imagery. "Enoch Arden" contains +scenes which a Pre-Raphaelite might draw from,--as that "cup-like hollow +in the down" which held the hazel-wood, with the children nutting +through its reluctant boughs, or the fireside of Philip, on which Enoch +looked and was desolate. On the other hand, no poet has so planted our +literature with gorgeous gardens from which generations of lesser +laborers will be enriched and prospered. The figures in which Tennyson +uses Nature are not, moreover, strained or artificial; they do not +distort or cover the inner meaning, but bloom from it, revealing its +beauty and its sweetness. All bear the mark of loving thought,--now so +delicate that its very faintness thrills and holds us, now strong and +spirited and solemn. + +In this latest poem we find also the old surpassing skill of language, a +skill dependent on the faculty of penetrating to the inmost significance +both of words and of things, so that there is no waste, and so that +single words in single sentences stamp on the brain the substance of +long experiences. Witness this: Enoch lies sick, distant from home and +wife and children; here is one word crowded with pathos, telling of the +weary loss of livelihood, the burden slowly growing more intolerably +irksome to the bold and careful worker wrestling with pain, and to the +fragile mother of the new-born babe:-- + + "Another hand _crept_, too, across his trade, + Taking her bread and theirs." + +See, again, how one line woven in the context shows where the tears +came. Enoch, wrecked, solitary, almost hopeless, found that + + "A phantom made of many phantoms moved + Before him, haunting him,--or he himself + Moved, haunting people, things, and places known + Far in a darker isle beyond the line: + The babes, their babble, Annie, the small house, + The climbing street, the mill, the leafy lanes, + The peacock-yewtree and the lonely Hall, + The horse he drove, the boat he sold, the chill + November dawns and dewy glooming of the downs, + The gentle shower, _the smell of dying leaves_, + And the low moan of leaden-colored seas." + +We know of no more perfect rendering of an unlearned and trustful faith +in God than this which Tennyson puts in the mouth of Enoch as he departs +on the voyage from which he never returns to his wife:-- + + "If you fear, + Cast all your fears on God: that anchor holds. + Is He not yonder in those uttermost + Parts of the morning? if I flee to these, + Can I go from Him? And the sea is His, + The sea is His: He made it." + +In the repetition in the last line one can almost hear the sob welling +up from the heart of the strong sailor, as he speaks of God to one +beloved, in time of trial,--the feeling of bitterness in parting +starting with the impulse of the stronger faith. + +In "Enoch Arden," as in "In Memoriam," Tennyson shows the sweet and sure +sympathy which informs him of all the ways of grief. In its sacred +experiences, where the slightest variance from the simplicity of actual +feeling would jostle all, he holds his way unquestioned. + +It is a test, unembarrassed and complete, of genius, this treatment of +grief, the emotion which least of all brooks exaggeration or +sentimentalism. It is the test of human purity, too, and the hand must +be very tender and very clean which leaves thus exact and clear the +picture of the crowning phase of human life. If "In Memoriam" has +appropriated to itself, by its sublime supremacy, a phrase which, though +in daily use, is never heard without suggesting the poem, Tennyson shows +in "Enoch Arden" that he understands the sad and perfect reign of grief +in the life of the sailor and of the sailor's wife struck with a great +sorrow for the loss of the latest born, as well as in the broad and +varied range of his own cultured nature. + +Coupled with the knowledge of grief is this of prayer,--"that mystery +when God in man is one with man-in-God,"--which is said when Enoch had +resolved to surrender his Annie rather than to break in upon her +happiness:-- + + "His resolve + Upbore him, and firm faith, and evermore + Prayer, from a living source within the will, + And beating up through all the bitter world, + Like fountains of sweet water in the sea, + Kept him a living soul." + +And so we close the poem, which touches us again more than we deemed +possible, till each renewal of the reading stirs again the depths of +passionate sympathy. A pure manhood among the poets, a heart simple as +the simplest, an imperial fancy, whose lofty supremacy none can +question, a high faith, and a spirit possessed with the sublimest and +most universal of Christ's truths, a tender and strong humanity, not +bounded by a vague and misty sentiment, but pervading life in all its +forms, and with these great skill and patience and beauty in +expression,--these are the riper qualities to which "Enoch Arden" +testifies. They are qualities whose attainment and retention are +singularly rare, and whose value we cannot easily overrate. + +And thus much having been said of "Enoch Arden," we find no space for +consideration of the other poems contained