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diff --git a/512-h/512-h.htm b/512-h/512-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..225d20f --- /dev/null +++ b/512-h/512-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17897 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mosses from an Old Manse, by Nathaniel Hawthorne</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mosses from an Old Manse, by Nathaniel Hawthorne</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Mosses from an Old Manse</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April, 1996 [eBook #512]<br /> +[Most recently updated: November 9, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Keller</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE ***</div> + +<h1>Mosses from an Old Manse</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Nathaniel Hawthorne</h2> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">The Old Manse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">The Birthmark</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">A Select Party</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">Young Goodman Brown</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">Rappaccini’s Daughter</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">Mrs. Bullfrog</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">Fire Worship</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">Buds and Bird Voices</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">Monsieur du Miroir</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">The Hall of Fantasy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">The Celestial Railroad</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">The Procession of Life</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">Feathertop: A Moralized Legend</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">The New Adam and Eve</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">Egotism; or, The Bosom Serpent</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">The Christmas Banquet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">Drowne’s Wooden Image</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">The Intelligence Office</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">Roger Malvin’s Burial</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">P.’s Correspondence</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">Earth’s Holocaust</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">Passages from a Relinquished Work</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">Sketches from Memory</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">The Old Apple Dealer</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">The Artist of the Beautiful</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">A Virtuoso’s Collection</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a> +THE OLD MANSE</h2> + +<h4>The Author makes the Reader acquainted with his Abode.</h4> + +<p> +Between two tall gate-posts of rough-hewn stone (the gate itself having fallen +from its hinges at some unknown epoch) we beheld the gray front of the old +parsonage, terminating the vista of an avenue of black-ash trees. It was now a +twelvemonth since the funeral procession of the venerable clergyman, its last +inhabitant, had turned from that gateway towards the village burying-ground. +The wheel-track leading to the door, as well as the whole breadth of the +avenue, was almost overgrown with grass, affording dainty mouthfuls to two or +three vagrant cows and an old white horse who had his own living to pick up +along the roadside. The glimmering shadows that lay half asleep between the +door of the house and the public highway were a kind of spiritual medium, seen +through which the edifice had not quite the aspect of belonging to the material +world. Certainly it had little in common with those ordinary abodes which stand +so imminent upon the road that every passer-by can thrust his head, as it were, +into the domestic circle. From these quiet windows the figures of passing +travellers looked too remote and dim to disturb the sense of privacy. In its +near retirement and accessible seclusion, it was the very spot for the +residence of a clergyman,—a man not estranged from human life, yet +enveloped, in the midst of it, with a veil woven of intermingled gloom and +brightness. It was worthy to have been one of the time-honored parsonages of +England, in which, through many generations, a succession of holy occupants +pass from youth to age, and bequeath each an inheritance of sanctity to pervade +the house and hover over it as with an atmosphere. +</p> + +<p> +Nor, in truth, had the Old Manse ever been profaned by a lay occupant until +that memorable summer afternoon when I entered it as my home. A priest had +built it; a priest had succeeded to it; other priestly men from time to time +had dwelt in it; and children born in its chambers had grown up to assume the +priestly character. It was awful to reflect how many sermons must have been +written there. The latest inhabitant alone—he by whose translation to +paradise the dwelling was left vacant—had penned nearly three thousand +discourses, besides the better, if not the greater, number that gushed living +from his lips. How often, no doubt, had he paced to and fro along the avenue, +attuning his meditations to the sighs and gentle murmurs and deep and solemn +peals of the wind among the lofty tops of the trees! In that variety of natural +utterances he could find something accordant with every passage of his sermon, +were it of tenderness or reverential fear. The boughs over my head seemed +shadowy with solemn thoughts, as well as with rustling leaves. I took shame to +myself for having been so long a writer of idle stories, and ventured to hope +that wisdom would descend upon me with the falling leaves of the avenue, and +that I should light upon an intellectual treasure in the Old Manse well worth +those hoards of long-hidden gold which people seek for in moss-grown houses. +Profound treatises of morality; a layman’s unprofessional, and therefore +unprejudiced, views of religion; histories (such as Bancroft might have written +had he taken up his abode here, as he once purposed) bright with picture, +gleaming over a depth of philosophic thought,—these were the works that +might fitly have flowed from such a retirement. In the humblest event, I +resolved at least to achieve a novel that should evolve some deep lesson, and +should possess physical substance enough to stand alone. +</p> + +<p> +In furtherance of my design, and as if to leave me no pretext for not +fulfilling it, there was in the rear of the house the most delightful little +nook of a study that ever afforded its snug seclusion to a scholar. It was here +that Emerson wrote Nature; for he was then an inhabitant of the Manse, and used +to watch the Assyrian dawn and Paphian sunset and moonrise from the summit of +our eastern hill. When I first saw the room, its walls were blackened with the +smoke of unnumbered years, and made still blacker by the grim prints of Puritan +ministers that hung around. These worthies looked strangely like bad angels, or +at least like men who had wrestled so continually and so sternly with the Devil +that somewhat of his sooty fierceness had been imparted to their own visages. +They had all vanished now; a cheerful coat of paint and golden-tinted +paper-hangings lighted up the small apartment; while the shadow of a +willow-tree that swept against the overhanging eaves atempered the cheery +western sunshine. In place of the grim prints there was the sweet and lovely +head of one of Raphael’s Madonnas, and two pleasant little pictures of the Lake +of Como. The only other decorations were a purple vase of flowers, always +fresh, and a bronze one containing graceful ferns. My books (few, and by no +means choice; for they were chiefly such waifs as chance had thrown in my way) +stood in order about the room, seldom to be disturbed. +</p> + +<p> +The study had three windows, set with little, old-fashioned panes of glass, +each with a crack across it. The two on the western side looked, or rather +peeped, between the willow branches, down into the orchard, with glimpses of +the river through the trees. The third, facing northward, commanded a broader +view of the river, at a spot where its hitherto obscure waters gleam forth into +the light of history. It was at this window that the clergyman who then dwelt +in the Manse stood watching the outbreak of a long and deadly struggle between +two nations; he saw the irregular array of his parishioners on the farther side +of the river, and the glittering line of the British on the hither bank. He +awaited, in an agony of suspense, the rattle of the musketry. It came; and +there needed but a gentle wind to sweep the battle-smoke around this quiet +house. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the reader, whom I cannot help considering as my guest in the Old +Manse, and entitled to all courtesy in the way of sight-showing,—perhaps +he will choose to take a nearer view of the memorable spot. We stand now on the +river’s brink. It may well be called the Concord,—the river of peace and +quietness; for it is certainly the most unexcitable and sluggish stream that +ever loitered imperceptibly towards its eternity,—the sea. Positively I +had lived three weeks beside it before it grew quite clear to my perception +which way the current flowed. It never has a vivacious aspect, except when a +northwestern breeze is vexing its surface on a sunshiny day. From the incurable +indolence of its nature, the stream is happily incapable of becoming the slave +of human ingenuity, as is the fate of so many a wild, free mountain torrent. +While all things else are compelled to subserve some useful purpose, it idles +its sluggish life away in lazy liberty, without turning a solitary spindle or +affording even water-power enough to grind the corn that grows upon its banks. +The torpor of its movement allows it nowhere a bright, pebbly shore, nor so +much as a narrow strip of glistening sand, in any part of its course. It +slumbers between broad prairies, kissing the long meadow grass, and bathes the +overhanging boughs of elder-bushes and willows, or the roots of elms and +ash-trees and clumps of maples. Flags and rushes grow along its plashy shore; +the yellow water-lily spreads its broad, flat leaves on the margin; and the +fragrant white pond-lily abounds, generally selecting a position just so far +from the river’s brink that it cannot be grasped save at the hazard of plunging +in. +</p> + +<p> +It is a marvel whence this perfect flower derives its loveliness and perfume, +springing as it does from the black mud over which the river sleeps, and where +lurk the slimy eel, and speckled frog, and the mud-turtle, whom continual +washing cannot cleanse. It is the very same black mud out of which the yellow +lily sucks its obscene life and noisome odor. Thus we see, too, in the world +that some persons assimilate only what is ugly and evil from the same moral +circumstances which supply good and beautiful results—the fragrance of +celestial flowers—to the daily life of others. +</p> + +<p> +The reader must not, from any testimony of mine, contract a dislike towards our +slumberous stream. In the light of a calm and golden sunset it becomes lovely +beyond expression; the more lovely for the quietude that so well accords with +the hour, when even the wind, after blustering all day long, usually hushes +itself to rest. Each tree and rock and every blade of grass is distinctly +imaged, and, however unsightly in reality, assumes ideal beauty in the +reflection. The minutest things of earth and the broad aspect of the firmament +are pictured equally without effort and with the same felicity of success. All +the sky glows downward at our feet; the rich clouds float through the unruffled +bosom of the stream like heavenly thoughts through a peaceful heart. We will +not, then, malign our river as gross and impure while it can glorify itself +with so adequate a picture of the heaven that broods above it; or, if we +remember its tawny hue and the muddiness of its bed, let it be a symbol that +the earthiest human soul has an infinite spiritual capacity and may contain the +better world within its depths. But, indeed, the same lesson might be drawn out +of any mud-puddle in the streets of a city; and, being taught us everywhere, it +must be true. +</p> + +<p> +Come, we have pursued a somewhat devious track in our walk to the +battle-ground. Here we are, at the point where the river was crossed by the old +bridge, the possession of which was the immediate object of the contest. On the +hither side grow two or three elms, throwing a wide circumference of shade, but +which must have been planted at some period within the threescore years and ten +that have passed since the battle-day. On the farther shore, overhung by a +clump of elder-bushes, we discern the stone abutment of the bridge. Looking +down into the river, I once discovered some heavy fragments of the timbers, all +green with half a century’s growth of water-moss; for during that length of +time the tramp of horses and human footsteps have ceased along this ancient +highway. The stream has here about the breadth of twenty strokes of a swimmer’s +arm,—a space not too wide when the bullets were whistling across. Old +people who dwell hereabouts will point out, the very spots on the western bank +where our countrymen fell down and died; and on this side of the river an +obelisk of granite has grown up from the soil that was fertilized with British +blood. The monument, not more than twenty feet in height, is such as it +befitted the inhabitants of a village to erect in illustration of a matter of +local interest rather than what was suitable to commemorate an epoch of +national history. Still, by the fathers of the village this famous deed was +done; and their descendants might rightfully claim the privilege of building a +memorial. +</p> + +<p> +A humbler token of the fight, yet a more interesting one than the granite +obelisk, may be seen close under the stone wall which separates the +battle-ground from the precincts of the parsonage. It is the +grave,—marked by a small, mossgrown fragment of stone at the head and +another at the foot,—the grave of two British soldiers who were slain in +the skirmish, and have ever since slept peacefully where Zechariah Brown and +Thomas Davis buried them. Soon was their warfare ended; a weary night-march +from Boston, a rattling volley of musketry across the river, and then these +many years of rest. In the long procession of slain invaders who passed into +eternity from the battle-fields of the Revolution, these two nameless soldiers +led the way. +</p> + +<p> +Lowell, the poet, as we were once standing over this grave, told me a tradition +in reference to one of the inhabitants below. The story has something deeply +impressive, though its circumstances cannot altogether be reconciled with +probability. A youth in the service of the clergyman happened to be chopping +wood, that April morning, at the back door of the Manse; and when the noise of +battle rang from side to side of the bridge, he hastened across the intervening +field to see what might be going forward. It is rather strange, by the way, +that this lad should have been so diligently at work when the whole population +of town and country were startled out of their customary business by the +advance of the British troops. Be that as it might, the tradition, says that +the lad now left his task and hurried to the battle-field with the axe still in +his hand. The British had by this time retreated; the Americans were in +pursuit; and the late scene of strife was thus deserted by both parties. Two +soldiers lay on the ground,—one was a corpse; but, as the young +New-Englander drew nigh, the other Briton raised himself painfully upon his +hands and knees and gave a ghastly stare into his face. The boy,—it must +have been a nervous impulse, without purpose, without thought, and betokening a +sensitive and impressible nature rather than a hardened one,—the boy +uplifted his axe and dealt the wounded soldier a fierce and fatal blow upon the +head. +</p> + +<p> +I could wish that the grave might be opened; for I would fain know whether +either of the skeleton soldiers has the mark of an axe in his skull. The story +comes home to me like truth. Oftentimes, as an intellectual and moral exercise, +I have sought to follow that poor youth through his subsequent career and +observe how his soul was tortured by the blood-stain, contracted as it had been +before the long custom of war had robbed human life of its sanctity and while +it still seemed murderous to slay a brother man. This one circumstance has +borne more fruit for me than all that history tells us of the fight. +</p> + +<p> +Many strangers come in the summer-time to view the battle-ground. For my own +part, I have never found my imagination much excited by this or any other scene +of historic celebrity; nor would the placid margin of the river have lost any +of its charm for me, had men never fought and died there. There is a wilder +interest in the tract of land-perhaps a hundred yards in breadth—which +extends between the battle-field and the northern face of our Old Manse, with +its contiguous avenue and orchard. Here, in some unknown age, before the white +man came, stood an Indian village, convenient to the river, whence its +inhabitants must have drawn so large a part of their substance. The site is +identified by the spear and arrow-heads, the chisels, and other implements of +war, labor, and the chase, which the plough turns up from the soil. You see a +splinter of stone, half hidden beneath a sod; it looks like nothing worthy of +note; but, if you have faith enough to pick it up, behold a relic! Thoreau, who +has a strange faculty of finding what the Indians have left behind them, first +set me on the search; and I afterwards enriched myself with some very perfect +specimens, so rudely wrought that it seemed almost as if chance had fashioned +them. Their great charm consists in this rudeness and in the individuality of +each article, so different from the productions of civilized machinery, which +shapes everything on one pattern. There is exquisite delight, too, in picking +up for one’s self an arrow-head that was dropped centuries ago and has never +been handled since, and which we thus receive directly from the hand of the red +hunter, who purposed to shoot it at his game or at an enemy. Such an incident +builds up again the Indian village and its encircling forest, and recalls to +life the painted chiefs and warriors, the squaws at their household toil, and +the children sporting among the wigwams, while the little wind-rocked pappose +swings from the branch of a tree. It can hardly be told whether it is a joy or +a pain, after such a momentary vision, to gaze around in the broad daylight of +reality and see stone fences, white houses, potato-fields, and men doggedly +hoeing in their shirt-sleeves and homespun pantaloons. But this is nonsense. +The Old Manse is better than a thousand wigwams. +</p> + +<p> +The Old Manse! We had almost forgotten it, but will return thither through the +orchard. This was set out by the last clergyman, in the decline of his life, +when the neighbors laughed at the hoary-headed man for planting trees from +which he could have no prospect of gathering fruit. Even had that been the +case, there was only so much the better motive for planting them, in the pure +and unselfish hope of benefiting his successors,—an end so seldom +achieved by more ambitious efforts. But the old minister, before reaching his +patriarchal age of ninety, ate the apples from this orchard during many years, +and added silver and gold to his annual stipend by disposing of the +superfluity. It is pleasant to think of him walking among the trees in the +quiet afternoons of early autumn and picking up here and there a windfall, +while he observes how heavily the branches are weighed down, and computes the +number of empty flour-barrels that will be filled by their burden. He loved +each tree, doubtless, as if it had been his own child. An orchard has a +relation to mankind, and readily connects itself with matters of the heart. The +trees possess a domestic character; they have lost the wild nature of their +forest kindred, and have grown humanized by receiving the care of man as well +as by contributing to his wants. There, is so much individuality of character, +too, among apple trees, that it gives them all additional claim to be the +objects of human interest. One is harsh and crabbed in its manifestations; +another gives us fruit as mild as charity. One is churlish and illiberal, +evidently grudging the few apples that it bears; another exhausts itself in +free-hearted benevolence. The variety of grotesque shapes into which apple, +trees contort themselves has its effect on those who get acquainted with them: +they stretch out their crooked branches, and take such hold of the imagination, +that we remember them as humorists and odd fellows. And what is more melancholy +than the old apple-trees that linger about the spot where once stood a +homestead, but where there is now only a ruined chimney rising out of a grassy +and weed-grown cellar? They offer their fruit to every wayfarer,—apples +that are bitter sweet with the moral of Time’s vicissitude. +</p> + +<p> +I have met with no other such pleasant trouble in the world as that of finding +myself, with only the two or three mouths which it was my privilege to feed, +the sole inheritor of the old clergyman’s wealth of fruits. Throughout the +summer there were cherries and currants; and then came Autumn, with his immense +burden of apples, dropping them continually from his over-laden shoulders as he +trudged along. In the stillest afternoon, if I listened, the thump of a great +apple was audible, falling without a breath of wind, from the mere necessity of +perfect ripeness. And, besides, there were pear-trees, that flung down bushels +upon bushels of heavy pears; and peach-trees, which, in a good year, tormented +me with peaches, neither to be eaten nor kept, nor, without labor and +perplexity, to be given away. The idea of an infinite generosity and +exhaustless bounty on the part of our Mother Nature was well worth obtaining +through such cares as these. That feeling can be enjoyed in perfection only by +the natives of summer islands, where the bread-fruit, the cocoa, the palm, and +the orange grow spontaneously and hold forth the ever-ready meal; but likewise +almost as well by a man long habituated to city life, who plunges into such a +solitude as that of the Old Manse, where he plucks the fruit of trees that he +did not plant, and which therefore, to my heterodox taste, bear the closest +resemblance to those that grew in Eden. It has been an apothegm these five +thousand years, that toil sweetens the bread it earns. For my part (speaking +from hard experience, acquired while belaboring the rugged furrows of Brook +Farm), I relish best the free gifts of Providence. +</p> + +<p> +Not that it can be disputed that the light toil requisite to cultivate a +moderately sized garden imparts such zest to kitchen vegetables as is never +found in those of the market-gardener. Childless men, if they would know +something of the bliss of paternity, should plant a seed,—be it squash, +bean, Indian corn, or perhaps a mere flower or worthless weed,—should +plant it with their own hands, and nurse it from infancy to maturity altogether +by their own care. If there be not too many of them, each individual plant +becomes an object of separate interest. My garden, that skirted the avenue of +the Manse, was of precisely the right extent. An hour or two of morning labor +was all that it required. But I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a +day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that +nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of +creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a +hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a row of early peas just peeping +forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green. Later in the season the +humming-birds were attracted by the blossoms of a peculiar variety of bean; and +they were a joy to me, those little spiritual visitants, for deigning to sip +airy food out of my nectar-cups. Multitudes of bees used to bury themselves in +the yellow blossoms of the summer-squashes. This, too, was a deep satisfaction; +although, when they had laden themselves with sweets, they flew away to some +unknown hive, which would give back nothing in requital of what my garden had +contributed. But I was glad thus to fling a benefaction upon the passing breeze +with the certainty that somebody must profit by it and that there would be a +little more honey in the world to allay the sourness and bitterness which +mankind is always complaining of. Yes, indeed; my life was the sweeter for that +honey. +</p> + +<p> +Speaking of summer-squashes, I must say a word of their beautiful and varied +forms. They presented an endless diversity of urns and vases, shallow or deep, +scalloped or plain, moulded in patterns which a sculptor would do well to copy, +since Art has never invented anything more graceful. A hundred squashes in the +garden were worth, in my eyes at least, of being rendered indestructible in +marble. If ever Providence (but I know it never will) should assign me a +superfluity of gold, part of it shall be expended for a service of plate, or +most delicate porcelain, to be wrought into the shapes of summer-squashes +gathered from vines which I will plant with my own hands. As dishes for +containing vegetables, they would be peculiarly appropriate. +</p> + +<p> +But not merely the squeamish love of the beautiful was gratified by my toil in +the kitchen-garden. There was a hearty enjoyment, likewise, in observing the +growth of the crook-necked winter-squashes from the first little bulb, with the +withered blossom adhering to it, until they lay strewn upon the soil, big, +round fellows, hiding their heads beneath the leaves, but turning up their +great yellow rotundities to the noontide sun. Gazing at them, I felt that by my +agency something worth living for had been done. A new substance was born into +the world. They were real and tangible existences, which the mind could seize +hold of and rejoice in. A cabbage, too,—especially the early Dutch +cabbage, which swells to a monstrous circumference, until its ambitious heart +often bursts asunder,—is a matter to be proud of when we can claim a +share with the earth and sky in producing it. But, after all, the hugest +pleasure is reserved until these vegetable children of ours are smoking on the +table, and we, like Saturn, make a meal of them. +</p> + +<p> +What with the river, the battle-field, the orchard, and the garden, the reader +begins to despair of finding his way back into the Old Manse. But, in agreeable +weather, it is the truest hospitality to keep him out of doors. I never grew +quite acquainted with my habitation till a long spell of sulky rain had +confined me beneath its roof. There could not be a more sombre aspect of +external nature than as then seen from the windows of my study. The great +willow-tree had caught and retained among its leaves a whole cataract of water, +to be shaken down at intervals by the frequent gusts of wind. All day long, and +for a week together, the rain was drip-drip-dripping and +splash-splash-splashing from the eaves and bubbling and foaming into the tubs +beneath the spouts. The old, unpainted shingles of the house and outbuildings +were black with moisture; and the mosses of ancient growth upon the walls +looked green and fresh, as if they were the newest things and afterthought of +Time. The usually mirrored surface of the river was blurred by an infinity of +raindrops; the whole landscape had a completely water-soaked appearance, +conveying the impression that the earth was wet through like a sponge; while +the summit of a wooded hill, about a mile distant, was enveloped in a dense +mist, where the demon of the tempest seemed to have his abiding-place and to be +plotting still direr inclemencies. +</p> + +<p> +Nature has no kindness, no hospitality, during a rain. In the fiercest beat of +sunny days she retains a secret mercy, and welcomes the wayfarer to shady nooks +of the woods whither the sun cannot penetrate; but she provides no shelter +against her storms. It makes us shiver to think of those deep, umbrageous +recesses, those overshadowing banks, where we found such enjoyment during the +sultry afternoons. Not a twig of foliage there but would dash a little shower +into our faces. Looking reproachfully towards the impenetrable sky,—if +sky there be above that dismal uniformity of cloud,—we are apt to murmur +against the whole system of the universe, since it involves the extinction of +so many summer days in so short a life by the hissing and spluttering rain. In +such spells of weather,—and it is to be supposed such weather +came,—Eve’s bower in paradise must have been but a cheerless and aguish +kind of shelter, nowise comparable to the old parsonage, which had resources of +its own to beguile the week’s imprisonment. The idea of sleeping on a couch of +wet roses! +</p> + +<p> +Happy the man who in a rainy day can betake himself to a huge garret, stored, +like that of the Manse, with lumber that each generation has left behind it +from a period before the Revolution. Our garret was an arched hall, dimly +illuminated through small and dusty windows; it was but a twilight at the best; +and there were nooks, or rather caverns, of deep obscurity, the secrets of +which I never learned, being too reverent of their dust and cobwebs. The beams +and rafters, roughly hewn and with strips of bark still on them, and the rude +masonry of the chimneys, made the garret look wild and uncivilized, an aspect +unlike what was seen elsewhere in the quiet and decorous old house. But on one +side there was a little whitewashed apartment, which bore the traditionary +title of the Saint’s Chamber, because holy men in their youth had slept, and +studied, and prayed there. With its elevated retirement, its one window, its +small fireplace, and its closet convenient for an oratory, it was the very spot +where a young man might inspire himself with solemn enthusiasm and cherish +saintly dreams. The occupants, at various epochs, had left brief records and +ejaculations inscribed upon the walls. There, too, hung a tattered and +shrivelled roll of canvas, which on inspection proved to be the forcibly +wrought picture of a clergyman, in wig, band, and gown, holding a Bible in his +hand. As I turned his face towards the light, he eyed me with an air of +authority such as men of his profession seldom assume in our days. The original +had been pastor of the parish more than a century ago, a friend of Whitefield, +and almost his equal in fervid eloquence. I bowed before the effigy of the +dignified divine, and felt as if I had now met face to face with the ghost by +whom, as there was reason to apprehend, the Manse was haunted. +</p> + +<p> +Houses of any antiquity in New England are so invariably possessed with spirits +that the matter seems hardly worth alluding to. Our ghost used to heave deep +sighs in a particular corner of the parlor, and sometimes rustled paper, as if +he were turning over a sermon in the long upper entry,—where nevertheless +he was invisible, in spite of the bright moonshine that fell through the +eastern window. Not improbably he wished me to edit and publish a selection +from a chest full of manuscript discourses that stood in the garret. Once, +while Hillard and other friends sat talking with us in the twilight, there came +a rustling noise as of a minister’s silk gown, sweeping through the very midst +of the company, so closely as almost to brush against the chairs. Still there +was nothing visible. A yet stranger business was that of a ghostly +servant-maid, who used to be heard in the kitchen at deepest midnight, grinding +coffee, cooking, ironing,—performing, in short, all kinds of domestic +labor,—although no traces of anything accomplished could be detected the +next morning. Some neglected duty of her servitude, some ill-starched +ministerial band, disturbed the poor damsel in her grave and kept her at work +without any wages. +</p> + +<p> +But to return from this digression. A part of my predecessor’s library was +stored in the garret,—no unfit receptacle indeed for such dreary trash as +comprised the greater number of volumes. The old books would have been worth +nothing at an auction. In this venerable garret, however, they possessed an +interest, quite apart from their literary value, as heirlooms, many of which +had been transmitted down through a series of consecrated hands from the days +of the mighty Puritan divines. Autographs of famous names were to be seen in +faded ink on some of their fly-leaves; and there were marginal observations or +interpolated pages closely covered with manuscript in illegible shorthand, +perhaps concealing matter of profound truth and wisdom. The world will never be +the better for it. A few of the books were Latin folios, written by Catholic +authors; others demolished Papistry, as with a sledge-hammer, in plain English. +A dissertation on the Book of Job—which only Job himself could have had +patience to read—filled at least a score of small, thick-set quartos, at +the rate of two or three volumes to a chapter. Then there was a vast folio body +of divinity,—too corpulent a body, it might be feared, to comprehend the +spiritual element of religion. Volumes of this form dated back two hundred +years or more, and were generally bound in black leather, exhibiting precisely +such an appearance as we should attribute to books of enchantment. Others +equally antique were of a size proper to be carried in the large waistcoat +pockets of old times,—diminutive, but as black as their bulkier brethren, +and abundantly interfused with Greek and Latin quotations. These little old +volumes impressed me as if they had been intended for very large ones, but had +been unfortunately blighted at an early stage of their growth. +</p> + +<p> +The rain pattered upon the roof and the sky gloomed through the dusty +garret-windows while I burrowed among these venerable books in search of any +living thought which should burn like a coal of fire or glow like an +inextinguishable gem beneath the dead trumpery that had long hidden it. But I +found no such treasure; all was dead alike; and I could not but muse deeply and +wonderingly upon the humiliating fact that the works of man’s intellect decay +like those of his hands. Thought grows mouldy. What was good and nourishing +food for the spirits of one generation affords no sustenance for the next. +Books of religion, however, cannot be considered a fair test of the enduring +and vivacious properties of human thought, because such books so seldom really +touch upon their ostensible subject, and have, therefore, so little business to +be written at all. So long as an unlettered soul can attain to saving grace +there would seem to be no deadly error in holding theological libraries to be +accumulations of, for the most part, stupendous impertinence. +</p> + +<p> +Many of the books had accrued in the latter years of the last clergyman’s +lifetime. These threatened to be of even less interest than the elder works a +century hence to any curious inquirer who should then rummage then as I was +doing now. Volumes of the Liberal Preacher and Christian Examiner, occasional +sermons, controversial pamphlets, tracts, and other productions of a like +fugitive nature, took the place of the thick and heavy volumes of past time. In +a physical point of view, there was much the same difference as between a +feather and a lump of lead; but, intellectually regarded, the specific gravity +of old and new was about upon a par. Both also were alike frigid. The elder +books nevertheless seemed to have been earnestly written, and might be +conceived to have possessed warmth at some former period; although, with the +lapse of time, the heated masses had cooled down even to the freezing-point. +The frigidity of the modern productions, on the other hand, was characteristic +and inherent, and evidently had little to do with the writer’s qualities of +mind and heart. In fine, of this whole dusty heap of literature I tossed aside +all the sacred part, and felt myself none the less a Christian for eschewing +it. There appeared no hope of either mounting to the better world on a Gothic +staircase of ancient folios or of flying thither on the wings of a modern +tract. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing, strange to say, retained any sap except what had been written for the +passing day and year, without the remotest pretension or idea of permanence. +There were a few old newspapers, and still older almanacs, which reproduced to +my mental eye the epochs when they had issued from the press with a +distinctness that was altogether unaccountable. It was as if I had found bits +of magic looking-glass among the books with the images of a vanished century in +them. I turned my eyes towards the tattered picture above mentioned, and asked +of the austere divine wherefore it was that he and his brethren, after the most +painful rummaging and groping into their minds, had been able to produce +nothing half so real as these newspaper scribblers and almanac-makers had +thrown off in the effervescence of a moment. The portrait responded not; so I +sought an answer for myself. It is the age itself that writes newspapers and +almanacs, which therefore have a distinct purpose and meaning at the time, and +a kind of intelligible truth for all times; whereas most other +works—being written by men who, in the very act, set themselves apart +from their age—are likely to possess little significance when new, and +none at all when old. Genius, indeed, melts many ages into one, and thus +effects something permanent, yet still with a similarity of office to that of +the more ephemeral writer. A work of genius is but the newspaper of a century, +or perchance of a hundred centuries. +</p> + +<p> +Lightly as I have spoken of these old books, there yet lingers with me a +superstitious reverence for literature of all kinds. A bound volume has a charm +in my eyes similar to what scraps of manuscript possess for the good Mussulman. +He imagines that those wind-wafted records are perhaps hallowed by some sacred +verse; and I, that every new book or antique one may contain the “open +sesame,”—the spell to disclose treasures hidden in some unsuspected cave +of Truth. Thus it was not without sadness that I turned away from the library +of the Old Manse. +</p> + +<p> +Blessed was the sunshine when it came again at the close of another stormy day, +beaming from the edge of the western horizon; while the massive firmament of +clouds threw down all the gloom it could, but served only to kindle the golden +light into a more brilliant glow by the strongly contrasted shadows. Heaven +smiled at the earth, so long unseen, from beneath its heavy eyelid. To-morrow +for the hill-tops and the woodpaths. +</p> + +<p> +Or it might be that Ellery Charming came up the avenue to join me in a fishing +excursion on the river. Strange and happy times were those when we cast aside +all irksome forms and strait-laced habitudes and delivered ourselves up to the +free air, to live like the Indians or any less conventional race during one +bright semicircle of the sun. Rowing our boat against the current, between wide +meadows, we turned aside into the Assabeth. A more lovely stream than this, for +a mile above its junction with the Concord, has never flowed on earth, nowhere, +indeed, except to lave the interior regions of a poet’s imagination. It is +sheltered from the breeze by woods and a hillside; so that elsewhere there +might be a hurricane, and here scarcely a ripple across the shaded water. The +current lingers along so gently that the mere force of the boatman’s will seems +sufficient to propel his craft against it. It comes flowing softly through the +midmost privacy and deepest heart of a wood which whispers it to be quiet; +while the stream whispers back again from its sedgy borders, as if river and +wood were hushing one another to sleep. Yes; the river sleeps along its course +and dreams of the sky and of the clustering foliage, amid which fall showers of +broken sunlight, imparting specks of vivid cheerfulness, in contrast with the +quiet depth of the prevailing tint. Of all this scene, the slumbering river has +a dream-picture in its bosom. Which, after all, was the most real,—the +picture, or the original?—the objects palpable to our grosser senses, or +their apotheosis in the stream beneath? Surely the disembodied images stand in +closer relation to the soul. But both the original and the reflection had here +an ideal charm; and, had it been a thought more wild, I could have fancied that +this river had strayed forth out of the rich scenery of my companion’s inner +world; only the vegetation along its banks should then have had an Oriental +character. +</p> + +<p> +Gentle and unobtrusive as the river is, yet the tranquil woods seem hardly +satisfied to allow it passage. The trees are rooted on the very verge of the +water, and dip their pendent branches into it. At one spot there is a lofty +bank, on the slope of which grow some hemlocks, declining across the stream +with outstretched arms, as if resolute to take the plunge. In other places the +banks are almost on a level with the water; so that the quiet congregation of +trees set their feet in the flood, and are Fringed with foliage down to the +surface. Cardinal-flowers kindle their spiral flames and illuminate the dark +nooks among the shrubbery. The pond-lily grows abundantly along the +margin,—that delicious flower which, as Thoreau tells me, opens its +virgin bosom to the first sunlight and perfects its being through the magic of +that genial kiss. He has beheld beds of them unfolding in due succession as the +sunrise stole gradually from flower to flower,—a sight not to be hoped +for unless when a poet adjusts his inward eye to a proper focus with the +outward organ. Grapevines here and there twine themselves around shrub and tree +and hang their clusters over the water within reach of the boatman’s hand. +Oftentimes they unite two trees of alien race in an inextricable twine, +marrying the hemlock and the maple against their will and enriching them with a +purple offspring of which neither is the parent. One of these ambitious +parasites has climbed into the upper branches of a tall white-pine, and is +still ascending from bough to bough, unsatisfied till it shall crown the tree’s +airy summit with a wreath of its broad foliage and a cluster of its grapes. +</p> + +<p> +The winding course of the stream continually shut out the scene behind us and +revealed as calm and lovely a one before. We glided from depth to depth, and +breathed new seclusion at every turn. The shy kingfisher flew from the withered +branch close at hand to another at a distance, uttering a shrill cry of anger +or alarm. Ducks that had been floating there since the preceding eve were +startled at our approach and skimmed along the glassy river, breaking its dark +surface with a bright streak. The pickerel leaped from among the lilypads. The +turtle, sunning itself upon a rock or at the root of a tree, slid suddenly into +the water with a plunge. The painted Indian who paddled his canoe along the +Assabeth three hundred years ago could hardly have seen a wilder gentleness +displayed upon its banks and reflected in its bosom than we did. Nor could the +same Indian have prepared his noontide meal with more simplicity. We drew up +our skiff at some point where the overarching shade formed a natural bower, and +there kindled a fire with the pine cones and decayed branches that lay strewn +plentifully around. Soon the smoke ascended among the trees, impregnated with a +savory incense, not heavy, dull, and surfeiting, like the steam of cookery +within doors, but sprightly and piquant. The smell of our feast was akin to the +woodland odors with which it mingled: there was no sacrilege committed by our +intrusion there: the sacred solitude was hospitable, and granted us free leave +to cook and eat in the recess that was at once our kitchen and banqueting-hall. +It is strange what humble offices may be performed in a beautiful scene without +destroying its poetry. Our fire, red gleaming among the trees, and we beside +it, busied with culinary rites and spreading out our meal on a mossgrown log, +all seemed in unison with the river gliding by and the foliage rustling over +us. And, what was strangest, neither did our mirth seem to disturb the +propriety of the solemn woods; although the hobgoblins of the old wilderness +and the will-of-the-wisps that glimmered in the marshy places might have come +trooping to share our table-talk and have added their shrill laughter to our +merriment. It was the very spot in which to utter the extremest nonsense or the +profoundest wisdom, or that ethereal product of the mind which partakes of +both, and may become one or the other, in correspondence with the faith and +insight of the auditor. +</p> + +<p> +So, amid sunshine and shadow, rustling leaves and sighing waters, up gushed our +talk like the babble of a fountain. The evanescent spray was Ellery’s; and his, +too, the lumps of golden thought that lay glimmering in the fountain’s bed and +brightened both our faces by the reflection. Could he have drawn out that +virgin gold, and stamped it with the mint-mark that alone gives currency, the +world might have had the profit, and he the fame. My mind was the richer merely +by the knowledge that it was there. But the chief profit of those wild days, to +him and me, lay not in any definite idea, not in any angular or rounded truth, +which we dug out of the shapeless mass of problematical stuff, but in the +freedom which we thereby won from all custom and conventionalism and fettering +influences of man on man. We were so free to-day that it was impossible to be +slaves again to-morrow. When we crossed the threshold of the house or trod the +thronged pavements of a city, still the leaves of the trees that overhang the +Assabeth were whispering to us, “Be free! be free!” Therefore along that shady +river-bank there are spots, marked with a heap of ashes and half-consumed +brands, only less sacred in my remembrance than the hearth of a household fire. +</p> + +<p> +And yet how sweet, as we floated homeward adown the golden river at +sunset,—how sweet was it to return within the system of human society, +not as to a dungeon and a chain, but as to a stately edifice, whence we could +go forth at will into state—her simplicity! How gently, too, did the +sight of the Old Manse, best seen from the river, overshadowed with its willow +and all environed about with the foliage of its orchard and avenue,—how +gently did its gray, homely aspect rebuke the speculative extravagances of the +day! It had grown sacred in connection with the artificial life against which +we inveighed; it had been a home for many years, in spite of all; it was my +home too; and, with these thoughts, it seemed to me that all the artifice and +conventionalism of life was but an impalpable thinness upon its surface, and +that the depth below was none the worse for it. Once, as we turned our boat to +the bank, there was a cloud, in the shape of an immensely gigantic figure of a +hound, couched above the house, as if keeping guard over it. Gazing at this +symbol, I prayed that the upper influences might long protect the institutions +that had grown out of the heart of mankind. +</p> + +<p> +If ever my readers should decide to give up civilized life, cities, houses, and +whatever moral or material enormities in addition to these the perverted +ingenuity of our race has contrived, let it be in the early autumn. Then Nature +will love him better than at any other season, and will take him to her bosom +with a more motherly tenderness. I could scarcely endure the roof of the old +house above me in those first autumnal days. How early in the summer, too, the +prophecy of autumn comes! Earlier in some years than in others; sometimes even +in the first weeks of July. There is no other feeling like what is caused by +this faint, doubtful, yet real perception—if it be not rather a +foreboding—of the year’s decay, so blessedly sweet and sad in the same +breath. +</p> + +<p> +Did I say that there was no feeling like it? Ah, but there is a +half-acknowledged melancholy like to this when we stand in the perfected vigor +of our life and feel that Time has now given us all his flowers, and that the +next work of his never-idle fingers must be to steal them one by one away. +</p> + +<p> +I have forgotten whether the song of the cricket be not as early a token of +autumn’s approach as any other,—that song which may be called an audible +stillness; for though very loud and heard afar, yet the mind does not take note +of it as a sound, so completely is its individual existence merged among the +accompanying characteristics of the season. Alas for the pleasant summertime! +In August the grass is still verdant on the hills and in the valleys; the +foliage of the trees is as dense as ever and as green; the flowers gleam forth +in richer abundance along the margin of the river and by the stone walls and +deep among the woods; the days, too, are as fervid now as they were a month +ago; and yet in every breath of wind and in every beam of sunshine we hear the +whispered farewell and behold the parting smile of a dear friend. There is a +coolness amid all the heat, a mildness in the blazing noon. Not a breeze can +stir but it thrills us with the breath of autumn. A pensive glory is seen in +the far, golden gleams, among the shadows of the trees. The flowers—even +the brightest of them, and they are the most gorgeous of the year—have +this gentle sadness wedded to their pomp, and typify the character of the +delicious time each within itself. The brilliant cardinal-flower has never +seemed gay to me. +</p> + +<p> +Still later in the season Nature’s tenderness waxes stronger. It is impossible +not to be fond of our mother now; for she is so fond of us! At other periods +she does not make this impression on me, or only at rare intervals; but in +those genial days of autumn, when she has perfected her harvests and +accomplished every needful thing that was given her to do, then she overflows +with a blessed superfluity of love. She has leisure to caress her children now. +It is good to be alive and at such times. Thank Heaven for breath—yes, +for mere breath—when it is made up of a heavenly breeze like this! It +comes with a real kiss upon our cheeks; it would linger fondly around us if it +might; but, since it must be gone, it embraces us with its whole kindly heart +and passes onward to embrace likewise the next thing that it meets. A blessing +is flung abroad and scattered far and wide over the earth, to be gathered up by +all who choose. I recline upon the still unwithered grass and whisper to +myself, “O perfect day! O beautiful world! O beneficent God!” And it is the +promise of a blessed eternity; for our Creator would never have made such +lovely days and have given us the deep hearts to enjoy them, above and beyond +all thought, unless we were meant to be immortal. This sunshine is the golden +pledge thereof. It beams through the gates of paradise and shows us glimpses +far inward. +</p> + +<p> +By and by, in a little time, the outward world puts on a drear austerity. On +some October morning there is a heavy hoarfrost on the grass and along the tops +of the fences; and at sunrise the leaves fall from the trees of our avenue, +without a breath of wind, quietly descending by their own weight. All summer +long they have murmured like the noise of waters; they have roared loudly while +the branches were wrestling with the thunder-gust; they have made music both +glad and solemn; they have attuned my thoughts by their quiet sound as I paced +to and fro beneath the arch of intermingling boughs. Now they can only rustle +under my feet. Henceforth the gray parsonage begins to assume a larger +importance, and draws to its fireside,—for the abomination of the +air-tight stove is reserved till wintry weather,—draws closer and closer +to its fireside the vagrant impulses that had gone wandering about through the +summer. +</p> + +<p> +When summer was dead and buried the Old Manse became as lonely as a hermitage. +Not that ever—in my time at least—it had been thronged with +company; but, at no rare intervals, we welcomed some friend out of the dusty +glare and tumult of the world, and rejoiced to share with him the transparent +obscurity that was floating over us. In one respect our precincts were like the +Enchanted Ground through which the pilgrim travelled on his way to the +Celestial City. The guests, each and all, felt a slumberous influence upon +them; they fell asleep in chairs, or took a more deliberate siesta on the sofa, +or were seen stretched among the shadows of the orchard, looking up dreamily +through the boughs. They could not have paid a more acceptable compliment to my +abode nor to my own qualities as a host. I held it as a proof that they left +their cares behind them as they passed between the stone gate-posts at the +entrance of our avenue, and that the so powerful opiate was the abundance of +peace and quiet within and all around us. Others could give them pleasure and +amusement or instruction,—these could be picked up anywhere; but it was +for me to give them rest,—rest in a life of trouble. What better could be +done for those weary and world-worn spirits?—for him whose career of +perpetual action was impeded and harassed by the rarest of his powers and the +richest of his acquirements?—for another who had thrown his ardent heart +from earliest youth into the strife of politics, and now, perchance, began to +suspect that one lifetime is too brief for the accomplishment of any lofty +aim?—for her oil whose feminine nature had been imposed the heavy gift of +intellectual power, such as a strong man might have staggered under, and with +it the necessity to act upon the world?—in a word, not to multiply +instances, what better could be done for anybody who came within our magic +circle than to throw the spell of a tranquil spirit over him? And when it had +wrought its full effect, then we dismissed him, with but misty reminiscences, +as if he had been dreaming of us. +</p> + +<p> +Were I to adopt a pet idea as so many people do, and fondle it in my embraces +to the exclusion of all others, it would be, that the great want which mankind +labors under at this present period is sleep. The world should recline its vast +head on the first convenient pillow and take an age-long nap. It has gone +distracted through a morbid activity, and, while preternaturally wide awake, is +nevertheless tormented by visions that seem real to it now, but would assume +their true aspect and character were all things once set right by an interval +of sound repose. This is the only method of getting rid of old delusions and +avoiding new ones; of regenerating our race, so that it might in due time awake +as an infant out of dewy slumber; of restoring to us the simple perception of +what is right and the single-hearted desire to achieve it, both of which have +long been lost in consequence of this weary activity of brain and torpor or +passion of the heart that now afflict the universe. Stimulants, the only mode +of treatment hitherto attempted, cannot quell the disease; they do but heighten +the delirium. +</p> + +<p> +Let not the above paragraph ever be quoted against the author; for, though +tinctured with its modicum of truth, it is the result and expression of what he +knew, while he was writing, to be but a distorted survey of the state and +prospects of mankind. There were circumstances around me which made it +difficult to view the world precisely as it exists; for, severe and sober as +was the Old Manse, it was necessary to go but a little way beyond its threshold +before meeting with stranger moral shapes of men than might have been +encountered elsewhere in a circuit of a thousand miles. +</p> + +<p> +These hobgoblins of flesh and blood were attracted thither by the widespreading +influence of a great original thinker, who had his earthly abode at the +opposite extremity of our village. His mind acted upon other minds of a certain +constitution with wonderful magnetism, and drew many men upon long pilgrimages +to speak with him face to face. Young visionaries—to whom just so much of +insight had been imparted as to make life all a labyrinth around +them—came to seek the clew that should guide them out of their +self-involved bewilderment. Gray-headed theorists—whose systems, at first +air, had finally imprisoned them in an iron framework—travelled painfully +to his door, not to ask deliverance, but to invite the free spirit into their +own thraldom. People that had lighted on a new thought or a thought that they +fancied new, came to Emerson, as the finder of a glittering gem hastens to a +lapidary, to ascertain its quality and value. Uncertain, troubled, earnest +wanderers through the midnight of the moral world beheld his intellectual fire +as a beacon burning on a hill-top, and, climbing the difficult ascent, looked +forth into the surrounding obscurity more hopefully than hitherto. The light +revealed objects unseen before,—mountains, gleaming lakes, glimpses of a +creation among the chaos; but also, as was unavoidable, it attracted bats and +owls and the whole host of night birds, which flapped their dusky wings against +the gazer’s eyes, and sometimes were mistaken for fowls of angelic feather. +Such delusions always hover nigh whenever a beacon-fire of truth is kindled. +</p> + +<p> +For myself, there bad been epochs of my life when I, too, might have asked of +this prophet the master word that should solve me the riddle of the universe; +but now, being happy, I felt as if there were no question to be put, and +therefore admired Emerson as a poet, of deep beauty and austere tenderness, but +sought nothing from him as a philosopher. It was good, nevertheless, to meet +him in the woodpaths, or sometimes in our avenue, with that pure, intellectual +gleam diffused about his presence like the garment of a shining one; and be, so +quiet, so simple, so without pretension, encountering each man alive as if +expecting to receive more than he could impart. And, in truth, the heart of +many an ordinary man had, perchance, inscriptions which he could not read. But +it was impossible to dwell in his vicinity without inhaling more or less the +mountain atmosphere of his lofty thought, which, in the brains of some people, +wrought a singular giddiness,—new truth being as heady as new wine. Never +was a poor little country village infested with such a variety of queer, +strangely dressed, oddly behaved mortals, most of whom took upon themselves to +be important agents of the world’s destiny, yet were simply bores of a very +intense water. Such, I imagine, is the invariable character of persons who +crowd so closely about an original thinker as to draw in his unuttered breath +and thus become imbued with a false originality. This triteness of novelty is +enough to make any man of common-sense blaspheme at all ideas of less than a +century’s standing, and pray that the world may be petrified and rendered +immovable in precisely the worst moral and physical state that it ever yet +arrived at, rather than be benefited by such schemes of such philosophers. +</p> + +<p> +And now I begin to feel—and perhaps should have sooner felt—that we +have talked enough of the Old Manse. Mine honored reader, it may be, will +vilify the poor author as an egotist for babbling through so many pages about a +mossgrown country parsonage, and his life within its walls, and on the river, +and in the woods, and the influences that wrought upon him from all these +sources. My conscience, however, does not reproach me with betraying anything +too sacredly individual to be revealed by a human spirit to its brother or +sister spirit. How narrow-how shallow and scanty too—is the stream of +thought that has been flowing from my pen, compared with the broad tide of dim +emotions, ideas, and associations which swell around me from that portion of my +existence! How little have I told! and of that little, how almost nothing is +even tinctured with any quality that makes it exclusively my own! Has the +reader gone wandering, hand in hand with me, through the inner passages of my +being? and have we groped together into all its chambers and examined their +treasures or their rubbish? Not so. We have been standing on the greensward, +but just within the cavern’s mouth, where the common sunshine is free to +penetrate, and where every footstep is therefore free to come. I have appealed +to no sentiment or sensibilities save such as are diffused among us all. So far +as I am a man of really individual attributes I veil my face; nor am I, nor +have I ever been, one of those supremely hospitable people who serve up their +own hearts, delicately fried, with brain sauce, as a tidbit for their beloved +public. +</p> + +<p> +Glancing back over what I have written, it seems but the scattered +reminiscences of a single summer. In fairyland there is no measurement of time; +and, in a spot so sheltered from the turmoil of life’s ocean, three years +hastened away with a noiseless flight, as the breezy sunshine chases the +cloud-shadows across the depths of a still valley. Now came hints, growing more +and more distinct, that the owner of the old house was pining for his native +air. Carpenters next, appeared, making a tremendous racket among the +outbuildings, strewing the green grass with pine shavings and chips of chestnut +joists, and vexing the whole antiquity of the place with their discordant +renovations. Soon, moreover, they divested our abode of the veil of woodbine +which had crept over a large portion of its southern face. All the aged mosses +were cleared unsparingly away; and there were horrible whispers about brushing +up the external walls with a coat of paint,—a purpose as little to my +taste as might be that of rouging the venerable cheeks of one’s grandmother. +But the hand that renovates is always more sacrilegious than that which +destroys. In fine, we gathered up our household goods, drank a farewell cup of +tea in our pleasant little breakfast-room,—delicately fragrant tea, an +unpurchasable luxury, one of the many angel gifts that had fallen like dew upon +us,—and passed forth between the tall stone gate-posts as uncertain as +the wandering Arabs where our tent might next be pitched. Providence took me by +the hand, and—an oddity of dispensation which, I trust, there is no +irreverence in smiling at—has led me, as the newspapers announce while I +am writing, from the Old Manse into a custom-house. As a story-teller, I have +often contrived strange vicissitudes for my imaginary personages, but none like +this. +</p> + +<p> +The treasure of intellectual gold which I hoped to find in our secluded +dwelling had never come to light. No profound treatise of ethics, no +philosophic history, no novel even, that could stand unsupported on its edges. +All that I had to show, as a man of letters, were these, few tales and essays, +which had blossomed out like flowers in the calm summer of my heart and mind. +Save editing (an easy task) the journal of my friend of many years, the African +Cruiser, I had done nothing else. With these idle weeds and withering blossoms +I have intermixed some that were produced long ago,—old, faded things, +reminding me of flowers pressed between the leaves of a book,—and now +offer the bouquet, such as it is, to any whom it may please. These fitful +sketches, with so little of external life about them, yet claiming no +profundity of purpose,—so reserved, even while they sometimes seem so +frank,—often but half in earnest, and never, even when most so, +expressing satisfactorily the thoughts which they profess to image,—such +trifles, I truly feel, afford no solid basis for a literary reputation. +Nevertheless, the public—if my limited number of readers, whom I venture +to regard rather as a circle of friends, may be termed a public—will +receive them the more kindly, as the last offering, the last collection of this +nature which it is my purpose ever to put forth. Unless I could do better, I +have done enough in this kind. For myself the book will always retain one +charm,—as reminding me of the river, with its delightful solitudes, and +of the avenue, the garden, and the orchard, and especially the dear Old Manse, +with the little study on its western side, and the sunshine glimmering through +the willow branches while I wrote. +</p> + +<p> +Let the reader, if he will do me so much honor, imagine himself my guest, and +that, having seen whatever may be worthy of notice within and about the Old +Manse, he has finally been ushered into my study. There, after seating him in +an antique elbow-chair, an heirloom of the house, I take forth a roll of +manuscript and entreat his attention to the following tales,—an act of +personal inhospitality, however, which I never was guilty of, nor ever will be, +even to my worst enemy. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a> +THE BIRTHMARK</h2> + +<p> +In the latter part of the last century there lived a man of science, an eminent +proficient in every branch of natural philosophy, who not long before our story +opens had made experience of a spiritual affinity more attractive than any +chemical one. He had left his laboratory to the care of an assistant, cleared +his fine countenance from the furnace smoke, washed the stain of acids from his +fingers, and persuaded a beautiful woman to become his wife. In those days when +the comparatively recent discovery of electricity and other kindred mysteries +of Nature seemed to open paths into the region of miracle, it was not unusual +for the love of science to rival the love of woman in its depth and absorbing +energy. The higher intellect, the imagination, the spirit, and even the heart +might all find their congenial aliment in pursuits which, as some of their +ardent votaries believed, would ascend from one step of powerful intelligence +to another, until the philosopher should lay his hand on the secret of creative +force and perhaps make new worlds for himself. We know not whether Aylmer +possessed this degree of faith in man’s ultimate control over Nature. He had +devoted himself, however, too unreservedly to scientific studies ever to be +weaned from them by any second passion. His love for his young wife might prove +the stronger of the two; but it could only be by intertwining itself with his +love of science, and uniting the strength of the latter to his own. +</p> + +<p> +Such a union accordingly took place, and was attended with truly remarkable +consequences and a deeply impressive moral. One day, very soon after their +marriage, Aylmer sat gazing at his wife with a trouble in his countenance that +grew stronger until he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Georgiana,” said he, “has it never occurred to you that the mark upon your +cheek might be removed?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed,” said she, smiling; but perceiving the seriousness of his manner, +she blushed deeply. “To tell you the truth it has been so often called a charm +that I was simple enough to imagine it might be so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, upon another face perhaps it might,” replied her husband; “but never on +yours. No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfect from the hand of +Nature that this slightest possible defect, which we hesitate whether to term a +defect or a beauty, shocks me, as being the visible mark of earthly +imperfection.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shocks you, my husband!” cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at first reddening with +momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. “Then why did you take me from +my mother’s side? You cannot love what shocks you!” +</p> + +<p> +To explain this conversation it must be mentioned that in the centre of +Georgiana’s left cheek there was a singular mark, deeply interwoven, as it +were, with the texture and substance of her face. In the usual state of her +complexion—a healthy though delicate bloom—the mark wore a tint of +deeper crimson, which imperfectly defined its shape amid the surrounding +rosiness. When she blushed it gradually became more indistinct, and finally +vanished amid the triumphant rush of blood that bathed the whole cheek with its +brilliant glow. But if any shifting motion caused her to turn pale there was +the mark again, a crimson stain upon the snow, in what Aylmer sometimes deemed +an almost fearful distinctness. Its shape bore not a little similarity to the +human hand, though of the smallest pygmy size. Georgiana’s lovers were wont to +say that some fairy at her birth hour had laid her tiny hand upon the infant’s +cheek, and left this impress there in token of the magic endowments that were +to give her such sway over all hearts. Many a desperate swain would have risked +life for the privilege of pressing his lips to the mysterious hand. It must not +be concealed, however, that the impression wrought by this fairy sign manual +varied exceedingly, according to the difference of temperament in the +beholders. Some fastidious persons—but they were exclusively of her own +sex—affirmed that the bloody hand, as they chose to call it, quite +destroyed the effect of Georgiana’s beauty, and rendered her countenance even +hideous. But it would be as reasonable to say that one of those small blue +stains which sometimes occur in the purest statuary marble would convert the +Eve of Powers to a monster. Masculine observers, if the birthmark did not +heighten their admiration, contented themselves with wishing it away, that the +world might possess one living specimen of ideal loveliness without the +semblance of a flaw. After his marriage,—for he thought little or nothing +of the matter before,—Aylmer discovered that this was the case with +himself. +</p> + +<p> +Had she been less beautiful,—if Envy’s self could have found aught else +to sneer at,—he might have felt his affection heightened by the +prettiness of this mimic hand, now vaguely portrayed, now lost, now stealing +forth again and glimmering to and fro with every pulse of emotion that throbbed +within her heart; but seeing her otherwise so perfect, he found this one defect +grow more and more intolerable with every moment of their united lives. It was +the fatal flaw of humanity which Nature, in one shape or another, stamps +ineffaceably on all her productions, either to imply that they are temporary +and finite, or that their perfection must be wrought by toil and pain. The +crimson hand expressed the ineludible gripe in which mortality clutches the +highest and purest of earthly mould, degrading them into kindred with the +lowest, and even with the very brutes, like whom their visible frames return to +dust. In this manner, selecting it as the symbol of his wife’s liability to +sin, sorrow, decay, and death, Aylmer’s sombre imagination was not long in +rendering the birthmark a frightful object, causing him more trouble and horror +than ever Georgiana’s beauty, whether of soul or sense, had given him delight. +</p> + +<p> +At all the seasons which should have been their happiest, he invariably and +without intending it, nay, in spite of a purpose to the contrary, reverted to +this one disastrous topic. Trifling as it at first appeared, it so connected +itself with innumerable trains of thought and modes of feeling that it became +the central point of all. With the morning twilight Aylmer opened his eyes upon +his wife’s face and recognized the symbol of imperfection; and when they sat +together at the evening hearth his eyes wandered stealthily to her cheek, and +beheld, flickering with the blaze of the wood fire, the spectral hand that +wrote mortality where he would fain have worshipped. Georgiana soon learned to +shudder at his gaze. It needed but a glance with the peculiar expression that +his face often wore to change the roses of her cheek into a deathlike paleness, +amid which the crimson hand was brought strongly out, like a bass-relief of +ruby on the whitest marble. +</p> + +<p> +Late one night when the lights were growing dim, so as hardly to betray the +stain on the poor wife’s cheek, she herself, for the first time, voluntarily +took up the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember, my dear Aylmer,” said she, with a feeble attempt at a smile, +“have you any recollection of a dream last night about this odious hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“None! none whatever!” replied Aylmer, starting; but then he added, in a dry, +cold tone, affected for the sake of concealing the real depth of his emotion, +“I might well dream of it; for before I fell asleep it had taken a pretty firm +hold of my fancy.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you did dream of it?” continued Georgiana, hastily; for she dreaded lest a +gush of tears should interrupt what she had to say. “A terrible dream! I wonder +that you can forget it. Is it possible to forget this one expression?—‘It +is in her heart now; we must have it out!’ Reflect, my husband; for by all +means I would have you recall that dream.” +</p> + +<p> +The mind is in a sad state when Sleep, the all-involving, cannot confine her +spectres within the dim region of her sway, but suffers them to break forth, +affrighting this actual life with secrets that perchance belong to a deeper +one. Aylmer now remembered his dream. He had fancied himself with his servant +Aminadab, attempting an operation for the removal of the birthmark; but the +deeper went the knife, the deeper sank the hand, until at length its tiny grasp +appeared to have caught hold of Georgiana’s heart; whence, however, her husband +was inexorably resolved to cut or wrench it away. +</p> + +<p> +When the dream had shaped itself perfectly in his memory, Aylmer sat in his +wife’s presence with a guilty feeling. Truth often finds its way to the mind +close muffled in robes of sleep, and then speaks with uncompromising directness +of matters in regard to which we practise an unconscious self-deception during +our waking moments. Until now he had not been aware of the tyrannizing +influence acquired by one idea over his mind, and of the lengths which he might +find in his heart to go for the sake of giving himself peace. +</p> + +<p> +“Aylmer,” resumed Georgiana, solemnly, “I know not what may be the cost to both +of us to rid me of this fatal birthmark. Perhaps its removal may cause cureless +deformity; or it may be the stain goes as deep as life itself. Again: do we +know that there is a possibility, on any terms, of unclasping the firm gripe of +this little hand which was laid upon me before I came into the world?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest Georgiana, I have spent much thought upon the subject,” hastily +interrupted Aylmer. “I am convinced of the perfect practicability of its +removal.” +</p> + +<p> +“If there be the remotest possibility of it,” continued Georgiana, “let the +attempt be made at whatever risk. Danger is nothing to me; for life, while this +hateful mark makes me the object of your horror and disgust,—life is a +burden which I would fling down with joy. Either remove this dreadful hand, or +take my wretched life! You have deep science. All the world bears witness of +it. You have achieved great wonders. Cannot you remove this little, little +mark, which I cover with the tips of two small fingers? Is this beyond your +power, for the sake of your own peace, and to save your poor wife from +madness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Noblest, dearest, tenderest wife,” cried Aylmer, rapturously, “doubt not my +power. I have already given this matter the deepest thought—thought which +might almost have enlightened me to create a being less perfect than yourself. +Georgiana, you have led me deeper than ever into the heart of science. I feel +myself fully competent to render this dear cheek as faultless as its fellow; +and then, most beloved, what will be my triumph when I shall have corrected +what Nature left imperfect in her fairest work! Even Pygmalion, when his +sculptured woman assumed life, felt not greater ecstasy than mine will be.