in the new volume. "Aylmer's +Field" is in some respects, perhaps, more remarkable than the poem which +precedes it, since the poet never loses sight of England, in its course, +nor the old familiar scenes, but tugs at the fetid roots of shallow +aristocracy with the relentless clutch of one of God's noblemen laboring +for the right. + +Shut in these few pages we find the substance of a three-volume novel; +and while the mind sways slowly to the music of its "sculptured lines," +the lives of men move on from birth to death, leaving their meaning +stamped in rhythmic beauty on our heart and brain. + +Nor must we forget, while contemplating the two principal poems in the +volume,--finished heroic lessons of the poet's mature life,--the songs, +singing themselves like summer ripples on the strand, which are their +melodious companions. Among them we dare to mention "In the Valley of +Cauteretz,"-- + + "Sweeter thy voice, though every sound is sweet." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] _Madame Recamier, with a Sketch of the History of Society in +France_. By Madame M----. London. 1862. + +[B] _Causeries de Lundi_. + +[C] _Coppet et Weimar: Madame de Stael et la Grande Duchesse Louise_. + +[D] Madame de Chateaubriand. + +[E] This term designated a larger class of young men than that to which +it is now confined. It took in the articled clerks of merchants and +bankers, the George Barnwells of the day. + +[F] Since writing this article, we have been informed that the object of +our funeral oration is not definitively dead, but only moribund. So much +the better: we shall have an opportunity of granting the request made to +Walter by one of the children in the wood, and "kill him two times." The +Abbe de Vertot, having a siege to write, and not receiving the materials +in time, composed the whole from his invention. Shortly after its +completion, the expected documents arrived, when he threw them aside, +exclaiming, "You are of no use to me now: I have carried the town." + +[G] _Cornhill Magazine_, June, 1864, Vol. IX. p. 654. + +[H] Gates was an Englishman, and has a damaged reputation. Lee was +another, who has no reputation at all. Conway was an Irishman, and the +same is true of him. But these men all did something to forfeit esteem. +Jones never did. Montgomery died in the full flush of his deserved +honors. He was Irish by birth. + +[I] Not bound to the Baltic, as Mr. Thackeray supposes. Cf. Beatson's +_Naval Memoirs_, Vol. IV. pp. 550-553. + +[J] The bad character that is commonly given to the Athenian polity by +the enemies of popular government is by no means deserved if we can +trust the definition of that polity by Pericles, as reported by +Thucydides, and translated by that eminent scholar and great historian, +Mr. Grote. "We live under a constitution," says Pericles, in the +famous funeral speech, "such as noway to envy the laws of our +neighbors,--ourselves an example to others, rather than mere imitators. +It is called a democracy, since its permanent aim tends toward the Many +and not toward the Few: in regard to private matters and disputes, the +laws deal equally with every man: while looking to public affairs and to +claims of individual influence, every man's chance of advancement is +determined, not by party favor, but by real worth, according as his +reputation stands in his own particular department: nor does poverty, or +obscure station, keep him back, if he really has the means of benefiting +the city." This wellnigh makes a political Arcadia of Athens. Yet there +is no good reason, after making due allowance for the imperfection of +human action, when compared with the theory of a given polity, for +doubting the correctness of the picture. + +[K] One of our English Friends, a man of well-earned eminence, says that +"extracts from the contemporary literature of America seem to show, +that, if the result of the Presidential election of 1860 had been +different, separation would have come, not from the South, but from the +North." (See _Essays on Fiction_, by Nassau W. Senior, p. 397.) Mr. +Senior is mistaken, as much so as when he says that "a total abstinence +from novel-reading pervades New England," where there is more +novel-reading than in any other community of the same numbers in the +world. With the exception of "the old Abolitionists," there were not +five hundred disunionists in all the Free States in 1860; and the +Abolitionists would neither fight nor vote, and, though possessed of +eminent abilities, they had no influence. If Mr. Senior were right, we +do not see how the South could be blamed for what it has done; for, if +we could secede because of Mr. Lincoln's defeat, it follows that the +South could secede because of his election. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, +October, 1864, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 14 *** + +***** This file should be named 16087.txt or 16087.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/8/16087/ + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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