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is resolved, then,” said Georgiana, faintly smiling. “And, Aylmer, spare me +not, though you should find the birthmark take refuge in my heart at last.” +</p> + +<p> +Her husband tenderly kissed her cheek—her right cheek—not that +which bore the impress of the crimson hand. +</p> + +<p> +The next day Aylmer apprised his wife of a plan that he had formed whereby he +might have opportunity for the intense thought and constant watchfulness which +the proposed operation would require; while Georgiana, likewise, would enjoy +the perfect repose essential to its success. They were to seclude themselves in +the extensive apartments occupied by Aylmer as a laboratory, and where, during +his toilsome youth, he had made discoveries in the elemental powers of Nature +that had roused the admiration of all the learned societies in Europe. Seated +calmly in this laboratory, the pale philosopher had investigated the secrets of +the highest cloud region and of the profoundest mines; he had satisfied himself +of the causes that kindled and kept alive the fires of the volcano; and had +explained the mystery of fountains, and how it is that they gush forth, some so +bright and pure, and others with such rich medicinal virtues, from the dark +bosom of the earth. Here, too, at an earlier period, he had studied the wonders +of the human frame, and attempted to fathom the very process by which Nature +assimilates all her precious influences from earth and air, and from the +spiritual world, to create and foster man, her masterpiece. The latter pursuit, +however, Aylmer had long laid aside in unwilling recognition of the +truth—against which all seekers sooner or later stumble—that our +great creative Mother, while she amuses us with apparently working in the +broadest sunshine, is yet severely careful to keep her own secrets, and, in +spite of her pretended openness, shows us nothing but results. She permits us, +indeed, to mar, but seldom to mend, and, like a jealous patentee, on no account +to make. Now, however, Aylmer resumed these half-forgotten investigations; not, +of course, with such hopes or wishes as first suggested them; but because they +involved much physiological truth and lay in the path of his proposed scheme +for the treatment of Georgiana. +</p> + +<p> +As he led her over the threshold of the laboratory, Georgiana was cold and +tremulous. Aylmer looked cheerfully into her face, with intent to reassure her, +but was so startled with the intense glow of the birthmark upon the whiteness +of her cheek that he could not restrain a strong convulsive shudder. His wife +fainted. +</p> + +<p> +“Aminadab! Aminadab!” shouted Aylmer, stamping violently on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Forthwith there issued from an inner apartment a man of low stature, but bulky +frame, with shaggy hair hanging about his visage, which was grimed with the +vapors of the furnace. This personage had been Aylmer’s underworker during his +whole scientific career, and was admirably fitted for that office by his great +mechanical readiness, and the skill with which, while incapable of +comprehending a single principle, he executed all the details of his master’s +experiments. With his vast strength, his shaggy hair, his smoky aspect, and the +indescribable earthiness that incrusted him, he seemed to represent man’s +physical nature; while Aylmer’s slender figure, and pale, intellectual face, +were no less apt a type of the spiritual element. +</p> + +<p> +“Throw open the door of the boudoir, Aminadab,” said Aylmer, “and burn a +pastil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, master,” answered Aminadab, looking intently at the lifeless form of +Georgiana; and then he muttered to himself, “If she were my wife, I’d never +part with that birthmark.” +</p> + +<p> +When Georgiana recovered consciousness she found herself breathing an +atmosphere of penetrating fragrance, the gentle potency of which had recalled +her from her deathlike faintness. The scene around her looked like enchantment. +Aylmer had converted those smoky, dingy, sombre rooms, where he had spent his +brightest years in recondite pursuits, into a series of beautiful apartments +not unfit to be the secluded abode of a lovely woman. The walls were hung with +gorgeous curtains, which imparted the combination of grandeur and grace that no +other species of adornment can achieve; and as they fell from the ceiling to +the floor, their rich and ponderous folds, concealing all angles and straight +lines, appeared to shut in the scene from infinite space. For aught Georgiana +knew, it might be a pavilion among the clouds. And Aylmer, excluding the +sunshine, which would have interfered with his chemical processes, had supplied +its place with perfumed lamps, emitting flames of various hue, but all uniting +in a soft, impurpled radiance. He now knelt by his wife’s side, watching her +earnestly, but without alarm; for he was confident in his science, and felt +that he could draw a magic circle round her within which no evil might intrude. +</p> + +<p> +“Where am I? Ah, I remember,” said Georgiana, faintly; and she placed her hand +over her cheek to hide the terrible mark from her husband’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Fear not, dearest!” exclaimed he. “Do not shrink from me! Believe me, +Georgiana, I even rejoice in this single imperfection, since it will be such a +rapture to remove it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, spare me!” sadly replied his wife. “Pray do not look at it again. I never +can forget that convulsive shudder.” +</p> + +<p> +In order to soothe Georgiana, and, as it were, to release her mind from the +burden of actual things, Aylmer now put in practice some of the light and +playful secrets which science had taught him among its profounder lore. Airy +figures, absolutely bodiless ideas, and forms of unsubstantial beauty came and +danced before her, imprinting their momentary footsteps on beams of light. +Though she had some indistinct idea of the method of these optical phenomena, +still the illusion was almost perfect enough to warrant the belief that her +husband possessed sway over the spiritual world. Then again, when she felt a +wish to look forth from her seclusion, immediately, as if her thoughts were +answered, the procession of external existence flitted across a screen. The +scenery and the figures of actual life were perfectly represented, but with +that bewitching, yet indescribable difference which always makes a picture, an +image, or a shadow so much more attractive than the original. When wearied of +this, Aylmer bade her cast her eyes upon a vessel containing a quantity of +earth. She did so, with little interest at first; but was soon startled to +perceive the germ of a plant shooting upward from the soil. Then came the +slender stalk; the leaves gradually unfolded themselves; and amid them was a +perfect and lovely flower. +</p> + +<p> +“It is magical!” cried Georgiana. “I dare not touch it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, pluck it,” answered Aylmer,—“pluck it, and inhale its brief perfume +while you may. The flower will wither in a few moments and leave nothing save +its brown seed vessels; but thence may be perpetuated a race as ephemeral as +itself.” +</p> + +<p> +But Georgiana had no sooner touched the flower than the whole plant suffered a +blight, its leaves turning coal-black as if by the agency of fire. +</p> + +<p> +“There was too powerful a stimulus,” said Aylmer, thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +To make up for this abortive experiment, he proposed to take her portrait by a +scientific process of his own invention. It was to be effected by rays of light +striking upon a polished plate of metal. Georgiana assented; but, on looking at +the result, was affrighted to find the features of the portrait blurred and +indefinable; while the minute figure of a hand appeared where the cheek should +have been. Aylmer snatched the metallic plate and threw it into a jar of +corrosive acid. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, however, he forgot these mortifying failures. In the intervals of study +and chemical experiment he came to her flushed and exhausted, but seemed +invigorated by her presence, and spoke in glowing language of the resources of +his art. He gave a history of the long dynasty of the alchemists, who spent so +many ages in quest of the universal solvent by which the golden principle might +be elicited from all things vile and base. Aylmer appeared to believe that, by +the plainest scientific logic, it was altogether within the limits of +possibility to discover this long-sought medium; “but,” he added, “a +philosopher who should go deep enough to acquire the power would attain too +lofty a wisdom to stoop to the exercise of it.” Not less singular were his +opinions in regard to the elixir vitae. He more than intimated that it was at +his option to concoct a liquid that should prolong life for years, perhaps +interminably; but that it would produce a discord in Nature which all the +world, and chiefly the quaffer of the immortal nostrum, would find cause to +curse. +</p> + +<p> +“Aylmer, are you in earnest?” asked Georgiana, looking at him with amazement +and fear. “It is terrible to possess such power, or even to dream of possessing +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do not tremble, my love,” said her husband. “I would not wrong either you +or myself by working such inharmonious effects upon our lives; but I would have +you consider how trifling, in comparison, is the skill requisite to remove this +little hand.” +</p> + +<p> +At the mention of the birthmark, Georgiana, as usual, shrank as if a redhot +iron had touched her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +Again Aylmer applied himself to his labors. She could hear his voice in the +distant furnace room giving directions to Aminadab, whose harsh, uncouth, +misshapen tones were audible in response, more like the grunt or growl of a +brute than human speech. After hours of absence, Aylmer reappeared and proposed +that she should now examine his cabinet of chemical products and natural +treasures of the earth. Among the former he showed her a small vial, in which, +he remarked, was contained a gentle yet most powerful fragrance, capable of +impregnating all the breezes that blow across a kingdom. They were of +inestimable value, the contents of that little vial; and, as he said so, he +threw some of the perfume into the air and filled the room with piercing and +invigorating delight. +</p> + +<p> +“And what is this?” asked Georgiana, pointing to a small crystal globe +containing a gold-colored liquid. “It is so beautiful to the eye that I could +imagine it the elixir of life.” +</p> + +<p> +“In one sense it is,” replied Aylmer; “or, rather, the elixir of immortality. +It is the most precious poison that ever was concocted in this world. By its +aid I could apportion the lifetime of any mortal at whom you might point your +finger. The strength of the dose would determine whether he were to linger out +years, or drop dead in the midst of a breath. No king on his guarded throne +could keep his life if I, in my private station, should deem that the welfare +of millions justified me in depriving him of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you keep such a terrific drug?” inquired Georgiana in horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not mistrust me, dearest,” said her husband, smiling; “its virtuous potency +is yet greater than its harmful one. But see! here is a powerful cosmetic. With +a few drops of this in a vase of water, freckles may be washed away as easily +as the hands are cleansed. A stronger infusion would take the blood out of the +cheek, and leave the rosiest beauty a pale ghost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it with this lotion that you intend to bathe my cheek?” asked Georgiana, +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” hastily replied her husband; “this is merely superficial. Your case +demands a remedy that shall go deeper.” +</p> + +<p> +In his interviews with Georgiana, Aylmer generally made minute inquiries as to +her sensations and whether the confinement of the rooms and the temperature of +the atmosphere agreed with her. These questions had such a particular drift +that Georgiana began to conjecture that she was already subjected to certain +physical influences, either breathed in with the fragrant air or taken with her +food. She fancied likewise, but it might be altogether fancy, that there was a +stirring up of her system—a strange, indefinite sensation creeping +through her veins, and tingling, half painfully, half pleasurably, at her +heart. Still, whenever she dared to look into the mirror, there she beheld +herself pale as a white rose and with the crimson birthmark stamped upon her +cheek. Not even Aylmer now hated it so much as she. +</p> + +<p> +To dispel the tedium of the hours which her husband found it necessary to +devote to the processes of combination and analysis, Georgiana turned over the +volumes of his scientific library. In many dark old tomes she met with chapters +full of romance and poetry. They were the works of philosophers of the middle +ages, such as Albertus Magnus, Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, and the famous +friar who created the prophetic Brazen Head. All these antique naturalists +stood in advance of their centuries, yet were imbued with some of their +credulity, and therefore were believed, and perhaps imagined themselves to have +acquired from the investigation of Nature a power above Nature, and from +physics a sway over the spiritual world. Hardly less curious and imaginative +were the early volumes of the Transactions of the Royal Society, in which the +members, knowing little of the limits of natural possibility, were continually +recording wonders or proposing methods whereby wonders might be wrought. +</p> + +<p> +But to Georgiana the most engrossing volume was a large folio from her +husband’s own hand, in which he had recorded every experiment of his scientific +career, its original aim, the methods adopted for its development, and its +final success or failure, with the circumstances to which either event was +attributable. The book, in truth, was both the history and emblem of his +ardent, ambitious, imaginative, yet practical and laborious life. He handled +physical details as if there were nothing beyond them; yet spiritualized them +all, and redeemed himself from materialism by his strong and eager aspiration +towards the infinite. In his grasp the veriest clod of earth assumed a soul. +Georgiana, as she read, reverenced Aylmer and loved him more profoundly than +ever, but with a less entire dependence on his judgment than heretofore. Much +as he had accomplished, she could not but observe that his most splendid +successes were almost invariably failures, if compared with the ideal at which +he aimed. His brightest diamonds were the merest pebbles, and felt to be so by +himself, in comparison with the inestimable gems which lay hidden beyond his +reach. The volume, rich with achievements that had won renown for its author, +was yet as melancholy a record as ever mortal hand had penned. It was the sad +confession and continual exemplification of the shortcomings of the composite +man, the spirit burdened with clay and working in matter, and of the despair +that assails the higher nature at finding itself so miserably thwarted by the +earthly part. Perhaps every man of genius in whatever sphere might recognize +the image of his own experience in Aylmer’s journal. +</p> + +<p> +So deeply did these reflections affect Georgiana that she laid her face upon +the open volume and burst into tears. In this situation she was found by her +husband. +</p> + +<p> +“It is dangerous to read in a sorcerer’s books,” said he with a smile, though +his countenance was uneasy and displeased. “Georgiana, there are pages in that +volume which I can scarcely glance over and keep my senses. Take heed lest it +prove as detrimental to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has made me worship you more than ever,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, wait for this one success,” rejoined he, “then worship me if you will. I +shall deem myself hardly unworthy of it. But come, I have sought you for the +luxury of your voice. Sing to me, dearest.” +</p> + +<p> +So she poured out the liquid music of her voice to quench the thirst of his +spirit. He then took his leave with a boyish exuberance of gayety, assuring her +that her seclusion would endure but a little longer, and that the result was +already certain. Scarcely had he departed when Georgiana felt irresistibly +impelled to follow him. She had forgotten to inform Aylmer of a symptom which +for two or three hours past had begun to excite her attention. It was a +sensation in the fatal birthmark, not painful, but which induced a restlessness +throughout her system. Hastening after her husband, she intruded for the first +time into the laboratory. +</p> + +<p> +The first thing that struck her eye was the furnace, that hot and feverish +worker, with the intense glow of its fire, which by the quantities of soot +clustered above it seemed to have been burning for ages. There was a distilling +apparatus in full operation. Around the room were retorts, tubes, cylinders, +crucibles, and other apparatus of chemical research. An electrical machine +stood ready for immediate use. The atmosphere felt oppressively close, and was +tainted with gaseous odors which had been tormented forth by the processes of +science. The severe and homely simplicity of the apartment, with its naked +walls and brick pavement, looked strange, accustomed as Georgiana had become to +the fantastic elegance of her boudoir. But what chiefly, indeed almost solely, +drew her attention, was the aspect of Aylmer himself. +</p> + +<p> +He was pale as death, anxious and absorbed, and hung over the furnace as if it +depended upon his utmost watchfulness whether the liquid which it was +distilling should be the draught of immortal happiness or misery. How different +from the sanguine and joyous mien that he had assumed for Georgiana’s +encouragement! +</p> + +<p> +“Carefully now, Aminadab; carefully, thou human machine; carefully, thou man of +clay!” muttered Aylmer, more to himself than his assistant. “Now, if there be a +thought too much or too little, it is all over.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! ho!” mumbled Aminadab. “Look, master! look!” +</p> + +<p> +Aylmer raised his eyes hastily, and at first reddened, then grew paler than +ever, on beholding Georgiana. He rushed towards her and seized her arm with a +gripe that left the print of his fingers upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you come hither? Have you no trust in your husband?” cried he, +impetuously. “Would you throw the blight of that fatal birthmark over my +labors? It is not well done. Go, prying woman, go!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Aylmer,” said Georgiana with the firmness of which she possessed no +stinted endowment, “it is not you that have a right to complain. You mistrust +your wife; you have concealed the anxiety with which you watch the development +of this experiment. Think not so unworthily of me, my husband. Tell me all the +risk we run, and fear not that I shall shrink; for my share in it is far less +than your own.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Georgiana!” said Aylmer, impatiently; “it must not be.” +</p> + +<p> +“I submit,” replied she calmly. “And, Aylmer, I shall quaff whatever draught +you bring me; but it will be on the same principle that would induce me to take +a dose of poison if offered by your hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“My noble wife,” said Aylmer, deeply moved, “I knew not the height and depth of +your nature until now. Nothing shall be concealed. Know, then, that this +crimson hand, superficial as it seems, has clutched its grasp into your being +with a strength of which I had no previous conception. I have already +administered agents powerful enough to do aught except to change your entire +physical system. Only one thing remains to be tried. If that fail us we are +ruined.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you hesitate to tell me this?” asked she. +</p> + +<p> +“Because, Georgiana,” said Aylmer, in a low voice, “there is danger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Danger? There is but one danger—that this horrible stigma shall be left +upon my cheek!” cried Georgiana. “Remove it, remove it, whatever be the cost, +or we shall both go mad!” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven knows your words are too true,” said Aylmer, sadly. “And now, dearest, +return to your boudoir. In a little while all will be tested.” +</p> + +<p> +He conducted her back and took leave of her with a solemn tenderness which +spoke far more than his words how much was now at stake. After his departure +Georgiana became rapt in musings. She considered the character of Aylmer, and +did it completer justice than at any previous moment. Her heart exulted, while +it trembled, at his honorable love—so pure and lofty that it would accept +nothing less than perfection nor miserably make itself contented with an +earthlier nature than he had dreamed of. She felt how much more precious was +such a sentiment than that meaner kind which would have borne with the +imperfection for her sake, and have been guilty of treason to holy love by +degrading its perfect idea to the level of the actual; and with her whole +spirit she prayed that, for a single moment, she might satisfy his highest and +deepest conception. Longer than one moment she well knew it could not be; for +his spirit was ever on the march, ever ascending, and each instant required +something that was beyond the scope of the instant before. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of her husband’s footsteps aroused her. He bore a crystal goblet +containing a liquor colorless as water, but bright enough to be the draught of +immortality. Aylmer was pale; but it seemed rather the consequence of a +highly-wrought state of mind and tension of spirit than of fear or doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“The concoction of the draught has been perfect,” said he, in answer to +Georgiana’s look. “Unless all my science have deceived me, it cannot fail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Save on your account, my dearest Aylmer,” observed his wife, “I might wish to +put off this birthmark of mortality by relinquishing mortality itself in +preference to any other mode. Life is but a sad possession to those who have +attained precisely the degree of moral advancement at which I stand. Were I +weaker and blinder it might be happiness. Were I stronger, it might be endured +hopefully. But, being what I find myself, methinks I am of all mortals the most +fit to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are fit for heaven without tasting death!” replied her husband “But why do +we speak of dying? The draught cannot fail. Behold its effect upon this plant.” +</p> + +<p> +On the window seat there stood a geranium diseased with yellow blotches, which +had overspread all its leaves. Aylmer poured a small quantity of the liquid +upon the soil in which it grew. In a little time, when the roots of the plant +had taken up the moisture, the unsightly blotches began to be extinguished in a +living verdure. +</p> + +<p> +“There needed no proof,” said Georgiana, quietly. “Give me the goblet I +joyfully stake all upon your word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drink, then, thou lofty creature!” exclaimed Aylmer, with fervid admiration. +“There is no taint of imperfection on thy spirit. Thy sensible frame, too, +shall soon be all perfect.” +</p> + +<p> +She quaffed the liquid and returned the goblet to his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It is grateful,” said she with a placid smile. “Methinks it is like water from +a heavenly fountain; for it contains I know not what of unobtrusive fragrance +and deliciousness. It allays a feverish thirst that had parched me for many +days. Now, dearest, let me sleep. My earthly senses are closing over my spirit +like the leaves around the heart of a rose at sunset.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke the last words with a gentle reluctance, as if it required almost +more energy than she could command to pronounce the faint and lingering +syllables. Scarcely had they loitered through her lips ere she was lost in +slumber. Aylmer sat by her side, watching her aspect with the emotions proper +to a man the whole value of whose existence was involved in the process now to +be tested. Mingled with this mood, however, was the philosophic investigation +characteristic of the man of science. Not the minutest symptom escaped him. A +heightened flush of the cheek, a slight irregularity of breath, a quiver of the +eyelid, a hardly perceptible tremor through the frame,—such were the +details which, as the moments passed, he wrote down in his folio volume. +Intense thought had set its stamp upon every previous page of that volume, but +the thoughts of years were all concentrated upon the last. +</p> + +<p> +While thus employed, he failed not to gaze often at the fatal hand, and not +without a shudder. Yet once, by a strange and unaccountable impulse he pressed +it with his lips. His spirit recoiled, however, in the very act, and Georgiana, +out of the midst of her deep sleep, moved uneasily and murmured as if in +remonstrance. Again Aylmer resumed his watch. Nor was it without avail. The +crimson hand, which at first had been strongly visible upon the marble paleness +of Georgiana’s cheek, now grew more faintly outlined. She remained not less +pale than ever; but the birthmark with every breath that came and went, lost +somewhat of its former distinctness. Its presence had been awful; its departure +was more awful still. Watch the stain of the rainbow fading out the sky, and +you will know how that mysterious symbol passed away. +</p> + +<p> +“By Heaven! it is well-nigh gone!” said Aylmer to himself, in almost +irrepressible ecstasy. “I can scarcely trace it now. Success! success! And now +it is like the faintest rose color. The lightest flush of blood across her +cheek would overcome it. But she is so pale!” +</p> + +<p> +He drew aside the window curtain and suffered the light of natural day to fall +into the room and rest upon her cheek. At the same time he heard a gross, +hoarse chuckle, which he had long known as his servant Aminadab’s expression of +delight. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, clod! ah, earthly mass!” cried Aylmer, laughing in a sort of frenzy, “you +have served me well! Matter and spirit—earth and heaven—have both +done their part in this! Laugh, thing of the senses! You have earned the right +to laugh.” +</p> + +<p> +These exclamations broke Georgiana’s sleep. She slowly unclosed her eyes and +gazed into the mirror which her husband had arranged for that purpose. A faint +smile flitted over her lips when she recognized how barely perceptible was now +that crimson hand which had once blazed forth with such disastrous brilliancy +as to scare away all their happiness. But then her eyes sought Aylmer’s face +with a trouble and anxiety that he could by no means account for. +</p> + +<p> +“My poor Aylmer!” murmured she. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor? Nay, richest, happiest, most favored!” exclaimed he. “My peerless bride, +it is successful! You are perfect!” +</p> + +<p> +“My poor Aylmer,” she repeated, with a more than human tenderness, “you have +aimed loftily; you have done nobly. Do not repent that with so high and pure a +feeling, you have rejected the best the earth could offer. Aylmer, dearest +Aylmer, I am dying!” +</p> + +<p> +Alas! it was too true! The fatal hand had grappled with the mystery of life, +and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in union with a mortal +frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark—that sole token of human +imperfection—faded from her cheek, the parting breath of the now perfect +woman passed into the atmosphere, and her soul, lingering a moment near her +husband, took its heavenward flight. Then a hoarse, chuckling laugh was heard +again! Thus ever does the gross fatality of earth exult in its invariable +triumph over the immortal essence which, in this dim sphere of half +development, demands the completeness of a higher state. Yet, had Alymer +reached a profounder wisdom, he need not thus have flung away the happiness +which would have woven his mortal life of the selfsame texture with the +celestial. The momentary circumstance was too strong for him; he failed to look +beyond the shadowy scope of time, and, living once for all in eternity, to find +the perfect future in the present. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a> +A SELECT PARTY</h2> + +<p> +The man of fancy made an entertainment at one of his castles in the air, and +invited a select number of distinguished personages to favor him with their +presence. The mansion, though less splendid than many that have been situated +in the same region, was nevertheless of a magnificence such as is seldom +witnessed by those acquainted only with terrestrial architecture. Its strong +foundations and massive walls were quarried out of a ledge of heavy and sombre +clouds which had hung brooding over the earth, apparently as dense and +ponderous as its own granite, throughout a whole autumnal day. Perceiving that +the general effect was gloomy,—so that the airy castle looked like a +feudal fortress, or a monastery of the Middle Ages, or a state prison of our +own times, rather than the home of pleasure and repose which he intended it to +be,—the owner, regardless of expense, resolved to gild the exterior from +top to bottom. Fortunately, there was just then a flood of evening sunshine in +the air. This being gathered up and poured abundantly upon the roof and walls, +imbued them with a kind of solemn cheerfulness; while the cupolas and pinnacles +were made to glitter with the purest gold, and all the hundred windows gleamed +with a glad light, as if the edifice itself were rejoicing in its heart. +</p> + +<p> +And now, if the people of the lower world chanced to be looking upward out of +the turmoil of their petty perplexities, they probably mistook the castle in +the air for a heap of sunset clouds, to which the magic of light and shade had +imparted the aspect of a fantastically constructed mansion. To such beholders +it was unreal, because they lacked the imaginative faith. Had they been worthy +to pass within its portal, they would have recognized the truth, that the +dominions which the spirit conquers for itself among unrealities become a +thousand times more real than the earth whereon they stamp their feet, saying, +“This is solid and substantial; this may be called a fact.” +</p> + +<p> +At the appointed hour, the host stood in his great saloon to receive the +company. It was a vast and noble room, the vaulted ceiling of which was +supported by double rows of gigantic pillars that had been hewn entire out of +masses of variegated clouds. So brilliantly were they polished, and so +exquisitely wrought by the sculptor’s skill, as to resemble the finest +specimens of emerald, porphyry, opal, and chrysolite, thus producing a delicate +richness of effect which their immense size rendered not incompatible with +grandeur. To each of these pillars a meteor was suspended. Thousands of these +ethereal lustres are continually wandering about the firmament, burning out to +waste, yet capable of imparting a useful radiance to any person who has the art +of converting them to domestic purposes. As managed in the saloon, they are far +more economical than ordinary lamplight. Such, however, was the intensity of +their blaze that it had been found expedient to cover each meteor with a globe +of evening mist, thereby muffling the too potent glow and soothing it into a +mild and comfortable splendor. It was like the brilliancy of a powerful yet +chastened imagination,—a light which seemed to hide whatever was unworthy +to be noticed and give effect to every beautiful and noble attribute. The +guests, therefore, as they advanced up the centre of the saloon, appeared to +better advantage than ever before in their lives. +</p> + +<p> +The first that entered, with old-fashioned punctuality, was a venerable figure +in the costume of bygone days, with his white hair flowing down over his +shoulders and a reverend beard upon his breast. He leaned upon a staff, the +tremulous stroke of which, as he set it carefully upon the floor, re-echoed +through the saloon at every footstep. Recognizing at once this celebrated +personage, whom it had cost him a vast deal of trouble and research to +discover, the host advanced nearly three fourths of the distance down between +the pillars to meet and welcome him. +</p> + +<p> +“Venerable sir,” said the Man of Fancy, bending to the floor, “the honor of +this visit would never be forgotten were my term of existence to be as happily +prolonged as your own.” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman received the compliment with gracious condescension. He then +thrust up his spectacles over his forehead and appeared to take a critical +survey of the saloon. +</p> + +<p> +“Never within my recollection,” observed he, “have I entered a more spacious +and noble hall. But are you sure that it is built of solid materials and that +the structure will be permanent?” +</p> + +<p> +“O, never fear, my venerable friend,” replied the host. “In reference to a +lifetime like your own, it is true my castle may well be called a temporary +edifice. But it will endure long enough to answer all the purposes for which it +was erected.” +</p> + +<p> +But we forget that the reader has not yet been made acquainted with the guest. +It was no other than that universally accredited character so constantly +referred to in all seasons of intense cold or heat; he that, remembers the hot +Sunday and the cold Friday; the witness of a past age whose negative +reminiscences find their way into every newspaper, yet whose antiquated and +dusky abode is so overshadowed by accumulated years and crowded back by modern +edifices that none but the Man of Fancy could have discovered it; it was, in +short, that twin brother of Time, and great-grandsire of mankind, and +hand-and-glove associate of all forgotten men and things,—the Oldest +Inhabitant. The host would willingly have drawn him into conversation, but +succeeded only in eliciting a few remarks as to the oppressive atmosphere of +this present summer evening compared with one which the guest had experienced +about fourscore years ago. The old gentleman, in fact, was a good deal overcome +by his journey among the clouds, which, to a frame so earth-incrusted by long +continuance in a lower region, was unavoidably more fatiguing than to younger +spirits. He was therefore conducted to an easy-chair, well cushioned and +stuffed with vaporous softness, and left to take a little repose. +</p> + +<p> +The Man of Fancy now discerned another guest, who stood so quietly in the +shadow of one of the pillars that he might easily have been overlooked. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir,” exclaimed the host, grasping him warmly by the hand, “allow me +to greet you as the hero of the evening. Pray do not take it as an empty +compliment; for, if there were not another guest in my castle, it would be +entirely pervaded with your presence.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you,” answered the unpretending stranger; “but, though you happened to +overlook me, I have not just arrived. I came very early; and, with your +permission, shall remain after the rest of the company have retired.” +</p> + +<p> +And who does the reader imagine was this unobtrusive guest? It was the famous +performer of acknowledged impossibilities,—a character of superhuman +capacity and virtue, and, if his enemies are to be credited, of no less +remarkable weaknesses and defects. With a generosity with which he alone sets +us an example, we will glance merely at his nobler attributes. He it is, then, +who prefers the interests of others to his own and a humble station to an +exalted one. Careless of fashion, custom, the opinions of men, and the +influence of the press, he assimilates his life to the standard of ideal +rectitude, and thus proves himself the one independent citizen of our free +country. In point of ability, many people declare him to be the only +mathematician capable of squaring the circle; the only mechanic acquainted with +the principle of perpetual motion; the only scientific philosopher who can +compel water to run up hill; the only writer of the age whose genius is equal +to the production of an epic poem; and, finally, so various are his +accomplishments, the only professor of gymnastics who has succeeded in jumping +down his own throat. With all these talents, however, he is so far from being +considered a member of good society, that it is the severest censure of any +fashionable assemblage to affirm that this remarkable individual was present. +Public orators, lecturers, and theatrical performers particularly eschew his +company. For especial reasons, we are not at liberty to disclose his name, and +shall mention only one other trait,—a most singular phenomenon in natural +philosophy,—that, when he happens to cast his eyes upon a looking-glass, +he beholds Nobody reflected there! +</p> + +<p> +Several other guests now made their appearance; and among them, chattering with +immense volubility, a brisk little gentleman of universal vogue in private +society, and not unknown in the public journals under the title of Monsieur +On-Dit. The name would seem to indicate a Frenchman; but, whatever be his +country, he is thoroughly versed in all the languages of the day, and can +express himself quite as much to the purpose in English as in any other tongue. +No sooner were the ceremonies of salutation over than this talkative little +person put his mouth to the host’s ear and whispered three secrets of state, an +important piece of commercial intelligence, and a rich item of fashionable +scandal. He then assured the Man of Fancy that he would not fail to circulate +in the society of the lower world a minute description of this magnificent +castle in the air and of the festivities at which he had the honor to be a +guest. So saying, Monsieur On-Dit made his bow and hurried from one to another +of the company, with all of whom he seemed to be acquainted and to possess some +topic of interest or amusement for every individual. Coming at last to the +Oldest Inhabitant, who was slumbering comfortably in the easy-chair, he applied +his mouth to that venerable ear. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say?” cried the old gentleman, starting from his nap and putting +up his hand to serve the purpose of an ear-trumpet. +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur On-Dit bent forward again and repeated his communication. +</p> + +<p> +“Never within my memory,” exclaimed the Oldest Inhabitant, lifting his hands in +astonishment, “has so remarkable an incident been heard of.” +</p> + +<p> +Now came in the Clerk of the Weather, who had been invited out of deference to +his official station, although the host was well aware that his conversation +was likely to contribute but little to the general enjoyment. He soon, indeed, +got into a corner with his acquaintance of long ago, the Oldest Inhabitant, and +began to compare notes with him in reference to the great storms, gales of +wind, and other atmospherical facts that had occurred during a century past. It +rejoiced the Man of Fancy that his venerable and much-respected guest had met +with so congenial an associate. Entreating them both to make themselves +perfectly at home, he now turned to receive the Wandering Jew. This personage, +however, had latterly grown so common, by mingling in all sorts of society and +appearing at the beck of every entertainer, that he could hardly be deemed a +proper guest in a very exclusive circle. Besides, being covered with dust from +his continual wanderings along the highways of the world, he really looked out +of place in a dress party; so that the host felt relieved of an incommodity +when the restless individual in question, after a brief stay, took his +departure on a ramble towards Oregon. +</p> + +<p> +The portal was now thronged by a crowd of shadowy people with whom the Man of +Fancy had been acquainted in his visionary youth. He had invited them hither +for the sake of observing how they would compare, whether advantageously or +otherwise, with the real characters to whom his maturer life had introduced +him. They were beings of crude imagination, such as glide before a young man’s +eye and pretend to be actual inhabitants of the earth; the wise and witty with +whom he would hereafter hold intercourse; the generous and heroic friends whose +devotion would be requited with his own; the beautiful dream-woman who would +become the helpmate of his human toils and sorrows and at once the source and +partaker of his happiness. Alas! it is not good for the full-grown man to look +too closely at these old acquaintances, but rather to reverence them at a +distance through the medium of years that have gathered duskily between. There +was something laughably untrue in their pompous stride and exaggerated +sentiment; they were neither human nor tolerable likenesses of humanity, but +fantastic maskers, rendering heroism and nature alike ridiculous by the grave +absurdity of their pretensions to such attributes; and as for the peerless +dream-lady, behold! there advanced up the saloon, with a movement like a +jointed doll, a sort of wax-figure of an angel, a creature as cold as +moonshine, an artifice in petticoats, with an intellect of pretty phrases and +only the semblance of a heart, yet in all these particulars the true type of a +young man’s imaginary mistress. Hardly could the host’s punctilious courtesy +restrain a smile as he paid his respects to this unreality and met the +sentimental glance with which the Dream sought to remind him of their former +love passages. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, fair lady,” murmured he betwixt sighing and smiling; “my taste is +changed; I have learned to love what Nature makes better than my own creations +in the guise of womanhood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, false one,” shrieked the dream-lady, pretending to faint, but dissolving +into thin air, out of which came the deplorable murmur of her voice, “your +inconstancy has annihilated me.” +</p> + +<p> +“So be it,” said the cruel Man of Fancy to himself; “and a good riddance too.” +</p> + +<p> +Together with these shadows, and from the same region, there came an uninvited +multitude of shapes which at any time during his life had tormented the Man of +Fancy in his moods of morbid melancholy or had haunted him in the delirium of +fever. The walls of his castle in the air were not dense enough to keep them +out, nor would the strongest of earthly architecture have availed to their +exclusion. Here were those forms of dim terror which had beset him at the +entrance of life, waging warfare with his hopes; here were strange uglinesses +of earlier date, such as haunt children in the night-time. He was particularly +startled by the vision of a deformed old black woman whom he imagined as +lurking in the garret of his native home, and who, when he was an infant, had +once come to his bedside and grinned at him in the crisis of a scarlet fever. +This same black shadow, with others almost as hideous, now glided among the +pillars of the magnificent saloon, grinning recognition, until the man +shuddered anew at the forgotten terrors of his childhood. It amused him, +however, to observe the black woman, with the mischievous caprice peculiar to +such beings, steal up to the chair of the Oldest Inhabitant and peep into his +half-dreamy mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Never within my memory,” muttered that venerable personage, aghast, “did I see +such a face.” +</p> + +<p> +Almost immediately after the unrealities just described, arrived a number of +guests whom incredulous readers may be inclined to rank equally among creatures +of imagination. The most noteworthy were an incorruptible Patriot; a Scholar +without pedantry; a Priest without worldly ambition; and a Beautiful Woman +without pride or coquetry; a Married Pair whose life had never been disturbed +by incongruity of feeling; a Reformer untrammelled by his theory; and a Poet +who felt no jealousy towards other votaries of the lyre. In truth, however, the +host was not one of the cynics who consider these patterns of excellence, +without the fatal flaw, such rarities in the world; and he had invited them to +his select party chiefly out of humble deference to the judgment of society, +which pronounces them almost impossible to be met with. +</p> + +<p> +“In my younger days,” observed the Oldest Inhabitant, “such characters might be +seen at the corner of every street.” +</p> + +<p> +Be that as it might, these specimens of perfection proved to be not half so +entertaining companions as people with the ordinary allowance of faults. +</p> + +<p> +But now appeared a stranger, whom the host had no sooner recognized than, with +an abundance of courtesy unlavished on any other, he hastened down the whole +length of the saloon in order to pay him emphatic honor. Yet he was a young man +in poor attire, with no insignia of rank or acknowledged eminence, nor anything +to distinguish him among the crowd except a high, white forehead, beneath which +a pair of deep-set eyes were glowing with warm light. It was such a light as +never illuminates the earth save when a great heart burns as the household fire +of a grand intellect. And who was he?—who but the Master Genius for whom +our country is looking anxiously into the mist of Time, as destined to fulfil +the great mission of creating an American literature, hewing it, as it were, +out of the unwrought granite of our intellectual quarries? From him, whether +moulded in the form of an epic poem or assuming a guise altogether new as the +spirit itself may determine, we are to receive our first great original work, +which shall do all that remains to be achieved for our glory among the nations. +How this child of a mighty destiny had been discovered by the Man of Fancy it +is of little consequence to mention. Suffice it that he dwells as yet unhonored +among men, unrecognized by those who have known him from his cradle; the noble +countenance which should be distinguished by a halo diffused around it passes +daily amid the throng of people toiling and troubling themselves about the +trifles of a moment, and none pay reverence to the worker of immortality. Nor +does it matter much to him, in his triumph over all the ages, though a +generation or two of his own times shall do themselves the wrong to disregard +him. +</p> + +<p> +By this time Monsieur On-Dit had caught up the stranger’s name and destiny and +was busily whispering the intelligence among the other guests. +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw!” said one. “There can never be an American genius.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pish!” cried another. “We have already as good poets as any in the world. For +my part, I desire to see no better.” +</p> + +<p> +And the Oldest Inhabitant, when it was proposed to introduce him to the Master +Genius, begged to be excused, observing that a man who had been honored with +the acquaintance of Dwight, and Freneau, and Joel Barlow, might be allowed a +little austerity of taste. +</p> + +<p> +The saloon was now fast filling up by the arrival of other remarkable +characters, among whom were noticed Davy Jones, the distinguished nautical +personage, and a rude, carelessly dressed, harum-scarum sort of elderly fellow, +known by the nickname of Old Harry. The latter, however, after being shown to a +dressing-room, reappeared with his gray hair nicely combed, his clothes +brushed, a clean dicky on his neck, and altogether so changed in aspect as to +merit the more respectful appellation of Venerable Henry. Joel Doe and Richard +Roe came arm in arm, accompanied by a Man of Straw, a fictitious indorser, and +several persons who had no existence except as voters in closely contested +elections. The celebrated Seatsfield, who now entered, was at first supposed to +belong to the same brotherhood, until he made it apparent that he was a real +man of flesh and blood and had his earthly domicile in Germany. Among the +latest comers, as might reasonably be expected, arrived a guest from the far +future. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know him? do you know him?” whispered Monsieur On-Dit, who seemed to be +acquainted with everybody. “He is the representative of Posterity,—the +man of an age to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how came he here?” asked a figure who was evidently the prototype of the +fashion-plate in a magazine, and might be taken to represent the vanities of +the passing moment. “The fellow infringes upon our rights by coming before his +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you forget where we are,” answered the Man of Fancy, who overheard the +remark. “The lower earth, it is true, will be forbidden ground to him for many +long years hence; but a castle in the air is a sort of no-man’s-land, where +Posterity may make acquaintance with us on equal terms.” +</p> + +<p> +No sooner was his identity known than a throng of guests gathered about +Posterity, all expressing the most generous interest in his welfare, and many +boasting of the sacrifices which they had made, or were willing to make, in his +behalf. Some, with as much secrecy as possible, desired his judgment upon +certain copies of verses or great manuscript rolls of prose; others accosted +him with the familiarity of old friends, taking it for granted that he was +perfectly cognizant of their names and characters. At length, finding himself +thus beset, Posterity was put quite beside his patience. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, my good friends,” cried he, breaking loose from a misty poet who +strove to hold him by the button, “I pray you to attend to your own business, +and leave me to take care of mine! I expect to owe you nothing, unless it be +certain national debts, and other encumbrances and impediments, physical and +moral, which I shall find it troublesome enough to remove from my path. As to +your verses, pray read them to your contemporaries. Your names are as strange +to me as your faces; and even were it otherwise,—let me whisper you a +secret,—the cold, icy memory which one generation may retain of another +is but a poor recompense to barter life for. Yet, if your heart is set on being +known to me, the surest, the only method is, to live truly and wisely for your +own age, whereby, if the native force be in you, you may likewise live for +posterity.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is nonsense,” murmured the Oldest Inhabitant, who, as a man of the past, +felt jealous that all notice should be withdrawn from himself to be lavished on +the future, “sheer nonsense, to waste so much thought on what only is to be.” +</p> + +<p> +To divert the minds of his guests, who were considerably abashed by this little +incident, the Man of Fancy led them through several apartments of the castle, +receiving their compliments upon the taste and varied magnificence that were +displayed in each. One of these rooms was filled with moonlight, which did not +enter through the window, but was the aggregate of all the moonshine that is +scattered around the earth on a summer night while no eyes are awake to enjoy +its beauty. Airy spirits had gathered it up, wherever they found it gleaming on +the broad bosom of a lake, or silvering the meanders of a stream, or glimmering +among the wind-stirred boughs of a wood, and had garnered it in this one +spacious hall. Along the walls, illuminated by the mild intensity of the +moonshine, stood a multitude of ideal statues, the original conceptions of the +great works of ancient or modern art, which the sculptors did but imperfectly +succeed in putting into marble; for it is not to be supposed that the pure idea +of an immortal creation ceases to exist; it is only necessary to know where +they are deposited in order to obtain possession of them.—In the alcoves +of another vast apartment was arranged a splendid library, the volumes of which +were inestimable, because they consisted, not of actual performances, but of +the works which the authors only planned, without ever finding the happy season +to achieve them. To take familiar instances, here were the untold tales of +Chaucer’s Canterbury Pilgrims; the unwritten cantos of the Fairy Queen; the +conclusion of Coleridge’s Christabel; and the whole of Dryden’s projected epic +on the subject of King Arthur. The shelves were crowded; for it would not be +too much to affirm that every author has imagined and shaped out in his thought +more and far better works than those which actually proceeded from his pen. And +here, likewise, where the unrealized conceptions of youthful poets who died of +the very strength of their own genius before the world had caught one inspired +murmur from their lips. +</p> + +<p> +When the peculiarities of the library and statue-gallery were explained to the +Oldest Inhabitant, he appeared infinitely perplexed, and exclaimed, with more +energy than usual, that he had never heard of such a thing within his memory, +and, moreover, did not at all understand how it could be. +</p> + +<p> +“But my brain, I think,” said the good old gentleman, “is getting not so clear +as it used to be. You young folks, I suppose, can see your way through these +strange matters. For my part, I give it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so do I,” muttered the Old Harry. “It is enough to puzzle the—Ahem!” +</p> + +<p> +Making as little reply as possible to these observations, the Man of Fancy +preceded the company to another noble saloon, the pillars of which were solid +golden sunbeams taken out of the sky in the first hour in the morning. Thus, as +they retained all their living lustre, the room was filled with the most +cheerful radiance imaginable, yet not too dazzling to be borne with comfort and +delight. The windows were beautifully adorned with curtains made of the +many-colored clouds of sunrise, all imbued with virgin light, and hanging in +magnificent festoons from the ceiling to the floor. Moreover, there were +fragments of rainbows scattered through the room; so that the guests, +astonished at one another, reciprocally saw their heads made glorious by the +seven primary hues; or, if they chose,—as who would not?—they could +grasp a rainbow in the air and convert it to their own apparel and adornment. +But the morning light and scattered rainbows were only a type and symbol of the +real wonders of the apartment. By an influence akin to magic, yet perfectly +natural, whatever means and opportunities of joy are neglected in the lower +world had been carefully gathered up and deposited in the saloon of morning +sunshine. As may well be conceived, therefore, there was material enough to +supply, not merely a joyous evening, but also a happy lifetime, to more than as +many people as that spacious apartment could contain. The company seemed to +renew their youth; while that pattern and proverbial standard of innocence, the +Child Unborn, frolicked to and fro among them, communicating his own unwrinkled +gayety to all who had the good fortune to witness his gambols. +</p> + +<p> +“My honored friends,” said the Man of Fancy, after they had enjoyed themselves +awhile, “I am now to request your presence in the banqueting-hall, where a +slight collation is awaiting you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well said!” ejaculated a cadaverous figure, who had been invited for no +other reason than that he was pretty constantly in the habit of dining with +Duke Humphrey. “I was beginning to wonder whether a castle in the air were +provided with a kitchen.” +</p> + +<p> +It was curious, in truth, to see how instantaneously the guests were diverted +from the high moral enjoyments which they had been tasting with so much +apparent zest by a suggestion of the more solid as well as liquid delights of +the festive board. They thronged eagerly in the rear of the host, who now +ushered them into a lofty and extensive hall, from end to end of which was +arranged a table, glittering all over with innumerable dishes and +drinking-vessels of gold. It is an uncertain point whether these rich articles +of plate were made for the occasion out of molten sunbeams, or recovered from +the wrecks of Spanish galleons that had lain for ages at the bottom of the sea. +The upper end of the table was overshadowed by a canopy, beneath which was +placed a chair of elaborate magnificence, which the host himself declined to +occupy, and besought his guests to assign it to the worthiest among them. As a +suitable homage to his incalculable antiquity and eminent distinction, the post +of honor was at first tendered to the Oldest Inhabitant. He, however, eschewed +it, and requested the favor of a bowl of gruel at a side table, where he could +refresh himself with a quiet nap. There was some little hesitation as to the +next candidate, until Posterity took the Master Genius of our country by the +hand and led him to the chair of state beneath the princely canopy. When once +they beheld him in his true place, the company acknowledged the justice of the +selection by a long thunder-roll of vehement applause. +</p> + +<p> +Then was served up a banquet, combining, if not all the delicacies of the +season, yet all the rarities which careful purveyors had met with in the flesh, +fish, and vegetable markets of the land of Nowhere. The bill of fare being +unfortunately lost, we can only mention a phoenix, roasted in its own flames, +cold potted birds of paradise, ice-creams from the Milky-Way, and whip +syllabubs and flummery from the Paradise of Fools, whereof there was a very +great consumption. As for drinkables, the temperance people contented +themselves with water as usual; but it was the water of the Fountain of Youth; +the ladies sipped Nepenthe; the lovelorn, the careworn, and the sorrow-stricken +were supplied with brimming goblets of Lethe; and it was shrewdly conjectured +that a certain golden vase, from which only the more distinguished guests were +invited to partake, contained nectar that had been mellowing ever since the +days of classical mythology. The cloth being removed, the company, as usual, +grew eloquent over their liquor and delivered themselves of a succession of +brilliant speeches,—the task of reporting which we resign to the more +adequate ability of Counsellor Gill, whose indispensable co-operation the Man +of Fancy had taken the precaution to secure. +</p> + +<p> +When the festivity of the banquet was at its most ethereal point, the Clerk of +the Weather was observed to steal from the table and thrust his head between +the purple and golden curtains of one of the windows. +</p> + +<p> +“My fellow-guests,” he remarked aloud, after carefully noting the signs of the +night, “I advise such of you as live at a distance to be going as soon as +possible; for a thunder-storm is certainly at hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mercy on me!” cried Mother Carey, who had left her brood of chickens and come +hither in gossamer drapery, with pink silk stockings. “How shall I ever get +home?” +</p> + +<p> +All now was confusion and hasty departure, with but little superfluous +leave-taking. The Oldest Inhabitant, however, true to the rule of those long +past days in which his courtesy had been studied, paused on the threshold of +the meteor-lighted hall to express his vast satisfaction at the entertainment. +</p> + +<p> +“Never, within my memory,” observed the gracious old gentleman, “has it been my +good fortune to spend a pleasanter evening or in more select society.” +</p> + +<p> +The wind here took his breath away, whirled his three-cornered hat into +infinite space, and drowned what further compliments it had been his purpose to +bestow. Many of the company had bespoken will-o’-the-wisps to convoy them home; +and the host, in his general beneficence, had engaged the Man in the Moon, with +an immense horn-lantern, to be the guide of such desolate spinsters as could do +no better for themselves. But a blast of the rising tempest blew out all their +lights in the twinkling of an eye. How, in the darkness that ensued, the guests +contrived to get back to earth, or whether the greater part of them contrived +to get back at all, or are still wandering among clouds, mists, and puffs of +tempestuous wind, bruised by the beams and rafters of the overthrown castle in +the air, and deluded by all sorts of unrealities, are points that concern +themselves much more than the writer or the public. People should think of +these matters before they trust themselves on a pleasure-party into the realm +of Nowhere. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a> +YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN</h2> + +<p> +Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but +put his head back, after crossing the threshold, to exchange a parting kiss +with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own +pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons of her +cap while she called to Goodman Brown. +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest heart,” whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips were +close to his ear, “prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your +own bed to-night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts +that she’s afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear +husband, of all nights in the year.” +</p> + +<p> +“My love and my Faith,” replied young Goodman Brown, “of all nights in the +year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest +it, forth and back again, must needs be done ’twixt now and sunrise. What, my +sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but three months +married?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then God bless you!” said Faith, with the pink ribbons; “and may you find all +well when you come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Amen!” cried Goodman Brown. “Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at +dusk, and no harm will come to thee.” +</p> + +<p> +So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn +the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back and saw the head of Faith still +peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little Faith!” thought he, for his heart smote him. “What a wretch am I +to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dreams, too. Methought as she +spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is +to be done tonight. But no, no; ’twould kill her to think it. Well, she’s a +blessed angel on earth; and after this one night I’ll cling to her skirts and +follow her to heaven.” +</p> + +<p> +With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself +justified in making more haste on his present evil purpose. He had taken a +dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely +stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, and closed immediately +behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such +a solitude, that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by the +innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that with lonely footsteps +he may yet be passing through an unseen multitude. +</p> + +<p> +“There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree,” said Goodman Brown to +himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as he added, “What if the devil +himself should be at my very elbow!” +</p> + +<p> +His head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and, looking forward +again, beheld the figure of a man, in grave and decent attire, seated at the +foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown’s approach and walked onward +side by side with him. +</p> + +<p> +“You are late, Goodman Brown,” said he. “The clock of the Old South was +striking as I came through Boston, and that is full fifteen minutes agone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Faith kept me back a while,” replied the young man, with a tremor in his +voice, caused by the sudden appearance of his companion, though not wholly +unexpected. +</p> + +<p> +It was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where these +two were journeying. As nearly as could be discerned, the second traveller was +about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank of life as Goodman Brown, +and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though perhaps more in +expression than features. Still they might have been taken for father and son. +And yet, though the elder person was as simply clad as the younger, and as +simple in manner too, he had an indescribable air of one who knew the world, +and who would not have felt abashed at the governor’s dinner table or in King +William’s court, were it possible that his affairs should call him thither. But +the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff, +which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought that it +might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent. This, +of course, must have been an ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Goodman Brown,” cried his fellow-traveller, “this is a dull pace for the +beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you are so soon weary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Friend,” said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full stop, “having +kept covenant by meeting thee here, it is my purpose now to return whence I +came. I have scruples touching the matter thou wot’st of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sayest thou so?” replied he of the serpent, smiling apart. “Let us walk on, +nevertheless, reasoning as we go; and if I convince thee not thou shalt turn +back. We are but a little way in the forest yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too far! too far!” exclaimed the goodman, unconsciously resuming his walk. “My +father never went into the woods on such an errand, nor his father before him. +We have been a race of honest men and good Christians since the days of the +martyrs; and shall I be the first of the name of Brown that ever took this path +and kept—” +</p> + +<p> +“Such company, thou wouldst say,” observed the elder person, interpreting his +pause. “Well said, Goodman Brown! I have been as well acquainted with your +family as with ever a one among the Puritans; and that’s no trifle to say. I +helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker woman so +smartly through the streets of Salem; and it was I that brought your father a +pitch-pine knot, kindled at my own hearth, to set fire to an Indian village, in +King Philip’s war. They were my good friends, both; and many a pleasant walk +have we had along this path, and returned merrily after midnight. I would fain +be friends with you for their sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it be as thou sayest,” replied Goodman Brown, “I marvel they never spoke of +these matters; or, verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the +sort would have driven them from New England. We are a people of prayer, and +good works to boot, and abide no such wickedness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wickedness or not,” said the traveller with the twisted staff, “I have a very +general acquaintance here in New England. The deacons of many a church have +drunk the communion wine with me; the selectmen of divers towns make me their +chairman; and a majority of the Great and General Court are firm supporters of +my interest. The governor and I, too—But these are state secrets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can this be so?” cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amazement at his +undisturbed companion. “Howbeit, I have nothing to do with the governor and +council; they have their own ways, and are no rule for a simple husbandman like +me. But, were I to go on with thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old +man, our minister, at Salem village? Oh, his voice would make me tremble both +Sabbath day and lecture day.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus far the elder traveller had listened with due gravity; but now burst into +a fit of irrepressible mirth, shaking himself so violently that his snake-like +staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! ha!” shouted he again and again; then composing himself, “Well, go on, +Goodman Brown, go on; but, prithee, don’t kill me with laughing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, to end the matter at once,” said Goodman Brown, considerably +nettled, “there is my wife, Faith. It would break her dear little heart; and +I’d rather break my own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, if that be the case,” answered the other, “e’en go thy ways, Goodman +Brown. I would not for twenty old women like the one hobbling before us that +Faith should come to any harm.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, in whom +Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplary dame, who had taught him +his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly +with the minister and Deacon Gookin. +</p> + +<p> +“A marvel, truly, that Goody Cloyse should be so far in the wilderness at +nightfall,” said he. “But with your leave, friend, I shall take a cut through +the woods until we have left this Christian woman behind. Being a stranger to +you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and whither I was going.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be it so,” said his fellow-traveller. “Betake you to the woods, and let me +keep the path.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his companion, +who advanced softly along the road until he had come within a staff’s length of +the old dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way, with singular +speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct words—a prayer, +doubtless—as she went. The traveller put forth his staff and touched her +withered neck with what seemed the serpent’s tail. +</p> + +<p> +“The devil!” screamed the pious old lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Then Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?” observed the traveller, confronting +her and leaning on his writhing stick. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, forsooth, and is it your worship indeed?” cried the good dame. “Yea, truly +is it, and in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman Brown, the grandfather +of the silly fellow that now is. But—would your worship believe +it?—my broomstick hath strangely disappeared, stolen, as I suspect, by +that unhanged witch, Goody Cory, and that, too, when I was all anointed with +the juice of smallage, and cinquefoil, and wolf’s bane.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mingled with fine wheat and the fat of a new-born babe,” said the shape of old +Goodman Brown. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, your worship knows the recipe,” cried the old lady, cackling aloud. “So, +as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting, and no horse to ride on, I +made up my mind to foot it; for they tell me there is a nice young man to be +taken into communion to-night. But now your good worship will lend me your arm, +and we shall be there in a twinkling.” +</p> + +<p> +“That can hardly be,” answered her friend. “I may not spare you my arm, Goody +Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you will.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he threw it down at her feet, where, perhaps, it assumed life, being +one of the rods which its owner had formerly lent to the Egyptian magi. Of this +fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance. He had cast up his eyes +in astonishment, and, looking down again, beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the +serpentine staff, but his fellow-traveller alone, who waited for him as calmly +as if nothing had happened. +</p> + +<p> +“That old woman taught me my catechism,” said the young man; and there was a +world of meaning in this simple comment. +</p> + +<p> +They continued to walk onward, while the elder traveller exhorted his companion +to make good speed and persevere in the path, discoursing so aptly that his +arguments seemed rather to spring up in the bosom of his auditor than to be +suggested by himself. As they went, he plucked a branch of maple to serve for a +walking stick, and began to strip it of the twigs and little boughs, which were +wet with evening dew. The moment his fingers touched them they became strangely +withered and dried up as with a week’s sunshine. Thus the pair proceeded, at a +good free pace, until suddenly, in a gloomy hollow of the road, Goodman Brown +sat himself down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any farther. +</p> + +<p> +“Friend,” said he, stubbornly, “my mind is made up. Not another step will I +budge on this errand. What if a wretched old woman do choose to go to the devil +when I thought she was going to heaven: is that any reason why I should quit my +dear Faith and go after her?” +</p> + +<p> +“You will think better of this by and by,” said his acquaintance, composedly. +“Sit here and rest yourself a while; and when you feel like moving again, there +is my staff to help you along.” +</p> + +<p> +Without more words, he threw his companion the maple stick, and was as speedily +out of sight as if he had vanished into the deepening gloom. The young man sat +a few moments by the roadside, applauding himself greatly, and thinking with +how clear a conscience he should meet the minister in his morning walk, nor +shrink from the eye of good old Deacon Gookin. And what calm sleep would be his +that very night, which was to have been spent so wickedly, but so purely and +sweetly now, in the arms of Faith! Amidst these pleasant and praiseworthy +meditations, Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses along the road, and deemed +it advisable to conceal himself within the verge of the forest, conscious of +the guilty purpose that had brought him thither, though now so happily turned +from it. +</p> + +<p> +On came the hoof tramps and the voices of the riders, two grave old voices, +conversing soberly as they drew near. These mingled sounds appeared to pass +along the road, within a few yards of the young man’s hiding-place; but, owing +doubtless to the depth of the gloom at that particular spot, neither the +travellers nor their steeds were visible. Though their figures brushed the +small boughs by the wayside, it could not be seen that they intercepted, even +for a moment, the faint gleam from the strip of bright sky athwart which they +must have passed. Goodman Brown alternately crouched and stood on tiptoe, +pulling aside the branches and thrusting forth his head as far as he durst +without discerning so much as a shadow. It vexed him the more, because he could +have sworn, were such a thing possible, that he recognized the voices of the +minister and Deacon Gookin, jogging along quietly, as they were wont to do, +when bound to some ordination or ecclesiastical council. While yet within +hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch. +</p> + +<p> +“Of the two, reverend sir,” said the voice like the deacon’s, “I had rather +miss an ordination dinner than to-night’s meeting. They tell me that some of +our community are to be here from Falmouth and beyond, and others from +Connecticut and Rhode Island, besides several of the Indian powwows, who, after +their fashion, know almost as much deviltry as the best of us. Moreover, there +is a goodly young woman to be taken into communion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mighty well, Deacon Gookin!” replied the solemn old tones of the minister. +“Spur up, or we shall be late. Nothing can be done, you know, until I get on +the ground.” +</p> + +<p> +The hoofs clattered again; and the voices, talking so strangely in the empty +air, passed on through the forest, where no church had ever been gathered or +solitary Christian prayed. Whither, then, could these holy men be journeying so +deep into the heathen wilderness? Young Goodman Brown caught hold of a tree for +support, being ready to sink down on the ground, faint and overburdened with +the heavy sickness of his heart. He looked up to the sky, doubting whether +there really was a heaven above him. Yet there was the blue arch, and the stars +brightening in it. +</p> + +<p> +“With heaven above and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against the devil!” +cried Goodman Brown. +</p> + +<p> +While he still gazed upward into the deep arch of the firmament and had lifted +his hands to pray, a cloud, though no wind was stirring, hurried across the +zenith and hid the brightening stars. The blue sky was still visible, except +directly overhead, where this black mass of cloud was sweeping swiftly +northward. Aloft in the air, as if from the depths of the cloud, came a +confused and doubtful sound of voices. Once the listener fancied that he could +distinguish the accents of towns-people of his own, men and women, both pious +and ungodly, many of whom he had met at the communion table, and had seen +others rioting at the tavern. The next moment, so indistinct were the sounds, +he doubted whether he had heard aught but the murmur of the old forest, +whispering without a wind. Then came a stronger swell of those familiar tones, +heard daily in the sunshine at Salem village, but never until now from a cloud +of night There was one voice of a young woman, uttering lamentations, yet with +an uncertain sorrow, and entreating for some favor, which, perhaps, it would +grieve her to obtain; and all the unseen multitude, both saints and sinners, +seemed to encourage her onward. +</p> + +<p> +“Faith!” shouted Goodman Brown, in a voice of agony and desperation; and the +echoes of the forest mocked him, crying, “Faith! Faith!” as if bewildered +wretches were seeking her all through the wilderness. +</p> + +<p> +The cry of grief, rage, and terror was yet piercing the night, when the unhappy +husband held his breath for a response. There was a scream, drowned immediately +in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far-off laughter, as the dark cloud +swept away, leaving the clear and silent sky above Goodman Brown. But something +fluttered lightly down through the air and caught on the branch of a tree. The +young man seized it, and beheld a pink ribbon. +</p> + +<p> +“My Faith is gone!” cried he, after one stupefied moment. “There is no good on +earth; and sin is but a name. Come, devil; for to thee is this world given.” +</p> + +<p> +And, maddened with despair, so that he laughed loud and long, did Goodman Brown +grasp his staff and set forth again, at such a rate that he seemed to fly along +the forest path rather than to walk or run. The road grew wilder and drearier +and more faintly traced, and vanished at length, leaving him in the heart of +the dark wilderness, still rushing onward with the instinct that guides mortal +man to evil. The whole forest was peopled with frightful sounds—the +creaking of the trees, the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; +while sometimes the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave +a broad roar around the traveller, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn. +But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from its other +horrors. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Goodman Brown when the wind laughed at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us hear which will laugh loudest. Think not to frighten me with your +deviltry. Come witch, come wizard, come Indian powwow, come devil himself, and +here comes Goodman Brown. You may as well fear him as he fear you.” +</p> + +<p> +In truth, all through the haunted forest there could be nothing more frightful +than the figure of Goodman Brown. On he flew among the black pines, brandishing +his staff with frenzied gestures, now giving vent to an inspiration of horrid +blasphemy, and now shouting forth such laughter as set all the echoes of the +forest laughing like demons around him. The fiend in his own shape is less +hideous than when he rages in the breast of man. Thus sped the demoniac on his +course, until, quivering among the trees, he saw a red light before him, as +when the felled trunks and branches of a clearing have been set on fire, and +throw up their lurid blaze against the sky, at the hour of midnight. He paused, +in a lull of the tempest that had driven him onward, and heard the swell of +what seemed a hymn, rolling solemnly from a distance with the weight of many +voices. He knew the tune; it was a familiar one in the choir of the village +meeting-house. The verse died heavily away, and was lengthened by a chorus, not +of human voices, but of all the sounds of the benighted wilderness pealing in +awful harmony together. Goodman Brown cried out, and his cry was lost to his +own ear by its unison with the cry of the desert. +</p> + +<p> +In the interval of silence he stole forward until the light glared full upon +his eyes. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed in by the dark wall of the +forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural resemblance either to an altar +or a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines, their tops aflame, their +stems untouched, like candles at an evening meeting. The mass of foliage that +had overgrown the summit of the rock was all on fire, blazing high into the +night and fitfully illuminating the whole field. Each pendent twig and leafy +festoon was in a blaze. As the red light arose and fell, a numerous +congregation alternately shone forth, then disappeared in shadow, and again +grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the solitary woods +at once. +</p> + +<p> +“A grave and dark-clad company,” quoth Goodman Brown. +</p> + +<p> +In truth they were such. Among them, quivering to and fro between gloom and +splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council board of +the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devoutly +heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in +the land. Some affirm that the lady of the governor was there. At least there +were high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husbands, and widows, a +great multitude, and ancient maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young +girls, who trembled lest their mothers should espy them. Either the sudden +gleams of light flashing over the obscure field bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he +recognized a score of the church members of Salem village famous for their +especial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts +of that venerable saint, his revered pastor. But, irreverently consorting with +these grave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, these +chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of dissolute lives and women of +spotted fame, wretches given over to all mean and filthy vice, and suspected +even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see that the good shrank not from the +wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints. Scattered also among their +pale-faced enemies were the Indian priests, or powwows, who had often scared +their native forest with more hideous incantations than any known to English +witchcraft. +</p> + +<p> +“But where is Faith?” thought Goodman Brown; and, as hope came into his heart, +he trembled. +</p> + +<p> +Another verse of the hymn arose, a slow and mournful strain, such as the pious +love, but joined to words which expressed all that our nature can conceive of +sin, and darkly hinted at far more. Unfathomable to mere mortals is the lore of +fiends. Verse after verse was sung; and still the chorus of the desert swelled +between like the deepest tone of a mighty organ; and with the final peal of +that dreadful anthem there came a sound, as if the roaring wind, the rushing +streams, the howling beasts, and every other voice of the unconcerted +wilderness were mingling and according with the voice of guilty man in homage +to the prince of all. The four blazing pines threw up a loftier flame, and +obscurely discovered shapes and visages of horror on the smoke wreaths above +the impious assembly. At the same moment the fire on the rock shot redly forth +and formed a glowing arch above its base, where now appeared a figure. With +reverence be it spoken, the figure bore no slight similitude, both in garb and +manner, to some grave divine of the New England churches. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring forth the converts!” cried a voice that echoed through the field and +rolled into the forest. +</p> + +<p> +At the word, Goodman Brown stepped forth from the shadow of the trees and +approached the congregation, with whom he felt a loathful brotherhood by the +sympathy of all that was wicked in his heart. He could have well-nigh sworn +that the shape of his own dead father beckoned him to advance, looking downward +from a smoke wreath, while a woman, with dim features of despair, threw out her +hand to warn him back. Was it his mother? But he had no power to retreat one +step, nor to resist, even in thought, when the minister and good old Deacon +Gookin seized his arms and led him to the blazing rock. Thither came also the +slender form of a veiled female, led between Goody Cloyse, that pious teacher +of the catechism, and Martha Carrier, who had received the devil’s promise to +be queen of hell. A rampant hag was she. And there stood the proselytes beneath +the canopy of fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome, my children,” said the dark figure, “to the communion of your race. +Ye have found thus young your nature and your destiny. My children, look behind +you!” +</p> + +<p> +They turned; and flashing forth, as it were, in a sheet of flame, the fiend +worshippers were seen; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” resumed the sable form, “are all whom ye have reverenced from youth. +Ye deemed them holier than yourselves, and shrank from your own sin, +contrasting it with their lives of righteousness and prayerful aspirations +heavenward. Yet here are they all in my worshipping assembly. This night it +shall be granted you to know their secret deeds: how hoary-bearded elders of +the church have whispered wanton words to the young maids of their households; +how many a woman, eager for widows’ weeds, has given her husband a drink at +bedtime and let him sleep his last sleep in her bosom; how beardless youths +have made haste to inherit their fathers’ wealth; and how fair +damsels—blush not, sweet ones—have dug little graves in the garden, +and bidden me, the sole guest to an infant’s funeral. By the sympathy of your +human hearts for sin ye shall scent out all the places—whether in church, +bedchamber, street, field, or forest—where crime has been committed, and +shall exult to behold the whole earth one stain of guilt, one mighty blood +spot. Far more than this. It shall be yours to penetrate, in every bosom, the +deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked arts, and which inexhaustibly +supplies more evil impulses than human power—than my power at its +utmost—can make manifest in deeds. And now, my children, look upon each +other.” +</p> + +<p> +They did so; and, by the blaze of the hell-kindled torches, the wretched man +beheld his Faith, and the wife her husband, trembling before that unhallowed +altar. +</p> + +<p> +“Lo, there ye stand, my children,” said the figure, in a deep and solemn tone, +almost sad with its despairing awfulness, as if his once angelic nature could +yet mourn for our miserable race. “Depending upon one another’s hearts, ye had +still hoped that virtue were not all a dream. Now are ye undeceived. Evil is +the nature of mankind. Evil must be your only happiness. Welcome again, my +children, to the communion of your race.” +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome,” repeated the fiend worshippers, in one cry of despair and triumph. +</p> + +<p> +And there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet hesitating on +the verge of wickedness in this dark world. A basin was hollowed, naturally, in +the rock. Did it contain water, reddened by the lurid light? or was it blood? +or, perchance, a liquid flame? Herein did the shape of evil dip his hand and +prepare to lay the mark of baptism upon their foreheads, that they might be +partakers of the mystery of sin, more conscious of the secret guilt of others, +both in deed and thought, than they could now be of their own. The husband cast +one look at his pale wife, and Faith at him. What polluted wretches would the +next glance show them to each other, shuddering alike at what they disclosed +and what they saw! +</p> + +<p> +“Faith! Faith!” cried the husband, “look up to heaven, and resist the wicked +one.” +</p> + +<p> +Whether Faith obeyed he knew not. Hardly had he spoken when he found himself +amid calm night and solitude, listening to a roar of the wind which died +heavily away through the forest. He staggered against the rock, and felt it +chill and damp; while a hanging twig, that had been all on fire, besprinkled +his cheek with the coldest dew. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street of Salem +village, staring around him like a bewildered man. The good old minister was +taking a walk along the graveyard to get an appetite for breakfast and meditate +his sermon, and bestowed a blessing, as he passed, on Goodman Brown. He shrank +from the venerable saint as if to avoid an anathema. Old Deacon Gookin was at +domestic worship, and the holy words of his prayer were heard through the open +window. “What God doth the wizard pray to?” quoth Goodman Brown. Goody Cloyse, +that excellent old Christian, stood in the early sunshine at her own lattice, +catechizing a little girl who had brought her a pint of morning’s milk. Goodman +Brown snatched away the child as from the grasp of the fiend himself. Turning +the corner by the meeting-house, he spied the head of Faith, with the pink +ribbons, gazing anxiously forth, and bursting into such joy at sight of him +that she skipped along the street and almost kissed her husband before the +whole village. But Goodman Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face, and +passed on without a greeting. +</p> + +<p> +Had Goodman Brown fallen asleep in the forest and only dreamed a wild dream of +a witch-meeting? +</p> + +<p> +Be it so if you will; but, alas! it was a dream of evil omen for young Goodman +Brown. A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if not a desperate +man did he become from the night of that fearful dream. On the Sabbath day, +when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he could not listen because an +anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear and drowned all the blessed strain. +When the minister spoke from the pulpit with power and fervid eloquence, and, +with his hand on the open Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion, and of +saint-like lives and triumphant deaths, and of future bliss or misery +unutterable, then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should +thunder down upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often, waking suddenly +at midnight, he shrank from the bosom of Faith; and at morning or eventide, +when the family knelt down at prayer, he scowled and muttered to himself, and +gazed sternly at his wife, and turned away. And when he had lived long, and was +borne to his grave a hoary corpse, followed by Faith, an aged woman, and +children and grandchildren, a goodly procession, besides neighbors not a few, +they carved no hopeful verse upon his tombstone, for his dying hour was gloom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a> +RAPPACCINI’S DAUGHTER</h2> + +<p> +A young man, named Giovanni Guasconti, came, very long ago, from the more +southern region of Italy, to pursue his studies at the University of Padua. +Giovanni, who had but a scanty supply of gold ducats in his pocket, took +lodgings in a high and gloomy chamber of an old edifice which looked not +unworthy to have been the palace of a Paduan noble, and which, in fact, +exhibited over its entrance the armorial bearings of a family long since +extinct. The young stranger, who was not unstudied in the great poem of his +country, recollected that one of the ancestors of this family, and perhaps an +occupant of this very mansion, had been pictured by Dante as a partaker of the +immortal agonies of his Inferno. These reminiscences and associations, together +with the tendency to heartbreak natural to a young man for the first time out +of his native sphere, caused Giovanni to sigh heavily as he looked around the +desolate and ill-furnished apartment. +</p> + +<p> +“Holy Virgin, signor!” cried old Dame Lisabetta, who, won by the youth’s +remarkable beauty of person, was kindly endeavoring to give the chamber a +habitable air, “what a sigh was that to come out of a young man’s heart! Do you +find this old mansion gloomy? For the love of Heaven, then, put your head out +of the window, and you will see as bright sunshine as you have left in Naples.” +</p> + +<p> +Guasconti mechanically did as the old woman advised, but could not quite agree +with her that the Paduan sunshine was as cheerful as that of southern Italy. +Such as it was, however, it fell upon a garden beneath the window and expended +its fostering influences on a variety of plants, which seemed to have been +cultivated with exceeding care. +</p> + +<p> +“Does this garden belong to the house?” asked Giovanni. +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven forbid, signor, unless it were fruitful of better pot herbs than any +that grow there now,” answered old Lisabetta. “No; that garden is cultivated by +the own hands of Signor Giacomo Rappaccini, the famous doctor, who, I warrant +him, has been heard of as far as Naples. It is said that he distils these +plants into medicines that are as potent as a charm. Oftentimes you may see the +signor doctor at work, and perchance the signora, his daughter, too, gathering +the strange flowers that grow in the garden.” +</p> + +<p> +The old woman had now done what she could for the aspect of the chamber; and, +commending the young man to the protection of the saints, took her departure. +</p> + +<p> +Giovanni still found no better occupation than to look down into the garden +beneath his window. From its appearance, he judged it to be one of those +botanic gardens which were of earlier date in Padua than elsewhere in Italy or +in the world. Or, not improbably, it might once have been the pleasure-place of +an opulent family; for there was the ruin of a marble fountain in the centre, +sculptured with rare art, but so wofully shattered that it was impossible to +trace the original design from the chaos of remaining fragments. The water, +however, continued to gush and sparkle into the sunbeams as cheerfully as ever. +A little gurgling sound ascended to the young man’s window, and made him feel +as if the fountain were an immortal spirit that sung its song unceasingly and +without heeding the vicissitudes around it, while one century imbodied it in +marble and another scattered the perishable garniture on the soil. All about +the pool into which the water subsided grew various plants, that seemed to +require a plentiful supply of moisture for the nourishment of gigantic leaves, +and in some instances, flowers gorgeously magnificent. There was one shrub in +particular, set in a marble vase in the midst of the pool, that bore a +profusion of purple blossoms, each of which had the lustre and richness of a +gem; and the whole together made a show so resplendent that it seemed enough to +illuminate the garden, even had there been no sunshine. Every portion of the +soil was peopled with plants and herbs, which, if less beautiful, still bore +tokens of assiduous care, as if all had their individual virtues, known to the +scientific mind that fostered them. Some were placed in urns, rich with old +carving, and others in common garden pots; some crept serpent-like along the +ground or climbed on high, using whatever means of ascent was offered them. One +plant had wreathed itself round a statue of Vertumnus, which was thus quite +veiled and shrouded in a drapery of hanging foliage, so happily arranged that +it might have served a sculptor for a study. +</p> + +<p> +While Giovanni stood at the window he heard a rustling behind a screen of +leaves, and became aware that a person was at work in the garden. His figure +soon emerged into view, and showed itself to be that of no common laborer, but +a tall, emaciated, sallow, and sickly-looking man, dressed in a scholar’s garb +of black. He was beyond the middle term of life, with gray hair, a thin, gray +beard, and a face singularly marked with intellect and cultivation, but which +could never, even in his more youthful days, have expressed much warmth of +heart. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing could exceed the intentness with which this scientific gardener +examined every shrub which grew in his path: it seemed as if he was looking +into their inmost nature, making observations in regard to their creative +essence, and discovering why one leaf grew in this shape and another in that, +and wherefore such and such flowers differed among themselves in hue and +perfume. Nevertheless, in spite of this deep intelligence on his part, there +was no approach to intimacy between himself and these vegetable existences. On +the contrary, he avoided their actual touch or the direct inhaling of their +odors with a caution that impressed Giovanni most disagreeably; for the man’s +demeanor was that of one walking among malignant influences, such as savage +beasts, or deadly snakes, or evil spirits, which, should he allow them one +moment of license, would wreak upon him some terrible fatality. It was +strangely frightful to the young man’s imagination to see this air of +insecurity in a person cultivating a garden, that most simple and innocent of +human toils, and which had been alike the joy and labor of the unfallen parents +of the race. Was this garden, then, the Eden of the present world? And this +man, with such a perception of harm in what his own hands caused to +grow,—was he the Adam? +</p> + +<p> +The distrustful gardener, while plucking away the dead leaves or pruning the +too luxuriant growth of the shrubs, defended his hands with a pair of thick +gloves. Nor were these his only armor. When, in his walk through the garden, he +came to the magnificent plant that hung its purple gems beside the marble +fountain, he placed a kind of mask over his mouth and nostrils, as if all this +beauty did but conceal a deadlier malice; but, finding his task still too +dangerous, he drew back, removed the mask, and called loudly, but in the infirm +voice of a person affected with inward disease, “Beatrice! Beatrice!” +</p> + +<p> +“Here am I, my father. What would you?” cried a rich and youthful voice from +the window of the opposite house—a voice as rich as a tropical sunset, +and which made Giovanni, though he knew not why, think of deep hues of purple +or crimson and of perfumes heavily delectable. “Are you in the garden?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Beatrice,” answered the gardener, “and I need your help.” +</p> + +<p> +Soon there emerged from under a sculptured portal the figure of a young girl, +arrayed with as much richness of taste as the most splendid of the flowers, +beautiful as the day, and with a bloom so deep and vivid that one shade more +would have been too much. She looked redundant with life, health, and energy; +all of which attributes were bound down and compressed, as it were and girdled +tensely, in their luxuriance, by her virgin zone. Yet Giovanni’s fancy must +have grown morbid while he looked down into the garden; for the impression +which the fair stranger made upon him was as if here were another flower, the +human sister of those vegetable ones, as beautiful as they, more beautiful than +the richest of them, but still to be touched only with a glove, nor to be +approached without a mask. As Beatrice came down the garden path, it was +observable that she handled and inhaled the odor of several of the plants which +her father had most sedulously avoided. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Beatrice,” said the latter, “see how many needful offices require to be +done to our chief treasure. Yet, shattered as I am, my life might pay the +penalty of approaching it so closely as circumstances demand. Henceforth, I +fear, this plant must be consigned to your sole charge.” +</p> + +<p> +“And gladly will I undertake it,” cried again the rich tones of the young lady, +as she bent towards the magnificent plant and opened her arms as if to embrace +it. “Yes, my sister, my splendour, it shall be Beatrice’s task to nurse and +serve thee; and thou shalt reward her with thy kisses and perfumed breath, +which to her is as the breath of life.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, with all the tenderness in her manner that was so strikingly expressed in +her words, she busied herself with such attentions as the plant seemed to +require; and Giovanni, at his lofty window, rubbed his eyes and almost doubted +whether it were a girl tending her favorite flower, or one sister performing +the duties of affection to another. The scene soon terminated. Whether Dr. +Rappaccini had finished his labors in the garden, or that his watchful eye had +caught the stranger’s face, he now took his daughter’s arm and retired. Night +was already closing in; oppressive exhalations seemed to proceed from the +plants and steal upward past the open window; and Giovanni, closing the +lattice, went to his couch and dreamed of a rich flower and beautiful girl. +Flower and maiden were different, and yet the same, and fraught with some +strange peril in either shape. +</p> + +<p> +But there is an influence in the light of morning that tends to rectify +whatever errors of fancy, or even of judgment, we may have incurred during the +sun’s decline, or among the shadows of the night, or in the less wholesome glow +of moonshine. Giovanni’s first movement, on starting from sleep, was to throw +open the window and gaze down into the garden which his dreams had made so +fertile of mysteries. He was surprised and a little ashamed to find how real +and matter-of-fact an affair it proved to be, in the first rays of the sun +which gilded the dew-drops that hung upon leaf and blossom, and, while giving a +brighter beauty to each rare flower, brought everything within the limits of +ordinary experience. The young man rejoiced that, in the heart of the barren +city, he had the privilege of overlooking this spot of lovely and luxuriant +vegetation. It would serve, he said to himself, as a symbolic language to keep +him in communion with Nature. Neither the sickly and thoughtworn Dr. Giacomo +Rappaccini, it is true, nor his brilliant daughter, were now visible; so that +Giovanni could not determine how much of the singularity which he attributed to +both was due to their own qualities and how much to his wonder-working fancy; +but he was inclined to take a most rational view of the whole matter. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of the day he paid his respects to Signor Pietro Baglioni, +professor of medicine in the university, a physician of eminent repute to whom +Giovanni had brought a letter of introduction. The professor was an elderly +personage, apparently of genial nature, and habits that might almost be called +jovial. He kept the young man to dinner, and made himself very agreeable by the +freedom and liveliness of his conversation, especially when warmed by a flask +or two of Tuscan wine. Giovanni, conceiving that men of science, inhabitants of +the same city, must needs be on familiar terms with one another, took an +opportunity to mention the name of Dr. Rappaccini. But the professor did not +respond with so much cordiality as he had anticipated. +</p> + +<p> +“Ill would it become a teacher of the divine art of medicine,” said Professor +Pietro Baglioni, in answer to a question of Giovanni, “to withhold due and +well-considered praise of a physician so eminently skilled as Rappaccini; but, +on the other hand, I should answer it but scantily to my conscience were I to +permit a worthy youth like yourself, Signor Giovanni, the son of an ancient +friend, to imbibe erroneous ideas respecting a man who might hereafter chance +to hold your life and death in his hands. The truth is, our worshipful Dr. +Rappaccini has as much science as any member of the faculty—with perhaps +one single exception—in Padua, or all Italy; but there are certain grave +objections to his professional character.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what are they?” asked the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Has my friend Giovanni any disease of body or heart, that he is so inquisitive +about physicians?” said the professor, with a smile. “But as for Rappaccini, it +is said of him—and I, who know the man well, can answer for its +truth—that he cares infinitely more for science than for mankind. His +patients are interesting to him only as subjects for some new experiment. He +would sacrifice human life, his own among the rest, or whatever else was +dearest to him, for the sake of adding so much as a grain of mustard seed to +the great heap of his accumulated knowledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks he is an awful man indeed,” remarked Guasconti, mentally recalling +the cold and purely intellectual aspect of Rappaccini. “And yet, worshipful +professor, is it not a noble spirit? Are there many men capable of so spiritual +a love of science?” +</p> + +<p> +“God forbid,” answered the professor, somewhat testily; “at least, unless they +take sounder views of the healing art than those adopted by Rappaccini. It is +his theory that all medicinal virtues are comprised within those substances +which we term vegetable poisons. These he cultivates with his own hands, and is +said even to have produced new varieties of poison, more horribly deleterious +than Nature, without the assistance of this learned person, would ever have +plagued the world withal. That the signor doctor does less mischief than might +be expected with such dangerous substances is undeniable. Now and then, it must +be owned, he has effected, or seemed to effect, a marvellous cure; but, to tell +you my private mind, Signor Giovanni, he should receive little credit for such +instances of success,—they being probably the work of chance,—but +should be held strictly accountable for his failures, which may justly be +considered his own work.” +</p> + +<p> +The youth might have taken Baglioni’s opinions with many grains of allowance +had he known that there was a professional warfare of long continuance between +him and Dr. Rappaccini, in which the latter was generally thought to have +gained the advantage. If the reader be inclined to judge for himself, we refer +him to certain black-letter tracts on both sides, preserved in the medical +department of the University of Padua. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not, most learned professor,” returned Giovanni, after musing on what +had been said of Rappaccini’s exclusive zeal for science,—“I know not how +dearly this physician may love his art; but surely there is one object more +dear to him. He has a daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” cried the professor, with a laugh. “So now our friend Giovanni’s secret +is out. You have heard of this daughter, whom all the young men in Padua are +wild about, though not half a dozen have ever had the good hap to see her face. +I know little of the Signora Beatrice save that Rappaccini is said to have +instructed her deeply in his science, and that, young and beautiful as fame +reports her, she is already qualified to fill a professor’s chair. Perchance +her father destines her for mine! Other absurd rumors there be, not worth +talking about or listening to. So now, Signor Giovanni, drink off your glass of +lachryma.” +</p> + +<p> +Guasconti returned to his lodgings somewhat heated with the wine he had +quaffed, and which caused his brain to swim with strange fantasies in reference +to Dr. Rappaccini and the beautiful Beatrice. On his way, happening to pass by +a florist’s, he bought a fresh bouquet of flowers. +</p> + +<p> +Ascending to his chamber, he seated himself near the window, but within the +shadow thrown by the depth of the wall, so that he could look down into the +garden with little risk of being discovered. All beneath his eye was a +solitude. The strange plants were basking in the sunshine, and now and then +nodding gently to one another, as if in acknowledgment of sympathy and kindred. +In the midst, by the shattered fountain, grew the magnificent shrub, with its +purple gems clustering all over it; they glowed in the air, and gleamed back +again out of the depths of the pool, which thus seemed to overflow with colored +radiance from the rich reflection that was steeped in it. At first, as we have +said, the garden was a solitude. Soon, however,—as Giovanni had half +hoped, half feared, would be the case,—a figure appeared beneath the +antique sculptured portal, and came down between the rows of plants, inhaling +their various perfumes as if she were one of those beings of old classic fable +that lived upon sweet odors. On again beholding Beatrice, the young man was +even startled to perceive how much her beauty exceeded his recollection of it; +so brilliant, so vivid, was its character, that she glowed amid the sunlight, +and, as Giovanni whispered to himself, positively illuminated the more shadowy +intervals of the garden path. Her face being now more revealed than on the +former occasion, he was struck by its expression of simplicity and +sweetness,—qualities that had not entered into his idea of her character, +and which made him ask anew what manner of mortal she might be. Nor did he fail +again to observe, or imagine, an analogy between the beautiful girl and the +gorgeous shrub that hung its gemlike flowers over the fountain,—a +resemblance which Beatrice seemed to have indulged a fantastic humor in +heightening, both by the arrangement of her dress and the selection of its +hues. +</p> + +<p> +Approaching the shrub, she threw open her arms, as with a passionate ardor, and +drew its branches into an intimate embrace—so intimate that her features +were hidden in its leafy bosom and her glistening ringlets all intermingled +with the flowers. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me thy breath, my sister,” exclaimed Beatrice; “for I am faint with +common air. And give me this flower of thine, which I separate with gentlest +fingers from the stem and place it close beside my heart.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words the beautiful daughter of Rappaccini plucked one of the +richest blossoms of the shrub, and was about to fasten it in her bosom. But +now, unless Giovanni’s draughts of wine had bewildered his senses, a singular +incident occurred. A small orange-colored reptile, of the lizard or chameleon +species, chanced to be creeping along the path, just at the feet of Beatrice. +It appeared to Giovanni,—but, at the distance from which he gazed, he +could scarcely have seen anything so minute,—it appeared to him, however, +that a drop or two of moisture from the broken stem of the flower descended +upon the lizard’s head. For an instant the reptile contorted itself violently, +and then lay motionless in the sunshine. Beatrice observed this remarkable +phenomenon and crossed herself, sadly, but without surprise; nor did she +therefore hesitate to arrange the fatal flower in her bosom. There it blushed, +and almost glimmered with the dazzling effect of a precious stone, adding to +her dress and aspect the one appropriate charm which nothing else in the world +could have supplied. But Giovanni, out of the shadow of his window, bent +forward and shrank back, and murmured and trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I awake? Have I my senses?” said he to himself. “What is this being? +Beautiful shall I call her, or inexpressibly terrible?” +</p> + +<p> +Beatrice now strayed carelessly through the garden, approaching closer beneath +Giovanni’s window, so that he was compelled to thrust his head quite out of its +concealment in order to gratify the intense and painful curiosity which she +excited. At this moment there came a beautiful insect over the garden wall; it +had, perhaps, wandered through the city, and found no flowers or verdure among +those antique haunts of men until the heavy perfumes of Dr. Rappaccini’s shrubs +had lured it from afar. Without alighting on the flowers, this winged +brightness seemed to be attracted by Beatrice, and lingered in the air and +fluttered about her head. Now, here it could not be but that Giovanni +Guasconti’s eyes deceived him. Be that as it might, he fancied that, while +Beatrice was gazing at the insect with childish delight, it grew faint and fell +at her feet; its bright wings shivered; it was dead—from no cause that he +could discern, unless it were the atmosphere of her breath. Again Beatrice +crossed herself and sighed heavily as she bent over the dead insect. +</p> + +<p> +An impulsive movement of Giovanni drew her eyes to the window. There she beheld +the beautiful head of the young man—rather a Grecian than an Italian +head, with fair, regular features, and a glistening of gold among his +ringlets—gazing down upon her like a being that hovered in mid air. +Scarcely knowing what he did, Giovanni threw down the bouquet which he had +hitherto held in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Signora,” said he, “there are pure and healthful flowers. Wear them for the +sake of Giovanni Guasconti.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, signor,” replied Beatrice, with her rich voice, that came forth as it +were like a gush of music, and with a mirthful expression half childish and +half woman-like. “I accept your gift, and would fain recompense it with this +precious purple flower; but if I toss it into the air it will not reach you. So +Signor Guasconti must even content himself with my thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +She lifted the bouquet from the ground, and then, as if inwardly ashamed at +having stepped aside from her maidenly reserve to respond to a stranger’s +greeting, passed swiftly homeward through the garden. But few as the moments +were, it seemed to Giovanni, when she was on the point of vanishing beneath the +sculptured portal, that his beautiful bouquet was already beginning to wither +in her grasp. It was an idle thought; there could be no possibility of +distinguishing a faded flower from a fresh one at so great a distance. +</p> + +<p> +For many days after this incident the young man avoided the window that looked +into Dr. Rappaccini’s garden, as if something ugly and monstrous would have +blasted his eyesight had he been betrayed into a glance. He felt conscious of +having put himself, to a certain extent, within the influence of an +unintelligible power by the communication which he had opened with Beatrice. +The wisest course would have been, if his heart were in any real danger, to +quit his lodgings and Padua itself at once; the next wiser, to have accustomed +himself, as far as possible, to the familiar and daylight view of +Beatrice—thus bringing her rigidly and systematically within the limits +of ordinary experience. Least of all, while avoiding her sight, ought Giovanni +to have remained so near this extraordinary being that the proximity and +possibility even of intercourse should give a kind of substance and reality to +the wild vagaries which his imagination ran riot continually in producing. +Guasconti had not a deep heart—or, at all events, its depths were not +sounded now; but he had a quick fancy, and an ardent southern temperament, +which rose every instant to a higher fever pitch. Whether or no Beatrice +possessed those terrible attributes, that fatal breath, the affinity with those +so beautiful and deadly flowers which were indicated by what Giovanni had +witnessed, she had at least instilled a fierce and subtle poison into his +system. It was not love, although her rich beauty was a madness to him; nor +horror, even while he fancied her spirit to be imbued with the same baneful +essence that seemed to pervade her physical frame; but a wild offspring of both +love and horror that had each parent in it, and burned like one and shivered +like the other. Giovanni knew not what to dread; still less did he know what to +hope; yet hope and dread kept a continual warfare in his breast, alternately +vanquishing one another and starting up afresh to renew the contest. Blessed +are all simple emotions, be they dark or bright! It is the lurid intermixture +of the two that produces the illuminating blaze of the infernal regions. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes he endeavored to assuage the fever of his spirit by a rapid walk +through the streets of Padua or beyond its gates: his footsteps kept time with +the throbbings of his brain, so that the walk was apt to accelerate itself to a +race. One day he found himself arrested; his arm was seized by a portly +personage, who had turned back on recognizing the young man and expended much +breath in overtaking him. +</p> + +<p> +“Signor Giovanni! Stay, my young friend!” cried he. “Have you forgotten me? +That might well be the case if I were as much altered as yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Baglioni, whom Giovanni had avoided ever since their first meeting, from +a doubt that the professor’s sagacity would look too deeply into his secrets. +Endeavoring to recover himself, he stared forth wildly from his inner world +into the outer one and spoke like a man in a dream. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I am Giovanni Guasconti. You are Professor Pietro Baglioni. Now let me +pass!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet, not yet, Signor Giovanni Guasconti,” said the professor, smiling, but +at the same time scrutinizing the youth with an earnest glance. “What! did I +grow up side by side with your father? and shall his son pass me like a +stranger in these old streets of Padua? Stand still, Signor Giovanni; for we +must have a word or two before we part.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speedily, then, most worshipful professor, speedily,” said Giovanni, with +feverish impatience. “Does not your worship see that I am in haste?” +</p> + +<p> +Now, while he was speaking there came a man in black along the street, stooping +and moving feebly like a person in inferior health. His face was all overspread +with a most sickly and sallow hue, but yet so pervaded with an expression of +piercing and active intellect that an observer might easily have overlooked the +merely physical attributes and have seen only this wonderful energy. As he +passed, this person exchanged a cold and distant salutation with Baglioni, but +fixed his eyes upon Giovanni with an intentness that seemed to bring out +whatever was within him worthy of notice. Nevertheless, there was a peculiar +quietness in the look, as if taking merely a speculative, not a human interest, +in the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Dr. Rappaccini!” whispered the professor when the stranger had passed. +“Has he ever seen your face before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I know,” answered Giovanni, starting at the name. +</p> + +<p> +“He HAS seen you! he must have seen you!” said Baglioni, hastily. “For some +purpose or other, this man of science is making a study of you. I know that +look of his! It is the same that coldly illuminates his face as he bends over a +bird, a mouse, or a butterfly, which, in pursuance of some experiment, he has +killed by the perfume of a flower; a look as deep as Nature itself, but without +Nature’s warmth of love. Signor Giovanni, I will stake my life upon it, you are +the subject of one of Rappaccini’s experiments!” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you make a fool of me?” cried Giovanni, passionately. “THAT, signor +professor, were an untoward experiment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Patience! patience!” replied the imperturbable professor. “I tell thee, my +poor Giovanni, that Rappaccini has a scientific interest in thee. Thou hast +fallen into fearful hands! And the Signora Beatrice,—what part does she +act in this mystery?” +</p> + +<p> +But Guasconti, finding Baglioni’s pertinacity intolerable, here broke away, and +was gone before the professor could again seize his arm. He looked after the +young man intently and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“This must not be,” said Baglioni to himself. “The youth is the son of my old +friend, and shall not come to any harm from which the arcana of medical science +can preserve him. Besides, it is too insufferable an impertinence in +Rappaccini, thus to snatch the lad out of my own hands, as I may say, and make +use of him for his infernal experiments. This daughter of his! It shall be +looked to. Perchance, most learned Rappaccini, I may foil you where you little +dream of it!” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Giovanni had pursued a circuitous route, and at length found himself +at the door of his lodgings. As he crossed the threshold he was met by old +Lisabetta, who smirked and smiled, and was evidently desirous to attract his +attention; vainly, however, as the ebullition of his feelings had momentarily +subsided into a cold and dull vacuity. He turned his eyes full upon the +withered face that was puckering itself into a smile, but seemed to behold it +not. The old dame, therefore, laid her grasp upon his cloak. +</p> + +<p> +“Signor! signor!” whispered she, still with a smile over the whole breadth of +her visage, so that it looked not unlike a grotesque carving in wood, darkened +by centuries. “Listen, signor! There is a private entrance into the garden!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say?” exclaimed Giovanni, turning quickly about, as if an +inanimate thing should start into feverish life. “A private entrance into Dr. +Rappaccini’s garden?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! hush! not so loud!” whispered Lisabetta, putting her hand over his +mouth. “Yes; into the worshipful doctor’s garden, where you may see all his +fine shrubbery. Many a young man in Padua would give gold to be admitted among +those flowers.” +</p> + +<p> +Giovanni put a piece of gold into her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Show me the way,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +A surmise, probably excited by his conversation with Baglioni, crossed his +mind, that this interposition of old Lisabetta might perchance be connected +with the intrigue, whatever were its nature, in which the professor seemed to +suppose that Dr. Rappaccini was involving him. But such a suspicion, though it +disturbed Giovanni, was inadequate to restrain him. The instant that he was +aware of the possibility of approaching Beatrice, it seemed an absolute +necessity of his existence to do so. It mattered not whether she were angel or +demon; he was irrevocably within her sphere, and must obey the law that whirled +him onward, in ever-lessening circles, towards a result which he did not +attempt to foreshadow; and yet, strange to say, there came across him a sudden +doubt whether this intense interest on his part were not delusory; whether it +were really of so deep and positive a nature as to justify him in now thrusting +himself into an incalculable position; whether it were not merely the fantasy +of a young man’s brain, only slightly or not at all connected with his heart. +</p> + +<p> +He paused, hesitated, turned half about, but again went on. His withered guide +led him along several obscure passages, and finally undid a door, through +which, as it was opened, there came the sight and sound of rustling leaves, +with the broken sunshine glimmering among them. Giovanni stepped forth, and, +forcing himself through the entanglement of a shrub that wreathed its tendrils +over the hidden entrance, stood beneath his own window in the open area of Dr. +Rappaccini’s garden. +</p> + +<p> +How often is it the case that, when impossibilities have come to pass and +dreams have condensed their misty substance into tangible realities, we find +ourselves calm, and even coldly self-possessed, amid circumstances which it +would have been a delirium of joy or agony to anticipate! Fate delights to +thwart us thus. Passion will choose his own time to rush upon the scene, and +lingers sluggishly behind when an appropriate adjustment of events would seem +to summon his appearance. So was it now with Giovanni. Day after day his pulses +had throbbed with feverish blood at the improbable idea of an interview with +Beatrice, and of standing with her, face to face, in this very garden, basking +in the Oriental sunshine of her beauty, and snatching from her full gaze the +mystery which he deemed the riddle of his own existence. But now there was a +singular and untimely equanimity within his breast. He threw a glance around +the garden to discover if Beatrice or her father were present, and, perceiving +that he was alone, began a critical observation of the plants. +</p> + +<p> +The aspect of one and all of them dissatisfied him; their gorgeousness seemed +fierce, passionate, and even unnatural. There was hardly an individual shrub +which a wanderer, straying by himself through a forest, would not have been +startled to find growing wild, as if an unearthly face had glared at him out of +the thicket. Several also would have shocked a delicate instinct by an +appearance of artificialness indicating that there had been such commixture, +and, as it were, adultery, of various vegetable species, that the production +was no longer of God’s making, but the monstrous offspring of man’s depraved +fancy, glowing with only an evil mockery of beauty. They were probably the +result of experiment, which in one or two cases had succeeded in mingling +plants individually lovely into a compound possessing the questionable and +ominous character that distinguished the whole growth of the garden. In fine, +Giovanni recognized but two or three plants in the collection, and those of a +kind that he well knew to be poisonous. While busy with these contemplations he +heard the rustling of a silken garment, and, turning, beheld Beatrice emerging +from beneath the sculptured portal. +</p> + +<p> +Giovanni had not considered with himself what should be his deportment; whether +he should apologize for his intrusion into the garden, or assume that he was +there with the privity at least, if not by the desire, of Dr. Rappaccini or his +daughter; but Beatrice’s manner placed him at his ease, though leaving him +still in doubt by what agency he had gained admittance. She came lightly along +the path and met him near the broken fountain. There was surprise in her face, +but brightened by a simple and kind expression of pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a connoisseur in flowers, signor,” said Beatrice, with a smile, +alluding to the bouquet which he had flung her from the window. “It is no +marvel, therefore, if the sight of my father’s rare collection has tempted you +to take a nearer view. If he were here, he could tell you many strange and +interesting facts as to the nature and habits of these shrubs; for he has spent +a lifetime in such studies, and this garden is his world.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yourself, lady,” observed Giovanni, “if fame says true,—you likewise +are deeply skilled in the virtues indicated by these rich blossoms and these +spicy perfumes. Would you deign to be my instructress, I should prove an apter +scholar than if taught by Signor Rappaccini himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are there such idle rumors?” asked Beatrice, with the music of a pleasant +laugh. “Do people say that I am skilled in my father’s science of plants? What +a jest is there! No; though I have grown up among these flowers, I know no more +of them than their hues and perfume; and sometimes methinks I would fain rid +myself of even that small knowledge. There are many flowers here, and those not +the least brilliant, that shock and offend me when they meet my eye. But pray, +signor, do not believe these stories about my science. Believe nothing of me +save what you see with your own eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And must I believe all that I have seen with my own eyes?” asked Giovanni, +pointedly, while the recollection of former scenes made him shrink. “No, +signora; you demand too little of me. Bid me believe nothing save what comes +from your own lips.” +</p> + +<p> +It would appear that Beatrice understood him. There came a deep flush to her +cheek; but she looked full into Giovanni’s eyes, and responded to his gaze of +uneasy suspicion with a queenlike haughtiness. +</p> + +<p> +“I do so bid you, signor,” she replied. “Forget whatever you may have fancied +in regard to me. If true to the outward senses, still it may be false in its +essence; but the words of Beatrice Rappaccini’s lips are true from the depths +of the heart outward. Those you may believe.” +</p> + +<p> +A fervor glowed in her whole aspect and beamed upon Giovanni’s consciousness +like the light of truth itself; but while she spoke there was a fragrance in +the atmosphere around her, rich and delightful, though evanescent, yet which +the young man, from an indefinable reluctance, scarcely dared to draw into his +lungs. It might be the odor of the flowers. Could it be Beatrice’s breath which +thus embalmed her words with a strange richness, as if by steeping them in her +heart? A faintness passed like a shadow over Giovanni and flitted away; he +seemed to gaze through the beautiful girl’s eyes into her transparent soul, and +felt no more doubt or fear. +</p> + +<p> +The tinge of passion that had colored Beatrice’s manner vanished; she became +gay, and appeared to derive a pure delight from her communion with the youth +not unlike what the maiden of a lonely island might have felt conversing with a +voyager from the civilized world. Evidently her experience of life had been +confined within the limits of that garden. She talked now about matters as +simple as the daylight or summer clouds, and now asked questions in reference +to the city, or Giovanni’s distant home, his friends, his mother, and his +sisters—questions indicating such seclusion, and such lack of familiarity +with modes and forms, that Giovanni responded as if to an infant. Her spirit +gushed out before him like a fresh rill that was just catching its first +glimpse of the sunlight and wondering at the reflections of earth and sky which +were flung into its bosom. There came thoughts, too, from a deep source, and +fantasies of a gemlike brilliancy, as if diamonds and rubies sparkled upward +among the bubbles of the fountain. Ever and anon there gleamed across the young +man’s mind a sense of wonder that he should be walking side by side with the +being who had so wrought upon his imagination, whom he had idealized in such +hues of terror, in whom he had positively witnessed such manifestations of +dreadful attributes,—that he should be conversing with Beatrice like a +brother, and should find her so human and so maidenlike. But such reflections +were only momentary; the effect of her character was too real not to make +itself familiar at once. +</p> + +<p> +In this free intercourse they had strayed through the garden, and now, after +many turns among its avenues, were come to the shattered fountain, beside which +grew the magnificent shrub, with its treasury of glowing blossoms. A fragrance +was diffused from it which Giovanni recognized as identical with that which he +had attributed to Beatrice’s breath, but incomparably more powerful. As her +eyes fell upon it, Giovanni beheld her press her hand to her bosom as if her +heart were throbbing suddenly and painfully. +</p> + +<p> +“For the first time in my life,” murmured she, addressing the shrub, “I had +forgotten thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember, signora,” said Giovanni, “that you once promised to reward me with +one of these living gems for the bouquet which I had the happy boldness to +fling to your feet. Permit me now to pluck it as a memorial of this interview.” +</p> + +<p> +He made a step towards the shrub with extended hand; but Beatrice darted +forward, uttering a shriek that went through his heart like a dagger. She +caught his hand and drew it back with the whole force of her slender figure. +Giovanni felt her touch thrilling through his fibres. +</p> + +<p> +“Touch it not!” exclaimed she, in a voice of agony. “Not for thy life! It is +fatal!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, hiding her face, she fled from him and vanished beneath the sculptured +portal. As Giovanni followed her with his eyes, he beheld the emaciated figure +and pale intelligence of Dr. Rappaccini, who had been watching the scene, he +knew not how long, within the shadow of the entrance. +</p> + +<p> +No sooner was Guasconti alone in his chamber than the image of Beatrice came +back to his passionate musings, invested with all the witchery that had been +gathering around it ever since his first glimpse of her, and now likewise +imbued with a tender warmth of girlish womanhood. She was human; her nature was +endowed with all gentle and feminine qualities; she was worthiest to be +worshipped; she was capable, surely, on her part, of the height and heroism of +love. Those tokens which he had hitherto considered as proofs of a frightful +peculiarity in her physical and moral system were now either forgotten, or, by +the subtle sophistry of passion transmitted into a golden crown of enchantment, +rendering Beatrice the more admirable by so much as she was the more unique. +Whatever had looked ugly was now beautiful; or, if incapable of such a change, +it stole away and hid itself among those shapeless half ideas which throng the +dim region beyond the daylight of our perfect consciousness. Thus did he spend +the night, nor fell asleep until the dawn had begun to awake the slumbering +flowers in Dr. Rappaccini’s garden, whither Giovanni’s dreams doubtless led +him. Up rose the sun in his due season, and, flinging his beams upon the young +man’s eyelids, awoke him to a sense of pain. When thoroughly aroused, he became +sensible of a burning and tingling agony in his hand—in his right +hand—the very hand which Beatrice had grasped in her own when he was on +the point of plucking one of the gemlike flowers. On the back of that hand +there was now a purple print like that of four small fingers, and the likeness +of a slender thumb upon his wrist. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, how stubbornly does love,—or even that cunning semblance of love +which flourishes in the imagination, but strikes no depth of root into the +heart,—how stubbornly does it hold its faith until the moment comes when +it is doomed to vanish into thin mist! Giovanni wrapped a handkerchief about +his hand and wondered what evil thing had stung him, and soon forgot his pain +in a reverie of Beatrice. +</p> + +<p> +After the first interview, a second was in the inevitable course of what we +call fate. A third; a fourth; and a meeting with Beatrice in the garden was no +longer an incident in Giovanni’s daily life, but the whole space in which he +might be said to live; for the anticipation and memory of that ecstatic hour +made up the remainder. Nor was it otherwise with the daughter of Rappaccini. +She watched for the youth’s appearance, and flew to his side with confidence as +unreserved as if they had been playmates from early infancy—as if they +were such playmates still. If, by any unwonted chance, he failed to come at the +appointed moment, she stood beneath the window and sent up the rich sweetness +of her tones to float around him in his chamber and echo and reverberate +throughout his heart: “Giovanni! Giovanni! Why tarriest thou? Come down!” And +down he hastened into that Eden of poisonous flowers. +</p> + +<p> +But, with all this intimate familiarity, there was still a reserve in +Beatrice’s demeanor, so rigidly and invariably sustained that the idea of +infringing it scarcely occurred to his imagination. By all appreciable signs, +they loved; they had looked love with eyes that conveyed the holy secret from +the depths of one soul into the depths of the other, as if it were too sacred +to be whispered by the way; they had even spoken love in those gushes of +passion when their spirits darted forth in articulated breath like tongues of +long-hidden flame; and yet there had been no seal of lips, no clasp of hands, +nor any slightest caress such as love claims and hallows. He had never touched +one of the gleaming ringlets of her hair; her garment—so marked was the +physical barrier between them—had never been waved against him by a +breeze. On the few occasions when Giovanni had seemed tempted to overstep the +limit, Beatrice grew so sad, so stern, and withal wore such a look of desolate +separation, shuddering at itself, that not a spoken word was requisite to repel +him. At such times he was startled at the horrible suspicions that rose, +monster-like, out of the caverns of his heart and stared him in the face; his +love grew thin and faint as the morning mist, his doubts alone had substance. +But, when Beatrice’s face brightened again after the momentary shadow, she was +transformed at once from the mysterious, questionable being whom he had watched +with so much awe and horror; she was now the beautiful and unsophisticated girl +whom he felt that his spirit knew with a certainty beyond all other knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +A considerable time had now passed since Giovanni’s last meeting with Baglioni. +One morning, however, he was disagreeably surprised by a visit from the +professor, whom he had scarcely thought of for whole weeks, and would willingly +have forgotten still longer. Given up as he had long been to a pervading +excitement, he could tolerate no companions except upon condition of their +perfect sympathy with his present state of feeling. Such sympathy was not to be +expected from Professor Baglioni. +</p> + +<p> +The visitor chatted carelessly for a few moments about the gossip of the city +and the university, and then took up another topic. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been reading an old classic author lately,” said he, “and met with a +story that strangely interested me. Possibly you may remember it. It is of an +Indian prince, who sent a beautiful woman as a present to Alexander the Great. +She was as lovely as the dawn and gorgeous as the sunset; but what especially +distinguished her was a certain rich perfume in her breath—richer than a +garden of Persian roses. Alexander, as was natural to a youthful conqueror, +fell in love at first sight with this magnificent stranger; but a certain sage +physician, happening to be present, discovered a terrible secret in regard to +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what was that?” asked Giovanni, turning his eyes downward to avoid those +of the professor. +</p> + +<p> +“That this lovely woman,” continued Baglioni, with emphasis, “had been +nourished with poisons from her birth upward, until her whole nature was so +imbued with them that she herself had become the deadliest poison in existence. +Poison was her element of life. With that rich perfume of her breath she +blasted the very air. Her love would have been poison—her embrace death. +Is not this a marvellous tale?” +</p> + +<p> +“A childish fable,” answered Giovanni, nervously starting from his chair. “I +marvel how your worship finds time to read such nonsense among your graver +studies.” +</p> + +<p> +“By the by,” said the professor, looking uneasily about him, “what singular +fragrance is this in your apartment? Is it the perfume of your gloves? It is +faint, but delicious; and yet, after all, by no means agreeable. Were I to +breathe it long, methinks it would make me ill. It is like the breath of a +flower; but I see no flowers in the chamber.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor are there any,” replied Giovanni, who had turned pale as the professor +spoke; “nor, I think, is there any fragrance except in your worship’s +imagination. Odors, being a sort of element combined of the sensual and the +spiritual, are apt to deceive us in this manner. The recollection of a perfume, +the bare idea of it, may easily be mistaken for a present reality.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay; but my sober imagination does not often play such tricks,” said Baglioni; +“and, were I to fancy any kind of odor, it would be that of some vile +apothecary drug, wherewith my fingers are likely enough to be imbued. Our +worshipful friend Rappaccini, as I have heard, tinctures his medicaments with +odors richer than those of Araby. Doubtless, likewise, the fair and learned +Signora Beatrice would minister to her patients with draughts as sweet as a +maiden’s breath; but woe to him that sips them!” +</p> + +<p> +Giovanni’s face evinced many contending emotions. The tone in which the +professor alluded to the pure and lovely daughter of Rappaccini was a torture +to his soul; and yet the intimation of a view of her character opposite to his +own, gave instantaneous distinctness to a thousand dim suspicions, which now +grinned at him like so many demons. But he strove hard to quell them and to +respond to Baglioni with a true lover’s perfect faith. +</p> + +<p> +“Signor professor,” said he, “you were my father’s friend; perchance, too, it +is your purpose to act a friendly part towards his son. I would fain feel +nothing towards you save respect and deference; but I pray you to observe, +signor, that there is one subject on which we must not speak. You know not the +Signora Beatrice. You cannot, therefore, estimate the wrong—the +blasphemy, I may even say—that is offered to her character by a light or +injurious word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Giovanni! my poor Giovanni!” answered the professor, with a calm expression of +pity, “I know this wretched girl far better than yourself. You shall hear the +truth in respect to the poisoner Rappaccini and his poisonous daughter; yes, +poisonous as she is beautiful. Listen; for, even should you do violence to my +gray hairs, it shall not silence me. That old fable of the Indian woman has +become a truth by the deep and deadly science of Rappaccini and in the person +of the lovely Beatrice.” +</p> + +<p> +Giovanni groaned and hid his face +</p> + +<p> +“Her father,” continued Baglioni, “was not restrained by natural affection from +offering up his child in this horrible manner as the victim of his insane zeal +for science; for, let us do him justice, he is as true a man of science as ever +distilled his own heart in an alembic. What, then, will be your fate? Beyond a +doubt you are selected as the material of some new experiment. Perhaps the +result is to be death; perhaps a fate more awful still. Rappaccini, with what +he calls the interest of science before his eyes, will hesitate at nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a dream,” muttered Giovanni to himself; “surely it is a dream.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” resumed the professor, “be of good cheer, son of my friend. It is not +yet too late for the rescue. Possibly we may even succeed in bringing back this +miserable child within the limits of ordinary nature, from which her father’s +madness has estranged her. Behold this little silver vase! It was wrought by +the hands of the renowned Benvenuto Cellini, and is well worthy to be a love +gift to the fairest dame in Italy. But its contents are invaluable. One little +sip of this antidote would have rendered the most virulent poisons of the +Borgias innocuous. Doubt not that it will be as efficacious against those of +Rappaccini. Bestow the vase, and the precious liquid within it, on your +Beatrice, and hopefully await the result.” +</p> + +<p> +Baglioni laid a small, exquisitely wrought silver vial on the table and +withdrew, leaving what he had said to produce its effect upon the young man’s +mind. +</p> + +<p> +“We will thwart Rappaccini yet,” thought he, chuckling to himself, as he +descended the stairs; “but, let us confess the truth of him, he is a wonderful +man—a wonderful man indeed; a vile empiric, however, in his practice, and +therefore not to be tolerated by those who respect the good old rules of the +medical profession.” +</p> + +<p> +Throughout Giovanni’s whole acquaintance with Beatrice, he had occasionally, as +we have said, been haunted by dark surmises as to her character; yet so +thoroughly had she made herself felt by him as a simple, natural, most +affectionate, and guileless creature, that the image now held up by Professor +Baglioni looked as strange and incredible as if it were not in accordance with +his own original conception. True, there were ugly recollections connected with +his first glimpses of the beautiful girl; he could not quite forget the bouquet +that withered in her grasp, and the insect that perished amid the sunny air, by +no ostensible agency save the fragrance of her breath. These incidents, +however, dissolving in the pure light of her character, had no longer the +efficacy of facts, but were acknowledged as mistaken fantasies, by whatever +testimony of the senses they might appear to be substantiated. There is +something truer and more real than what we can see with the eyes and touch with +the finger. On such better evidence had Giovanni founded his confidence in +Beatrice, though rather by the necessary force of her high attributes than by +any deep and generous faith on his part. But now his spirit was incapable of +sustaining itself at the height to which the early enthusiasm of passion had +exalted it; he fell down, grovelling among earthly doubts, and defiled +therewith the pure whiteness of Beatrice’s image. Not that he gave her up; he +did but distrust. He resolved to institute some decisive test that should +satisfy him, once for all, whether there were those dreadful peculiarities in +her physical nature which could not be supposed to exist without some +corresponding monstrosity of soul. His eyes, gazing down afar, might have +deceived him as to the lizard, the insect, and the flowers; but if he could +witness, at the distance of a few paces, the sudden blight of one fresh and +healthful flower in Beatrice’s hand, there would be room for no further +question. With this idea he hastened to the florist’s and purchased a bouquet +that was still gemmed with the morning dew-drops. +</p> + +<p> +It was now the customary hour of his daily interview with Beatrice. Before +descending into the garden, Giovanni failed not to look at his figure in the +mirror,—a vanity to be expected in a beautiful young man, yet, as +displaying itself at that troubled and feverish moment, the token of a certain +shallowness of feeling and insincerity of character. He did gaze, however, and +said to himself that his features had never before possessed so rich a grace, +nor his eyes such vivacity, nor his cheeks so warm a hue of superabundant life. +</p> + +<p> +“At least,” thought he, “her poison has not yet insinuated itself into my +system. I am no flower to perish in her grasp.” +</p> + +<p> +With that thought he turned his eyes on the bouquet, which he had never once +laid aside from his hand. A thrill of indefinable horror shot through his frame +on perceiving that those dewy flowers were already beginning to droop; they +wore the aspect of things that had been fresh and lovely yesterday. Giovanni +grew white as marble, and stood motionless before the mirror, staring at his +own reflection there as at the likeness of something frightful. He remembered +Baglioni’s remark about the fragrance that seemed to pervade the chamber. It +must have been the poison in his breath! Then he shuddered—shuddered at +himself. Recovering from his stupor, he began to watch with curious eye a +spider that was busily at work hanging its web from the antique cornice of the +apartment, crossing and recrossing the artful system of interwoven +lines—as vigorous and active a spider as ever dangled from an old +ceiling. Giovanni bent towards the insect, and emitted a deep, long breath. The +spider suddenly ceased its toil; the web vibrated with a tremor originating in +the body of the small artisan. Again Giovanni sent forth a breath, deeper, +longer, and imbued with a venomous feeling out of his heart: he knew not +whether he were wicked, or only desperate. The spider made a convulsive gripe +with his limbs and hung dead across the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Accursed! accursed!” muttered Giovanni, addressing himself. “Hast thou grown +so poisonous that this deadly insect perishes by thy breath?” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment a rich, sweet voice came floating up from the garden. +</p> + +<p> +“Giovanni! Giovanni! It is past the hour! Why tarriest thou? Come down!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” muttered Giovanni again. “She is the only being whom my breath may not +slay! Would that it might!” +</p> + +<p> +He rushed down, and in an instant was standing before the bright and loving +eyes of Beatrice. A moment ago his wrath and despair had been so fierce that he +could have desired nothing so much as to wither her by a glance; but with her +actual presence there came influences which had too real an existence to be at +once shaken off: recollections of the delicate and benign power of her feminine +nature, which had so often enveloped him in a religious calm; recollections of +many a holy and passionate outgush of her heart, when the pure fountain had +been unsealed from its depths and made visible in its transparency to his +mental eye; recollections which, had Giovanni known how to estimate them, would +have assured him that all this ugly mystery was but an earthly illusion, and +that, whatever mist of evil might seem to have gathered over her, the real +Beatrice was a heavenly angel. Incapable as he was of such high faith, still +her presence had not utterly lost its magic. Giovanni’s rage was quelled into +an aspect of sullen insensibility. Beatrice, with a quick spiritual sense, +immediately felt that there was a gulf of blackness between them which neither +he nor she could pass. They walked on together, sad and silent, and came thus +to the marble fountain and to its pool of water on the ground, in the midst of +which grew the shrub that bore gem-like blossoms. Giovanni was affrighted at +the eager enjoyment—the appetite, as it were—with which he found +himself inhaling the fragrance of the flowers. +</p> + +<p> +“Beatrice,” asked he, abruptly, “whence came this shrub?” +</p> + +<p> +“My father created it,” answered she, with simplicity. +</p> + +<p> +“Created it! created it!” repeated Giovanni. “What mean you, Beatrice?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a man fearfully acquainted with the secrets of Nature,” replied +Beatrice; “and, at the hour when I first drew breath, this plant sprang from +the soil, the offspring of his science, of his intellect, while I was but his +earthly child. Approach it not!” continued she, observing with terror that +Giovanni was drawing nearer to the shrub. “It has qualities that you little +dream of. But I, dearest Giovanni,—I grew up and blossomed with the plant +and was nourished with its breath. It was my sister, and I loved it with a +human affection; for, alas!—hast thou not suspected it?—there was +an awful doom.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Giovanni frowned so darkly upon her that Beatrice paused and trembled. But +her faith in his tenderness reassured her, and made her blush that she had +doubted for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“There was an awful doom,” she continued, “the effect of my father’s fatal love +of science, which estranged me from all society of my kind. Until Heaven sent +thee, dearest Giovanni, oh, how lonely was thy poor Beatrice!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it a hard doom?” asked Giovanni, fixing his eyes upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“Only of late have I known how hard it was,” answered she, tenderly. “Oh, yes; +but my heart was torpid, and therefore quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +Giovanni’s rage broke forth from his sullen gloom like a lightning flash out of +a dark cloud. +</p> + +<p> +“Accursed one!” cried he, with venomous scorn and anger. “And, finding thy +solitude wearisome, thou hast severed me likewise from all the warmth of life +and enticed me into thy region of unspeakable horror!” +</p> + +<p> +“Giovanni!” exclaimed Beatrice, turning her large bright eyes upon his face. +The force of his words had not found its way into her mind; she was merely +thunderstruck. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, poisonous thing!” repeated Giovanni, beside himself with passion. “Thou +hast done it! Thou hast blasted me! Thou hast filled my veins with poison! Thou +hast made me as hateful, as ugly, as loathsome and deadly a creature as +thyself—a world’s wonder of hideous monstrosity! Now, if our breath be +happily as fatal to ourselves as to all others, let us join our lips in one +kiss of unutterable hatred, and so die!” +</p> + +<p> +“What has befallen me?” murmured Beatrice, with a low moan out of her heart. +“Holy Virgin, pity me, a poor heart-broken child!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou,—dost thou pray?” cried Giovanni, still with the same fiendish +scorn. “Thy very prayers, as they come from thy lips, taint the atmosphere with +death. Yes, yes; let us pray! Let us to church and dip our fingers in the holy +water at the portal! They that come after us will perish as by a pestilence! +Let us sign crosses in the air! It will be scattering curses abroad in the +likeness of holy symbols!” +</p> + +<p> +“Giovanni,” said Beatrice, calmly, for her grief was beyond passion, “why dost +thou join thyself with me thus in those terrible words? I, it is true, am the +horrible thing thou namest me. But thou,—what hast thou to do, save with +one other shudder at my hideous misery to go forth out of the garden and mingle +with thy race, and forget there ever crawled on earth such a monster as poor +Beatrice?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dost thou pretend ignorance?” asked Giovanni, scowling upon her. “Behold! this +power have I gained from the pure daughter of Rappaccini.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a swarm of summer insects flitting through the air in search of the +food promised by the flower odors of the fatal garden. They circled round +Giovanni’s head, and were evidently attracted towards him by the same influence +which had drawn them for an instant within the sphere of several of the shrubs. +He sent forth a breath among them, and smiled bitterly at Beatrice as at least +a score of the insects fell dead upon the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“I see it! I see it!” shrieked Beatrice. “It is my father’s fatal science! No, +no, Giovanni; it was not I! Never! never! I dreamed only to love thee and be +with thee a little time, and so to let thee pass away, leaving but thine image +in mine heart; for, Giovanni, believe it, though my body be nourished with +poison, my spirit is God’s creature, and craves love as its daily food. But my +father,—he has united us in this fearful sympathy. Yes; spurn me, tread +upon me, kill me! Oh, what is death after such words as thine? But it was not +I. Not for a world of bliss would I have done it.” +</p> + +<p> +Giovanni’s passion had exhausted itself in its outburst from his lips. There +now came across him a sense, mournful, and not without tenderness, of the +intimate and peculiar relationship between Beatrice and himself. They stood, as +it were, in an utter solitude, which would be made none the less solitary by +the densest throng of human life. Ought not, then, the desert of humanity +around them to press this insulated pair closer together? If they should be +cruel to one another, who was there to be kind to them? Besides, thought +Giovanni, might there not still be a hope of his returning within the limits of +ordinary nature, and leading Beatrice, the redeemed Beatrice, by the hand? O, +weak, and selfish, and unworthy spirit, that could dream of an earthly union +and earthly happiness as possible, after such deep love had been so bitterly +wronged as was Beatrice’s love by Giovanni’s blighting words! No, no; there +could be no such hope. She must pass heavily, with that broken heart, across +the borders of Time—she must bathe her hurts in some fount of paradise, +and forget her grief in the light of immortality, and THERE be well. +</p> + +<p> +But Giovanni did not know it. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Beatrice,” said he, approaching her, while she shrank away as always at +his approach, but now with a different impulse, “dearest Beatrice, our fate is +not yet so desperate. Behold! there is a medicine, potent, as a wise physician +has assured me, and almost divine in its efficacy. It is composed of +ingredients the most opposite to those by which thy awful father has brought +this calamity upon thee and me. It is distilled of blessed herbs. Shall we not +quaff it together, and thus be purified from evil?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give it me!” said Beatrice, extending her hand to receive the little silver +vial which Giovanni took from his bosom. She added, with a peculiar emphasis, +“I will drink; but do thou await the result.” +</p> + +<p> +She put Baglioni’s antidote to her lips; and, at the same moment, the figure of +Rappaccini emerged from the portal and came slowly towards the marble fountain. +As he drew near, the pale man of science seemed to gaze with a triumphant +expression at the beautiful youth and maiden, as might an artist who should +spend his life in achieving a picture or a group of statuary and finally be +satisfied with his success. He paused; his bent form grew erect with conscious +power; he spread out his hands over them in the attitude of a father imploring +a blessing upon his children; but those were the same hands that had thrown +poison into the stream of their lives. Giovanni trembled. Beatrice shuddered +nervously, and pressed her hand upon her heart. +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter,” said Rappaccini, “thou art no longer lonely in the world. Pluck +one of those precious gems from thy sister shrub and bid thy bridegroom wear it +in his bosom. It will not harm him now. My science and the sympathy between +thee and him have so wrought within his system that he now stands apart from +common men, as thou dost, daughter of my pride and triumph, from ordinary +women. Pass on, then, through the world, most dear to one another and dreadful +to all besides!” +</p> + +<p> +“My father,” said Beatrice, feebly,—and still as she spoke she kept her +hand upon her heart,—“wherefore didst thou inflict this miserable doom +upon thy child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miserable!” exclaimed Rappaccini. “What mean you, foolish girl? Dost thou deem +it misery to be endowed with marvellous gifts against which no power nor +strength could avail an enemy—misery, to be able to quell the mightiest +with a breath—misery, to be as terrible as thou art beautiful? Wouldst +thou, then, have preferred the condition of a weak woman, exposed to all evil +and capable of none?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would fain have been loved, not feared,” murmured Beatrice, sinking down +upon the ground. “But now it matters not. I am going, father, where the evil +which thou hast striven to mingle with my being will pass away like a +dream-like the fragrance of these poisonous flowers, which will no longer taint +my breath among the flowers of Eden. Farewell, Giovanni! Thy words of hatred +are like lead within my heart; but they, too, will fall away as I ascend. Oh, +was there not, from the first, more poison in thy nature than in mine?” +</p> + +<p> +To Beatrice,—so radically had her earthly part been wrought upon by +Rappaccini’s skill,—as poison had been life, so the powerful antidote was +death; and thus the poor victim of man’s ingenuity and of thwarted nature, and +of the fatality that attends all such efforts of perverted wisdom, perished +there, at the feet of her father and Giovanni. Just at that moment Professor +Pietro Baglioni looked forth from the window, and called loudly, in a tone of +triumph mixed with horror, to the thunderstricken man of science, “Rappaccini! +Rappaccini! and is <i>this</i> the upshot of your experiment!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a> +MRS. BULLFROG</h2> + +<p> +It makes me melancholy to see how like fools some very sensible people act in +the matter of choosing wives. They perplex their judgments by a most undue +attention to little niceties of personal appearance, habits, disposition, and +other trifles which concern nobody but the lady herself. An unhappy gentleman, +resolving to wed nothing short of perfection, keeps his heart and hand till +both get so old and withered that no tolerable woman will accept them. Now this +is the very height of absurdity. A kind Providence has so skilfully adapted sex +to sex and the mass of individuals to each other, that, with certain obvious +exceptions, any male and female may be moderately happy in the married state. +The true rule is to ascertain that the match is fundamentally a good one, and +then to take it for granted that all minor objections, should there be such, +will vanish, if you let them alone. Only put yourself beyond hazard as to the +real basis of matrimonial bliss, and it is scarcely to be imagined what +miracles, in the way of recognizing smaller incongruities, connubial love will +effect. +</p> + +<p> +For my own part I freely confess that, in my bachelorship, I was precisely such +an over-curious simpleton as I now advise the reader not to be. My early habits +had gifted me with a feminine sensibility and too exquisite refinement. I was +the accomplished graduate of a dry goods store, where, by dint of ministering +to the whims of fine ladies, and suiting silken hose to delicate limbs, and +handling satins, ribbons, chintzes calicoes, tapes, gauze, and cambric needles, +I grew up a very ladylike sort of a gentleman. It is not assuming too much to +affirm that the ladies themselves were hardly so ladylike as Thomas Bullfrog. +So painfully acute was my sense of female imperfection, and such varied +excellence did I require in the woman whom I could love, that there was an +awful risk of my getting no wife at all, or of being driven to perpetrate +matrimony with my own image in the looking-glass. Besides the fundamental +principle already hinted at, I demanded the fresh bloom of youth, pearly teeth, +glossy ringlets, and the whole list of lovely items, with the utmost delicacy +of habits and sentiments, a silken texture of mind, and, above all, a virgin +heart. In a word, if a young angel just from paradise, yet dressed in earthly +fashion, had come and offered me her hand, it is by no means certain that I +should have taken it. There was every chance of my becoming a most miserable +old bachelor, when, by the best luck in the world, I made a journey into +another state, and was smitten by, and smote again, and wooed, won, and +married, the present Mrs. Bullfrog, all in the space of a fortnight. Owing to +these extempore measures, I not only gave my bride credit for certain +perfections which have not as yet come to light, but also overlooked a few +trifling defects, which, however, glimmered on my perception long before the +close of the honeymoon. Yet, as there was no mistake about the fundamental +principle aforesaid, I soon learned, as will be seen, to estimate Mrs. +Bullfrog’s deficiencies and superfluities at exactly their proper value. +</p> + +<p> +The same morning that Mrs. Bullfrog and I came together as a unit, we took two +seats in the stage-coach and began our journey towards my place of business. +There being no other passengers, we were as much alone and as free to give vent +to our raptures as if I had hired a hack for the matrimonial jaunt. My bride +looked charmingly in a green silk calash and riding habit of pelisse cloth; and +whenever her red lips parted with a smile, each tooth appeared like an +inestimable pearl. Such was my passionate warmth that—we had rattled out +of the village, gentle reader, and were lonely as Adam and Eve in +paradise—I plead guilty to no less freedom than a kiss. The gentle eye of +Mrs. Bullfrog scarcely rebuked me for the profanation. Emboldened by her +indulgence, I threw back the calash from her polished brow, and suffered my +fingers, white and delicate as her own, to stray among those dark and glossy +curls which realized my daydreams of rich hair. +</p> + +<p> +“My love,” said Mrs. Bullfrog tenderly, “you will disarrange my curls.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, my sweet Laura!” replied I, still playing with the glossy ringlet. +“Even your fair hand could not manage a curl more delicately than mine. I +propose myself the pleasure of doing up your hair in papers every evening at +the same time with my own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bullfrog,” repeated she, “you must not disarrange my curls.” +</p> + +<p> +This was spoken in a more decided tone than I had happened to hear, until then, +from my gentlest of all gentle brides. At the same time she put up her hand and +took mine prisoner; but merely drew it away from the forbidden ringlet, and +then immediately released it. Now, I am a fidgety little man, and always love +to have something in my fingers; so that, being debarred from my wife’s curls, +I looked about me for any other plaything. On the front seat of the coach there +was one of those small baskets in which travelling ladies who are too delicate +to appear at a public table generally carry a supply of gingerbread, biscuits +and cheese, cold ham, and other light refreshments, merely to sustain nature to +the journey’s end. Such airy diet will sometimes keep them in pretty good flesh +for a week together. Laying hold of this same little basket, I thrust my hand +under the newspaper with which it was carefully covered. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this, my dear?” cried I; for the black neck of a bottle had popped out +of the basket. +</p> + +<p> +“A bottle of Kalydor, Mr. Bullfrog,” said my wife, coolly taking the basket +from my hands and replacing it on the front seat. +</p> + +<p> +There was no possibility of doubting my wife’s word; but I never knew genuine +Kalydor, such as I use for my own complexion, to smell so much like cherry +brandy. I was about to express my fears that the lotion would injure her skin, +when an accident occurred which threatened more than a skin-deep injury. Our +Jehu had carelessly driven over a heap of gravel and fairly capsized the coach, +with the wheels in the air and our heels where our heads should have been. What +became of my wits I cannot imagine; they have always had a perverse trick of +deserting me just when they were most needed; but so it chanced, that in the +confusion of our overthrow I quite forgot that there was a Mrs. Bullfrog in the +world. Like many men’s wives, the good lady served her husband as a +steppingstone. I had scrambled out of the coach and was instinctively settling +my cravat, when somebody brushed roughly by me, and I heard a smart thwack upon +the coachman’s ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Take that, you villain!” cried a strange, hoarse voice. “You have ruined me, +you blackguard! I shall never be the woman I have been!” +</p> + +<p> +And then came a second thwack, aimed at the driver’s other ear; but which +missed it, and hit him on the nose, causing a terrible effusion of blood. Now, +who or what fearful apparition was inflicting this punishment on the poor +fellow remained an impenetrable mystery to me. The blows were given by a person +of grisly aspect, with a head almost bald, and sunken cheeks, apparently of the +feminine gender, though hardly to be classed in the gentler sex. There being no +teeth to modulate the voice, it had a mumbled fierceness, not passionate, but +stern, which absolutely made me quiver like calf’s-foot jelly. Who could the +phantom be? The most awful circumstance of the affair is yet to be told: for +this ogre, or whatever it was, had a riding habit like Mrs. Bullfrog’s, and +also a green silk calash dangling down her back by the strings. In my terror +and turmoil of mind I could imagine nothing less than that the Old Nick, at the +moment of our overturn, had annihilated my wife and jumped into her petticoats. +This idea seemed the most probable, since I could nowhere perceive Mrs. +Bullfrog alive, nor, though I looked very sharply about the coach, could I +detect any traces of that beloved woman’s dead body. There would have been a +comfort in giving her Christian burial. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, sir, bestir yourself! Help this rascal to set up the coach,” said the +hobgoblin to me; then, with a terrific screech at three countrymen at a +distance, “Here, you fellows, ain’t you ashamed to stand off when a poor woman +is in distress?” +</p> + +<p> +The countrymen, instead of fleeing for their lives, came running at full speed, +and laid hold of the topsy-turvy coach. I, also, though a small-sized man, went +to work like a son of Anak. The coachman, too, with the blood still streaming +from his nose, tugged and toiled most manfully, dreading, doubtless, that the +next blow might break his head. And yet, bemauled as the poor fellow had been, +he seemed to glance at me with an eye of pity, as if my case were more +deplorable than his. But I cherished a hope that all would turn out a dream, +and seized the opportunity, as we raised the coach, to jam two of my fingers +under the wheel, trusting that the pain would awaken me. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, here we are, all to rights again!” exclaimed a sweet voice behind. “Thank +you for your assistance, gentlemen. My dear Mr. Bullfrog, how you perspire! Do +let me wipe your face. Don’t take this little accident too much to heart, good +driver. We ought to be thankful that none of our necks are broken.” +</p> + +<p> +“We might have spared one neck out of the three,” muttered the driver, rubbing +his ear and pulling his nose, to ascertain whether he had been cuffed or not. +“Why, the woman’s a witch!” +</p> + +<p> +I fear that the reader will not believe, yet it is positively a fact, that +there stood Mrs. Bullfrog, with her glossy ringlets curling on her brow, and +two rows of orient pearls gleaming between her parted lips, which wore a most +angelic smile. She had regained her riding habit and calash from the grisly +phantom, and was, in all respects, the lovely woman who had been sitting by my +side at the instant of our overturn. How she had happened to disappear, and who +had supplied her place, and whence she did now return, were problems too knotty +for me to solve. There stood my wife. That was the one thing certain among a +heap of mysteries. Nothing remained but to help her into the coach, and plod +on, through the journey of the day and the journey of life, as comfortably as +we could. As the driver closed the door upon us, I heard him whisper to the +three countrymen, “How do you suppose a fellow feels shut up in the cage with a +she tiger?” +</p> + +<p> +Of course this query could have no reference to my situation. Yet, unreasonable +as it may appear, I confess that my feelings were not altogether so ecstatic as +when I first called Mrs. Bullfrog mine. True, she was a sweet woman and an +angel of a wife; but what if a Gorgon should return, amid the transports of our +connubial bliss, and take the angel’s place. I recollected the tale of a fairy, +who half the time was a beautiful woman and half the time a hideous monster. +Had I taken that very fairy to be the wife of my bosom? While such whims and +chimeras were flitting across my fancy I began to look askance at Mrs. +Bullfrog, almost expecting that the transformation would be wrought before my +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +To divert my mind, I took up the newspaper which had covered the little basket +of refreshments, and which now lay at the bottom of the coach, blushing with a +deep-red stain and emitting a potent spirituous fume from the contents of the +broken bottle of Kalydor. The paper was two or three years old, but contained +an article of several columns, in which I soon grew wonderfully interested. It +was the report of a trial for breach of promise of marriage, giving the +testimony in full, with fervid extracts from both the gentleman’s and lady’s +amatory correspondence. The deserted damsel had personally appeared in court, +and had borne energetic evidence to her lover’s perfidy and the strength of her +blighted affections. On the defendant’s part there had been an attempt, though +insufficiently sustained, to blast the plaintiff’s character, and a plea, in +mitigation of damages, on account of her unamiable temper. A horrible idea was +suggested by the lady’s name. +</p> + +<p> +“Madam,” said I, holding the newspaper before Mrs. Bullfrog’s eyes,—and, +though a small, delicate, and thin-visaged man, I feel assured that I looked +very terrific,—“madam,” repeated I, through my shut teeth, “were you the +plaintiff in this cause?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear Mr. Bullfrog,” replied my wife, sweetly, “I thought all the world +knew that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Horror! horror!” exclaimed I, sinking back on the seat. +</p> + +<p> +Covering my face with both hands, I emitted a deep and deathlike groan, as if +my tormented soul were rending me asunder—I, the most exquisitely +fastidious of men, and whose wife was to have been the most delicate and +refined of women, with all the fresh dew-drops glittering on her virgin rosebud +of a heart! +</p> + +<p> +I thought of the glossy ringlets and pearly teeth; I thought of the Kalydor; I +thought of the coachman’s bruised ear and bloody nose; I thought of the tender +love secrets which she had whispered to the judge and jury and a thousand +tittering auditors,—and gave another groan! +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bullfrog,” said my wife. +</p> + +<p> +As I made no reply, she gently took my hands within her own, removed them from +my face, and fixed her eyes steadfastly on mine. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bullfrog,” said she, not unkindly, yet with all the decision of her strong +character, “let me advise you to overcome this foolish weakness, and prove +yourself, to the best of your ability, as good a husband as I will be a wife. +You have discovered, perhaps, some little imperfections in your bride. Well, +what did you expect? Women are not angels. If they were, they would go to +heaven for husbands; or, at least, be more difficult in their choice on earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why conceal those imperfections?” interposed I, tremulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my love, are not you a most unreasonable little man?” said Mrs. Bullfrog, +patting me on the cheek. “Ought a woman to disclose her frailties earlier than +the wedding day? Few husbands, I assure you, make the discovery in such good +season, and still fewer complain that these trifles are concealed too long. +Well, what a strange man you are! Poh! you are joking.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the suit for breach of promise!” groaned I. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, and is that the rub?” exclaimed my wife. “Is it possible that you view +that affair in an objectionable light? Mr. Bullfrog, I never could have dreamed +it! Is it an objection that I have triumphantly defended myself against slander +and vindicated my purity in a court of justice? Or do you complain because your +wife has shown the proper spirit of a woman, and punished the villain who +trifled with her affections?” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” persisted I, shrinking into a corner of the coach, however,—for I +did not know precisely how much contradiction the proper spirit of a woman +would endure,—“but, my love, would it not have been more dignified to +treat the villain with the silent contempt he merited?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is all very well, Mr. Bullfrog,” said my wife, slyly; “but, in that case, +where would have been the five thousand dollars which are to stock your dry +goods store?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Bullfrog, upon your honor,” demanded I, as if my life hung upon her +words, “is there no mistake about those five thousand dollars?” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word and honor there is none,” replied she. “The jury gave me every +cent the rascal had; and I have kept it all for my dear Bullfrog.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, thou dear woman,” cried I, with an overwhelming gush of tenderness, “let +me fold thee to my heart. The basis of matrimonial bliss is secure, and all thy +little defects and frailties are forgiven. Nay, since the result has been so +fortunate, I rejoice at the wrongs which drove thee to this blessed lawsuit. +Happy Bullfrog that I am!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a> +FIRE WORSHIP</h2> + +<p> +It is a great revolution in social and domestic life, and no less so in the +life of a secluded student, this almost universal exchange of the open +fireplace for the cheerless and ungenial stove. On such a morning as now lowers +around our old gray parsonage, I miss the bright face of my ancient friend, who +was wont to dance upon the hearth and play the part of more familiar sunshine. +It is sad to turn from the cloudy sky and sombre landscape; from yonder hill, +with its crown of rusty, black pines, the foliage of which is so dismal in the +absence of the sun; that bleak pasture-land, and the broken surface of the +potato-field, with the brown clods partly concealed by the snowfall of last +night; the swollen and sluggish river, with ice-incrusted borders, dragging its +bluish-gray stream along the verge of our orchard like a snake half torpid with +the cold,—it is sad to turn from an outward scene of so little comfort +and find the same sullen influences brooding within the precincts of my study. +Where is that brilliant guest, that quick and subtle spirit, whom Prometheus +lured from heaven to civilize mankind and cheer them in their wintry +desolation; that comfortable inmate, whose smile, during eight months of the +year, was our sufficient consolation for summer’s lingering advance and early +flight? Alas! blindly inhospitable, grudging the food that kept him cheery and +mercurial, we have thrust him into an iron prison, and compel him to smoulder +away his life on a daily pittance which once would have been too scanty for his +breakfast. Without a metaphor, we now make our fire in an air-tight stove, and +supply it with some half a dozen sticks of wood between dawn and nightfall. +</p> + +<p> +I never shall be reconciled to this enormity. Truly may it be said that the +world looks darker for it. In one way or another, here and there and all around +us, the inventions of mankind are fast blotting the picturesque, the poetic, +and the beautiful out of human life. The domestic fire was a type of all these +attributes, and seemed to bring might and majesty, and wild nature and a +spiritual essence, into our in most home, and yet to dwell with us in such +friendliness that its mysteries and marvels excited no dismay. The same mild +companion that smiled so placidly in our faces was he that comes roaring out of +Ætna and rushes madly up the sky like a fiend breaking loose from torment and +fighting for a place among the upper angels. He it is, too, that leaps from +cloud to cloud amid the crashing thunder-storm. It was he whom the Gheber +worshipped with no unnatural idolatry; and it was he who devoured London and +Moscow and many another famous city, and who loves to riot through our own dark +forests and sweep across our prairies, and to whose ravenous maw, it is said, +the universe shall one day be given as a final feast. Meanwhile he is the great +artisan and laborer by whose aid men are enabled to build a world within a +world, or, at least, to smooth down the rough creation which Nature flung to +it. He forges the mighty anchor and every lesser instrument; he drives the +steamboat and drags the rail-car; and it was he—this creature of terrible +might, and so many-sided utility and all-comprehensive +destructiveness—that used to be the cheerful, homely friend of our wintry +days, and whom we have made the prisoner of this iron cage. +</p> + +<p> +How kindly he was! and, though the tremendous agent of change, yet bearing +himself with such gentleness, so rendering himself a part of all life-long and +age-coeval associations, that it seemed as if he were the great conservative of +nature. While a man was true to the fireside, so long would he be true to +country and law, to the God whom his fathers worshipped, to the wife of his +youth, and to all things else which instinct or religion has taught us to +consider sacred. With how sweet humility did this elemental spirit perform all +needful offices for the household in which he was domesticated! He was equal to +the concoction of a grand dinner, yet scorned not to roast a potato or toast a +bit of cheese. How humanely did he cherish the school-boy’s icy fingers, and +thaw the old man’s joints with a genial warmth which almost equalled the glow +of youth! And how carefully did he dry the cowhide boots that had trudged +through mud and snow, and the shaggy outside garment stiff with frozen sleet! +taking heed, likewise, to the comfort of the faithful dog who had followed his +master through the storm. When did he refuse a coal to light a pipe, or even a +part of his own substance to kindle a neighbor’s fire? And then, at twilight, +when laborer, or scholar, or mortal of whatever age, sex, or degree, drew a +chair beside him and looked into his glowing face, how acute, how profound, how +comprehensive was his sympathy with the mood of each and all! He pictured forth +their very thoughts. To the youthful he showed the scenes of the adventurous +life before them; to the aged the shadows of departed love and hope; and, if +all earthly things had grown distasteful, he could gladden the fireside muser +with golden glimpses of a better world. And, amid this varied communion with +the human soul, how busily would the sympathizer, the deep moralist, the +painter of magic pictures, be causing the teakettle to boil! +</p> + +<p> +Nor did it lessen the charm of his soft, familiar courtesy and helpfulness that +the mighty spirit, were opportunity offered him, would run riot through the +peaceful house, wrap its inmates in his terrible embrace, and leave nothing of +them save their whitened bones. This possibility of mad destruction only made +his domestic kindness the more beautiful and touching. It was so sweet of him, +being endowed with such power, to dwell day after day, and one long lonesome +night after another, on the dusky hearth, only now and then betraying his wild +nature by thrusting his red tongue out of the chimney-top! True, he had done +much mischief in the world, and was pretty certain to do more; but his warm +heart atoned for all. He was kindly to the race of man; and they pardoned his +characteristic imperfections. +</p> + +<p> +The good old clergyman, my predecessor in this mansion, was well acquainted +with the comforts of the fireside. His yearly allowance of wood, according to +the terms of his settlement, was no less than sixty cords. Almost an annual +forest was converted from sound oak logs into ashes, in the kitchen, the +parlor, and this little study, where now an unworthy successor, not in the +pastoral office, but merely in his earthly abode, sits scribbling beside an +air-tight stove. I love to fancy one of those fireside days while the good man, +a contemporary of the Revolution, was in his early prime, some five-and-sixty +years ago. Before sunrise, doubtless, the blaze hovered upon the gray skirts of +night and dissolved the frostwork that had gathered like a curtain over the +small window-panes. There is something peculiar in the aspect of the morning +fireside; a fresher, brisker glare; the absence of that mellowness which can be +produced only by half-consumed logs, and shapeless brands with the white ashes +on them, and mighty coals, the remnant of tree-trunks that the hungry, elements +have gnawed for hours. The morning hearth, too, is newly swept, and the brazen +andirons well brightened, so that the cheerful fire may see its face in them. +Surely it was happiness, when the pastor, fortified with a substantial +breakfast, sat down in his arm-chair and slippers and opened the Whole Body of +Divinity, or the Commentary on Job, or whichever of his old folios or quartos +might fall within the range of his weekly sermons. It must have been his own +fault if the warmth and glow of this abundant hearth did not permeate the +discourse and keep his audience comfortable in spite of the bitterest northern +blast that ever wrestled with the church-steeple. He reads while the heat warps +the stiff covers of the volume; he writes without numbness either in his heart +or fingers; and, with unstinted hand, he throws fresh sticks of wood upon the +fire. +</p> + +<p> +A parishioner comes in. With what warmth of benevolence—how should he be +otherwise than warm in any of his attributes?—does the minister bid him +welcome, and set a chair for him in so close proximity to the hearth, that soon +the guest finds it needful to rub his scorched shins with his great red hands! +The melted snow drips from his steaming boots and bubbles upon the hearth. His +puckered forehead unravels its entanglement of crisscross wrinkles. We lose +much of the enjoyment of fireside heat without such an opportunity of marking +its genial effect upon those who have been looking the inclement weather in the +face. In the course of the day our clergyman himself strides forth, perchance +to pay a round of pastoral visits; or, it may he, to visit his mountain of a +wood-pile and cleave the monstrous logs into billets suitable for the fire. He +returns with fresher life to his beloved hearth. During the short afternoon the +western sunshine comes into the study and strives to stare the ruddy blaze out +of countenance but with only a brief triumph, soon to be succeeded by brighter +glories of its rival. Beautiful it is to see the strengthening gleam, the +deepening light that gradually casts distinct shadows of the human figure, the +table, and the high-backed chairs upon the opposite wall, and at length, as +twilight comes on, replenishes the room with living radiance and makes life all +rose-color. Afar the wayfarer discerns the flickering flame as it dances upon +the windows, and hails it as a beacon-light of humanity, reminding him, in his +cold and lonely path, that the world is not all snow, and solitude, and +desolation. At eventide, probably, the study was peopled with the clergyman’s +wife and family, and children tumbled themselves upon the hearth-rug, and grave +puss sat with her back to the fire, or gazed, with a semblance of human +meditation, into its fervid depths. Seasonably the plenteous ashes of the day +were raked over the mouldering brands, and from the heap came jets of flame, +and an incense of night-long smoke creeping quietly up the chimney. +</p> + +<p> +Heaven forgive the old clergyman! In his later life, when for almost ninety +winters he had been gladdened by the firelight,—when it had gleamed upon +him from infancy to extreme age, and never without brightening his spirits as +well as his visage, and perhaps keeping him alive so long,—he had the +heart to brick up his chimney-place and bid farewell to the face of his old +friend forever, why did he not take an eternal leave of the sunshine too? His +sixty cords of wood had probably dwindled to a far less ample supply in modern +times; and it is certain that the parsonage had grown crazy with time and +tempest and pervious to the cold; but still it was one of the saddest tokens of +the decline and fall of open fireplaces that, the gray patriarch should have +deigned to warm himself at an air-tight stove. +</p> + +<p> +And I, likewise,—who have found a home in this ancient owl’s-nest since +its former occupant took his heavenward flight,—I, to my shame, have put +up stoves in kitchen and parlor and chamber. Wander where you will about the +house, not a glimpse of the earth-born, heaven-aspiring fiend of +Ætna,—him that sports in the thunder-storm, the idol of the Ghebers, the +devourer of cities, the forest-rioter and prairie-sweeper, the future destroyer +of our earth, the old chimney-corner companion who mingled himself so sociably +with household joys and sorrows,—not a glimpse of this mighty and kindly +one will greet your eyes. He is now an invisible presence. There is his iron +cage. Touch it, and he scorches your fingers. He delights to singe a garment or +perpetrate any other little unworthy mischief; for his temper is ruined by the +ingratitude of mankind, for whom he cherished such warmth of feeling, and to +whom he taught all their arts, even that of making his own prison-house. In his +fits of rage he puffs volumes of smoke and noisome gas through the crevices of +the door, and shakes the iron walls of his dungeon so as to overthrow the +ornamental urn upon its summit. We tremble lest he should break forth amongst +us. Much of his time is spent in sighs, burdened with unutterable grief, and +long drawn through the funnel. He amuses himself, too, with repeating all the +whispers, the moans, and the louder utterances or tempestuous howls of the +wind; so that the stove becomes a microcosm of the aerial world. Occasionally +there are strange combinations of sounds,—voices talking almost +articulately within the hollow chest of iron,—insomuch that fancy +beguiles me with the idea that my firewood must have grown in that infernal +forest of lamentable trees which breathed their complaints to Dante. When the +listener is half asleep he may readily take these voices for the conversation +of spirits and assign them an intelligible meaning. Anon there is a pattering +noise,—drip, drip, drip,—as if a summer shower were falling within +the narrow circumference of the stove. +</p> + +<p> +These barren and tedious eccentricities are all that the air-tight stove can +bestow in exchange for the invaluable moral influences which we have lost by +our desertion of the open fireplace. Alas! is this world so very bright that we +can afford to choke up such a domestic fountain of gladsomeness, and sit down +by its darkened source without being conscious of a gloom? +</p> + +<p> +It is my belief that social intercourse cannot long continue what it has been, +now that we have subtracted from it so important and vivifying an element as +firelight. The effects will be more perceptible on our children and the +generations that shall succeed them than on ourselves, the mechanism of whose +life may remain unchanged, though its spirit be far other than it was. The +sacred trust of the household fire has been transmitted in unbroken succession +from the earliest ages, and faithfully cherished in spite of every +discouragement such as the curfew law of the Norman conquerors, until in these +evil days physical science has nearly succeeded in extinguishing it. But we at +least have our youthful recollections tinged with the glow of the hearth, and +our life-long habits and associations arranged on the principle of a mutual +bond in the domestic fire. Therefore, though the sociable friend be forever +departed, yet in a degree he will be spiritually present with us; and still +more will the empty forms which were once full of his rejoicing presence +continue to rule our manners. We shall draw our chairs together as we and our +forefathers have been wont for thousands of years back, and sit around some +blank and empty corner of the room, babbling with unreal cheerfulness of topics +suitable to the homely fireside. A warmth from the past—from the ashes of +bygone years and the raked-up embers of long ago—will sometimes thaw the +ice about our hearts; but it must be otherwise with our successors. On the most +favorable supposition, they will be acquainted with the fireside in no better +shape than that of the sullen stove; and more probably they will have grown up +amid furnace heat in houses which might be fancied to have their foundation +over the infernal pit, whence sulphurous steams and unbreathable exhalations +ascend through the apertures of the floor. There will be nothing to attract +these poor children to one centre. They will never behold one another through +that peculiar medium of vision the ruddy gleam of blazing wood or bituminous +coal—-which gives the human spirit so deep an insight into its fellows +and melts all humanity into one cordial heart of hearts. Domestic life, if it +may still be termed domestic, will seek its separate corners, and never gather +itself into groups. The easy gossip; the merry yet unambitious Jest; the +life-like, practical discussion of real matters in a casual way; the soul of +truth which is so often incarnated in a simple fireside word,—will +disappear from earth. Conversation will contract the air of debate, and all +mortal intercourse be chilled with a fatal frost. +</p> + +<p> +In classic times, the exhortation to fight “pro axis et focis,” for the altars +and the hearths, was considered the strongest appeal that could be made to +patriotism. And it seemed an immortal utterance; for all subsequent ages and +people have acknowledged its force and responded to it with the full portion of +manhood that nature had assigned to each. Wisely were the altar and the hearth +conjoined in one mighty sentence; for the hearth, too, had its kindred +sanctity. Religion sat down beside it, not in the priestly robes which +decorated and perhaps disguised her at the altar, but arrayed in a simple +matron’s garb, and uttering her lessons with the tenderness of a mother’s voice +and heart. The holy hearth! If any earthly and material thing, or rather a +divine idea embodied in brick and mortar, might be supposed to possess the +permanence of moral truth, it was this. All revered it. The man who did not put +off his shoes upon this holy ground would have deemed it pastime to trample +upon the altar. It has been our task to uproot the hearth. What further reform +is left for our children to achieve, unless they overthrow the altar too? And +by what appeal hereafter, when the breath of hostile armies may mingle with the +pure, cold breezes of our country, shall we attempt to rouse up native valor? +Fight for your hearths? There will be none throughout the land. F<small>IGHT +FOR YOUR STOVES</small>! Not I, in faith. If in such a cause I strike a blow, +it shall be on the invader’s part; and Heaven grant that it may shatter the +abomination all to pieces! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a> +BUDS AND BIRD VOICES</h2> + +<p> +Balmy Spring—weeks later than we expected and months later than we longed +for her—comes at last to revive the moss on the roof and walls of our old +mansion. She peeps brightly into my study-window, inviting me to throw it open +and create a summer atmosphere by the intermixture of her genial breath with +the black and cheerless comfort of the stove. As the casement ascends, forth +into infinite space fly the innumerable forms of thought or fancy that have +kept me company in the retirement of this little chamber during the sluggish +lapse of wintry weather; visions, gay, grotesque, and sad; pictures of real +life, tinted with nature’s homely gray and russet; scenes in dreamland, +bedizened with rainbow hues which faded before they were well laid +on,—all these may vanish now, and leave me to mould a fresh existence out +of sunshine, Brooding Meditation may flap her dusky wings and take her owl-like +Right, blinking amid the cheerfulness of noontide. Such companions befit the +season of frosted window-panes and crackling fires, when the blast howls +through the black-ash trees of our avenue and the drifting snow-storm chokes up +the wood-paths and fills the highway from stone wall to stone wall. In the +spring and summer time all sombre thoughts should follow the winter northward +with the sombre and thoughtful crows. The old paradisiacal economy of life is +again in force; we live, not to think or to labor, but for the simple end of +being happy. Nothing for the present hour is worthy of man’s infinite capacity +save to imbibe the warm smile of heaven and sympathize with the reviving earth. +</p> + +<p> +The present Spring comes onward with fleeter footsteps, because Winter lingered +so unconscionably long that with her best diligence she can hardly retrieve +half the allotted period of her reign. It is but a fortnight since I stood on +the brink of our swollen river and beheld the accumulated ice of four frozen +months go down the stream. Except in streaks here and there upon the hillsides, +the whole visible universe was then covered with deep snow, the nethermost +layer of which had been deposited by an early December storm. It was a sight to +make the beholder torpid, in the impossibility of imagining how this vast white +napkin was to be removed from the face of the corpse-like world in less time +than had been required to spread it there. But who can estimate the power of +gentle influences, whether amid material desolation or the moral winter of +man’s heart? There have been no tempestuous rains, even no sultry days, but a +constant breath of southern winds, with now a day of kindly sunshine, and now a +no less kindly mist or a soft descent of showers, in which a smile and a +blessing seemed to have been steeped. The snow has vanished as if by magic; +whatever heaps may be hidden in the woods and deep gorges of the hills, only +two solitary specks remain in the landscape; and those I shall almost regret to +miss when to-morrow I look for them in vain. Never before, methinks, has spring +pressed so closely on the footsteps of retreating winter. Along the roadside +the green blades of grass have sprouted on the very edge of the snow-drifts. +The pastures and mowing-fields have not vet assumed a general aspect of +verdure; but neither have they the cheerless-brown tint which they wear in +latter autumn when vegetation has entirely ceased; there is now a faint shadow +of life, gradually brightening into the warm reality. Some tracts in a happy +exposure,—as, for instance, yonder southwestern slope of an orchard, in +front of that old red farm-house beyond the river,—such patches of land +already wear a beautiful and tender green, to which no future luxuriance can +add a charm. It looks unreal; a prophecy, a hope, a transitory effect of sonic +peculiar light, which will vanish with the slightest motion of the eye. But +beauty is never a delusion; not these verdant tracts, but the dark and barren +landscape all around them, is a shadow and a dream. Each moment wins seine +portion of the earth from death to life; a sudden gleam of verdure brightens +along the sunny slope of a bank which an instant ago was brown and bare. You +look again, and behold an apparition of green grass! +</p> + +<p> +The trees in our orchard and elsewhere are as yet naked, but already appear +full of life and vegetable blood. It seems as if by one magic touch they might +instantaneously burst into full foliage, and that the wind which now sighs +through their naked branches might make sudden music amid innumerable leaves. +The mossgrown willow-tree which for forty years past has overshadowed these +western windows will be among the first to put on its green attire. There are +some objections to the willow; it is not a dry and cleanly tree, and impresses +the beholder with an association of sliminess. No trees, I think, are perfectly +agreeable as companions unless they have glossy leaves, dry bark, and a firm +and hard texture of trunk and branches. But the willow is almost the earliest +to gladden us with the promise and reality of beauty in its graceful and +delicate foliage, and the last to scatter its yellow yet scarcely withered +leaves upon the ground. All through the winter, too, its yellow twigs give it a +sunny aspect, which is not without a cheering influence even in the grayest and +gloomiest day. Beneath a clouded sky it faithfully remembers the sunshine. Our +old house would lose a charm were the willow to be cut down, with its golden +crown over the snow-covered roof and its heap of summer verdure. +</p> + +<p> +The lilac-shrubs under my study-windows are likewise almost in leaf: in two or +three days more I may put forth my hand and pluck the topmost bough in its +freshest green. These lilacs are very aged, and have lost the luxuriant foliage +of their prime. The heart, or the judgment, or the moral sense, or the taste is +dissatisfied with their present aspect. Old age is not venerable when it +embodies itself in lilacs, rose-bushes, or any other ornamental shrub; it seems +as if such plants, as they grow only for beauty, ought to flourish always in +immortal youth, or, at least, to die before their sad decrepitude. Trees of +beauty are trees of paradise, and therefore not subject to decay by their +original nature, though they have lost that precious birthright by being +transplanted to an earthly soil. There is a kind of ludicrous unfitness in the +idea of a time-stricken and grandfatherly lilac-bush. The analogy holds good in +human life. Persons who can only be graceful and ornamental—who can give +the world nothing but flowers—should die young, and never be seen with +gray hair and wrinkles, any more than the flower-shrubs with mossy bark and +blighted foliage, like the lilacs under my window. Not that beauty is worthy of +less than immortality; no, the beautiful should live forever,—and thence, +perhaps, the sense of impropriety when we see it triumphed over by time. +Apple-trees, on the other hand, grow old without reproach. Let them live as +long as they may, and contort themselves into whatever perversity of shape they +please, and deck their withered limbs with a springtime gaudiness of pink +blossoms; still they are respectable, even if they afford us only an apple or +two in a season. Those few apples—or, at all events, the remembrance of +apples in bygone years—are the atonement which utilitarianism inexorably +demands for the privilege of lengthened life. Human flower-shrubs, if they will +grow old on earth, should, besides their lovely blossoms, bear some kind of +fruit that will satisfy earthly appetites, else neither man nor the decorum of +nature will deem it fit that the moss should gather on them. +</p> + +<p> +One of the first things that strikes the attention when the white sheet of +winter is withdrawn is the neglect and disarray that lay hidden beneath it. +Nature is not cleanly according to our prejudices. The beauty of preceding +years, now transformed to brown and blighted deformity, obstructs the +brightening loveliness of the present hour. Our avenue is strewn with the whole +crop of autumn’s withered leaves. There are quantities of decayed branches +which one tempest after another has flung down, black and rotten, and one or +two with the ruin of a bird’s-nest clinging to them. In the garden are the +dried bean-vines, the brown stalks of the asparagus-bed, and melancholy old +cabbages which were frozen into the soil before their unthrifty cultivator +could find time to gather them. How invariably, throughout all the forms of +life, do we find these intermingled memorials of death! On the soil of thought +and in the garden of the heart, as well as in the sensual world, he withered +leaves,—the ideas and feelings that we have done with. There is no wind +strong enough to sweep them away; infinite space will not garner then from our +sight. What mean they? Why may we not be permitted to live and enjoy, as if +this were the first life and our own the primal enjoyment, instead of treading +always on these dry hones and mouldering relics, from the aged accumulation of +which springs all that now appears so young and new? Sweet must have been the +springtime of Eden, when no earlier year had strewn its decay upon the virgin +turf and no former experience had ripened into summer and faded into autumn in +the hearts of its inhabitants! That was a world worth living in. O then +murmurer, it is out of the very wantonness of such a life that then feignest +these idle lamentations. There is no decay. Each human soul is the +first-created inhabitant of its own Eden. We dwell in an old moss-covered +mansion, and tread in the worn footprints of the past, and have a gray +clergyman’s ghost for our daily and nightly inmate; yet all these outward +circumstances are made less than visionary by the renewing power of the spirit. +Should the spirit ever lose this power,—should the withered leaves, and +the rotten branches, and the moss-covered house, and the ghost of the gray past +ever become its realities, and the verdure and the freshness merely its faint +dream,—then let it pray to be released from earth. It will need the air +of heaven to revive its pristine energies. +</p> + +<p> +What an unlooked-for flight was this from our shadowy avenue of black-ash and +balm of Gilead trees into the infinite! Now we have our feet again upon the +turf. Nowhere does the grass spring up so industriously as in this homely yard, +along the base of the stone wall, and in the sheltered nooks of the buildings, +and especially around the southern doorstep,—a locality which seems +particularly favorable to its growth, for it is already tall enough to bend +over and wave in the wind. I observe that several weeds—and most +frequently a plant that stains the fingers with its yellow juice—have +survived and retained their freshness and sap throughout the winter. One knows +not how they have deserved such an exception from the common lot of their race. +They are now the patriarchs of the departed year, and may preach mortality to +the present generation of flowers and weeds. +</p> + +<p> +Among the delights of spring, how is it possible to forget the birds? Even the +crows were welcome as the sable harbingers of a brighter and livelier race. +They visited us before the snow was off, but seem mostly to have betaken +themselves to remote depths of the woods, which they haunt all summer long. +Many a time shall I disturb them there, and feel as if I had intruded among a +company of silent worshippers, as they sit in Sabbath stillness among the +tree-tops. Their voices, when they speak, are in admirable accordance with the +tranquil solitude of a summer afternoon; and resounding so far above the head, +their loud clamor increases the religious quiet of the scene instead of +breaking it. A crow, however, has no real pretensions to religion, in spite of +his gravity of mien and black attire; he is certainly a thief, and probably an +infidel. The gulls are far more respectable, in a moral point of view. These +denizens of seabeaten rocks and haunters of the lonely beach come up our inland +river at this season, and soar high overhead, flapping their broad wings in the +upper sunshine. They are among the most picturesque of birds, because they so +float and rest upon the air as to become almost stationary parts of the +landscape. The imagination has time to grow acquainted with them; they have not +flitted away in a moment. You go up among the clouds and greet these +lofty-flighted gulls, and repose confidently with them upon the sustaining +atmosphere. Duck’s have their haunts along the solitary places of the river, +and alight in flocks upon the broad bosom of the overflowed meadows. Their +flight is too rapid and determined for the eye to catch enjoyment from it, +although it never fails to stir up the heart with the sportsman’s ineradicable +instinct. They have now gone farther northward, but will visit us again in +autumn. +</p> + +<p> +The smaller birds,—the little songsters of the woods, and those that +haunt man’s dwellings and claim human friendship by building their nests under +the sheltering eaves or among the orchard trees,—these require a touch +more delicate and a gentler heart than mine to do them justice. Their outburst +of melody is like a brook let loose from wintry chains. We need not deem it a +too high and solemn word to call it a hymn of praise to the Creator; since +Nature, who pictures the reviving year in so many sights of beauty, has +expressed the sentiment of renewed life in no other sound save the notes of +these blessed birds. Their music, however, just now, seems to be incidental, +and not the result of a set purpose. They are discussing the economy of life +and love and the site and architecture of their summer residences, and have no +time to sit on a twig and pour forth solemn hymns, or overtures, operas, +symphonies, and waltzes. Anxious questions are asked; grave subjects are +settled in quick and animated debate; and only by occasional accident, as from +pure ecstasy, does a rich warble roll its tiny waves of golden sound through +the atmosphere. Their little bodies are as busy as their voices; they are all a +constant flutter and restlessness. Even when two or three retreat to a tree-top +to hold council, they wag their tails and heads all the time with the +irrepressible activity of their nature, which perhaps renders their brief span +of life in reality as long as the patriarchal age of sluggish man. The +blackbirds, three species of which consort together, are the noisiest of all +our feathered citizens. Great companies of them—more than the famous +“four-and-twenty” whom Mother Goose has immortalized—congregate in +contiguous treetops and vociferate with all the clamor and confusion of a +turbulent political meeting. Politics, certainly, must be the occasion of such +tumultuous debates; but still, unlike all other politicians, they instil melody +into their individual utterances and produce harmony as a general effect. Of +all bird voices, none are more sweet and cheerful to my ear than those of +swallows, in the dim, sunstreaked interior of a lofty barn; they address the +heart with even a closer sympathy than robin-redbreast. But, indeed, all these +winged people, that dwell in the vicinity of homesteads, seem to partake of +human nature, and possess the germ, if not the development, of immortal souls. +We hear them saying their melodious prayers at morning’s blush and eventide. A +little while ago, in the deep of night, there came the lively thrill of a +bird’s note from a neighboring tree,—a real song, such as greets the +purple dawn or mingles with the yellow sunshine. What could the little bird +mean by pouring it forth at midnight? Probably the music gushed out of the +midst of a dream in which he fancied himself in paradise with his mate, but +suddenly awoke on a cold leafless bough, with a New England mist penetrating +through his feathers. That was a sad exchange of imagination for reality. +</p> + +<p> +Insects are among the earliest births of sprung. Multitudes of I know not what +species appeared long ago on the surface of the snow. Clouds of them, almost +too minute for sight, hover in a beam of sunshine, and vanish, as if +annihilated, when they pass into the shade. A mosquito has already been heard +to sound the small horror of his bugle-horn. Wasps infest the sunny windows of +the house. A bee entered one of the chambers with a prophecy of flowers. Rare +butterflies came before the snow was off, flaunting in the chill breeze, and +looking forlorn and all astray, in spite of the magnificence of their dark +velvet cloaks, with golden borders. +</p> + +<p> +The fields and wood-paths have as yet few charms to entice the wanderer. In a +walk, the other day, I found no violets, nor anemones, nor anything in the +likeness of a flower. It was worth while, however, to ascend our opposite hill +for the sake of gaining a general idea of the advance of spring, which I had +hitherto been studying in its minute developments. The river lay around me in a +semicircle, overflowing all the meadows which give it its Indian name, and +offering a noble breadth to sparkle in the sunbeams. Along the hither shore a +row of trees stood up to their knees in water; and afar off, on the surface of +the stream, tufts of bushes thrust up their heads, as it were, to breathe. The +most striking objects were great solitary trees here and there, with a +mile-wide waste of water all around them. The curtailment of the trunk, by its +immersion in the river, quite destroys the fair proportions of the tree, and +thus makes us sensible of a regularity and propriety in the usual forms of +nature. The flood of the present season—though it never amounts to a +freshet on our quiet stream—has encroached farther upon the land than any +previous one for at least a score of years. It has overflowed stone fences, and +even rendered a portion of the highway navigable for boats. +</p> + +<p> +The waters, however, are now gradually subsiding; islands become annexed to the +mainland; and other islands emerge, like new creations, from the watery waste. +The scene supplies an admirable image of the receding of the Nile, except that +there is no deposit of black slime; or of Noah’s flood, only that there is a +freshness and novelty in these recovered portions of the continent which give +the impression of a world just made rather than of one so polluted that a +deluge had been requisite to purify it. These upspringing islands are the +greenest spots in the landscape; the first gleam of sunlight suffices to cover +them with verdure. +</p> + +<p> +Thank Providence for spring! The earth—and man himself, by sympathy with +his birthplace would be far other than we find them if life toiled wearily +onward without this periodical infusion of the primal spirit. Will the world +ever be so decayed that spring may not renew its greenness? Can man be so +dismally age stricken that no faintest sunshine of his youth may revisit him +once a year? It is impossible. The moss on our time-worn mansion brightens into +beauty; the good old pastor who once dwelt here renewed his prime, regained his +boyhood, in the genial breezes of his ninetieth spring. Alas for the worn and +heavy soul if, whether in youth or age, it have outlived its privilege of +springtime sprightliness! From such a soul the world must hope no reformation +of its evil, no sympathy with the lofty faith and gallant struggles of those +who contend in its behalf. Summer works in the present, and thinks not of the +future; autumn is a rich conservative; winter has utterly lost its faith, and +clings tremulously to the remembrance of what has been; but spring, with its +outgushing life, is the true type of the movement. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a> +MONSIEUR DU MIROIR</h2> + +<p> +Than the gentleman above named, there is nobody, in the whole circle of my +acquaintance, whom I have more attentively studied, yet of whom I have less +real knowledge, beneath the surface which it pleases him to present. Being +anxious to discover who and what he really is, and how connected with me, and +what are to be the results to him and to myself of the joint interest which, +without any choice on my part, seems to be permanently established between us, +and incited, furthermore, by the propensities of a student of human nature, +though doubtful whether Monsieur du Miroir have aught of humanity but the +figure,—I have determined to place a few of his remarkable points before +the public, hoping to be favored with some clew to the explanation of his +character. Nor let the reader condemn any part of the narrative as frivolous, +since a subject of such grave reflection diffuses its importance through the +minutest particulars; and there is no judging beforehand what odd little +circumstance may do the office of a blind man’s dog among the perplexities of +this dark investigation; and however extraordinary, marvellous, preternatural, +and utterly incredible some of the meditated disclosures may appear, I pledge +my honor to maintain as sacred a regard to fact as if my testimony were given +on oath and involved the dearest interests of the personage in question. Not +that there is matter for a criminal accusation against Monsieur du Miroir, nor +am I the man to bring it forward if there were. The chief that I complain of is +his impenetrable mystery, which is no better than nonsense if it conceal +anything good, and much worse in the contrary case. +</p> + +<p> +But, if undue partialities could be supposed to influence me, Monsieur du +Miroir might hope to profit rather than to suffer by them, for in the whole of +our long intercourse we have seldom had the slightest disagreement; and, +moreover, there are reasons for supposing him a near relative of mine, and +consequently entitled to the best word that I can give him. He bears +indisputably a strong personal resemblance to myself, and generally puts on +mourning at the funerals of the family. On the other hand, his name would +indicate a French descent; in which case, infinitely preferring that my blood +should flow from a bold British and pure Puritan source, I beg leave to +disclaim all kindred with Monsieur du Miroir. Some genealogists trace his +origin to Spain, and dub him a knight of the order of the C<small>ABALLEROS DE +LOS</small> E<small>SPEJOZ</small>, one of whom was overthrown by Don Quixote. +But what says Monsieur du Miroir himself of his paternity and his fatherland? +Not a word did he ever say about the matter; and herein, perhaps, lies one of +his most especial reasons for maintaining such a vexatious mystery, that he +lacks the faculty of speech to expound it. His lips are sometimes seen to move; +his eyes and countenance are alive with shifting expression, as if +corresponding by visible hieroglyphics to his modulated breath; and anon he +will seem to pause with as satisfied an air as if he had been talking excellent +sense. Good sense or bad, Monsieur du Miroir is the sole judge of his own +conversational powers, never having whispered so much as a syllable that +reached the ears of any other auditor. Is he really dumb? or is all the world +deaf? or is it merely a piece of my friend’s waggery, meant for nothing but to +make fools of us? If so, he has the joke all to himself. +</p> + +<p> +This dumb devil which possesses Monsieur do Miroir is, I am persuaded, the sole +reason that he does not make me the most flattering protestations of +friendship. In many particulars—indeed, as to all his cognizable and not +preternatural points, except that, once in a great while, I speak a word or +two—there exists the greatest apparent sympathy between us. Such is his +confidence in my taste that he goes astray from the general fashion and copies +all his dresses after mine. I never try on a new garment without expecting to +meet, Monsieur du Miroir in one of the same pattern. He has duplicates of all +my waistcoats and cravats, shirt-bosoms of precisely a similar plait, and an +old coat for private wear, manufactured, I suspect, by a Chinese tailor, in +exact imitation of a beloved old coat of mine, with a facsimile, stitch by +stitch, of a patch upon the elbow. In truth, the singular and minute +coincidences that occur, both in the accidents of the passing day and the +serious events of our lives, remind me of those doubtful legends of lovers, or +twin children, twins of fate, who have lived, enjoyed, suffered, and died in +unison, each faithfully repeating the last tremor of the other’s breath, though +separated by vast tracts of sea and land. Strange to say, my incommodities +belong equally to my companion, though the burden is nowise alleviated by his +participation. The other morning, after a night of torment from the toothache, +I met Monsieur du Miroir with such a swollen anguish in his cheek that my own +pangs were redoubled, as were also his, if I might judge by a fresh contortion +of his visage. All the inequalities of my spirits are communicated to him, +causing the unfortunate Monsieur du Miroir to mope and scowl through a whole +summer’s day, or to laugh as long, for no better reason than the gay or gloomy +crotchets of my brain. Once we were joint sufferers of a three months’ +sickness, and met like mutual ghosts in the first days of convalescence. +Whenever I have been in love, Monsieur du Miroir has looked passionate and +tender; and never did my mistress discard me, but this too susceptible +gentleman grew lackadaisical. His temper, also, rises to blood heat, fever +heat, or boiling-water beat, according to the measure of any wrong which might +seem to have fallen entirely on myself. I have sometimes been calmed down by +the sight of my own inordinate wrath depicted on his frowning brow. Yet, +however prompt in taking up my quarrels, I cannot call to mind that he ever +struck a downright blow in my behalf; nor, in fact, do I perceive that any real +and tangible good has resulted from his constant interference in my affairs; so +that, in my distrustful moods, I am apt to suspect Monsieur du Miroir’s +sympathy to be mere outward show, not a whit better nor worse than other +people’s sympathy. Nevertheless, as mortal man must have something in the guise +of sympathy,—and whether the true metal, or merely copper-washed, is of +less moment,—I choose rather to content myself with Monsieur du Miroir’s, +such as it is, than to seek the sterling coin, and perhaps miss even the +counterfeit. +</p> + +<p> +In my age of vanities I have often seen him in the ballroom, and might again +were I to seek him there. We have encountered each other at the Tremont +Theatre, where, however, he took his seat neither in the dress-circle, pit, nor +upper regions, nor threw a single glance at the stage, though the brightest +star, even Fanny Kemble herself, might be culminating there. No; this whimsical +friend of mine chose to linger in the saloon, near one of the large +looking-glasses which throw back their pictures of the illuminated room. He is +so full of these unaccountable eccentricities that I never like to notice +Monsieur du Miroir, nor to acknowledge the slightest connection with him, in +places of public resort. He, however, has no scruple about claiming my +acquaintance, even when his common-sense, if he had any, might teach him that I +would as willingly exchange a nod with the Old Nick. It was but the other day +that he got into a large brass kettle at the entrance of a hardware-store, and +thrust his head, the moment afterwards, into a bright, new warming-pan, whence +he gave me a most merciless look of recognition. He smiled, and so did I; but +these childish tricks make decent people rather shy of Monsieur du Miroir, and +subject him to more dead cuts than any other gentleman in town. +</p> + +<p> +One of this singular person’s most remarkable peculiarities is his fondness for +water, wherein he excels any temperance man whatever. His pleasure, it must be +owned, is not so much to drink it (in which respect a very moderate quantity +will answer his occasions) as to souse himself over head and ears wherever he +may meet with it. Perhaps he is a merman, or born of a mermaid’s marriage with +a mortal, and thus amphibious by hereditary right, like the children which the +old river deities, or nymphs of fountains, gave to earthly love. When no +cleaner bathing-place happened to be at hand, I have seen the foolish fellow in +a horse-pond. Some times he refreshes himself in the trough of a town-pump, +without caring what the people think about him. Often, while carefully picking +my way along the street after a heavy shower, I have been scandalized to see +Monsieur du Miroir, in full dress, paddling from one mud-puddle to another, and +plunging into the filthy depths of each. Seldom have I peeped into a well +without discerning this ridiculous gentleman at the bottom, whence he gazes up, +as through a long telescopic tube, and probably makes discoveries among the +stars by daylight. Wandering along lonesome paths or in pathless forests, when +I have come to virgin fountains of which it would have been pleasant to deem +myself the first discoverer, I have started to find Monsieur du Miroir there +before me. The solitude seemed lonelier for his presence. I have leaned from a +precipice that frowns over Lake George, which the French call nature’s font of +sacramental water, and used it in their log-churches here and their cathedrals +beyond the sea, and seen him far below in that pure element. At Niagara, too, +where I would gladly have forgotten both myself and him, I could not help +observing my companion in the smooth water on the very verge of the cataract +just above the Table Rock. Were I to reach the sources of the Nile, I should +expect to meet him there. Unless he be another Ladurlad, whose garments the +depth of ocean could not moisten, it is difficult to conceive how he keeps +himself in any decent pickle; though I am bound to confess that his clothes +seem always as dry and comfortable as my own. But, as a friend, I could wish +that he would not so often expose himself in liquor. +</p> + +<p> +All that I have hitherto related may be classed among those little personal +oddities which agreeably diversify the surface of society, and, though they may +sometimes annoy us, yet keep our daily intercourse fresher and livelier than if +they were done away. By an occasional hint, however, I have endeavored to pave +the way for stranger things to come, which, had they been disclosed at once, +Monsieur du Miroir might have been deemed a shadow, and myself a person of no +veracity, and this truthful history a fabulous legend. But, now that the reader +knows me worthy of his confidence, I will begin to make him stare. +</p> + +<p> +To speak frankly, then, I could bring the most astounding proofs that Monsieur +du Miroir is at least a conjurer, if not one of that unearthly tribe with whom +conjurers deal. He has inscrutable methods of conveying himself from place to +place with the rapidity of the swiftest steamboat or rail-car. Brick walls and +oaken doors and iron bolts are no impediment to his passage. Here in my +chamber, for instance, as the evening deepens into night, I sit +alone,—the key turned and withdrawn from the lock, the keyhole stuffed +with paper to keep out a peevish little blast of wind. Yet, lonely as I seem, +were I to lift one of the lamps and step five paces eastward, Monsieur du +Miroir would be sure to meet me with a lamp also in his hand; and were I to +take the stage-coach to-morrow, without giving him the least hint of my design, +and post onward till the week’s end, at whatever hotel I might find myself I +should expect to share my private apartment with this inevitable Monsieur du +Miroir. Or, out of a mere wayward fantasy, were I to go, by moonlight, and +stand beside the stone Pout of the Shaker Spring at Canterbury, Monsieur du +Miroir would set forth on the same fool’s errand, and would not fail to meet me +there. Shall I heighten the reader’s wonder? While writing these latter +sentences, I happened to glance towards the large, round globe of one off the +brass andirons, and lo! a miniature apparition of Monsieur du Miroir, with his +face widened and grotesquely contorted, as if he were making fun of my +amazement! But he has played so many of these jokes that they begin to lose +their effect. Once, presumptuous that he was, he stole into the heaven of a +young lady’s eyes; so that, while I gazed and was dreaming only of herself, I +found him also in my dream. Years have so changed him since that he need never +hope to enter those heavenly orbs again. +</p> + +<p> +From these veritable statements it will be readily concluded that, had Monsieur +du Miroir played such pranks in old witch times, matters might have gone hard +with him; at least if the constable and posse comitatus could have executed a +warrant, or the jailer had been cunning enough to keep him. But it has often +occurred to me as a very singular circumstance, and as betokening either a +temperament morbidly suspicious or some weighty cause of apprehension, that he +never trusts himself within the grasp even of his most intimate friend. If you +step forward to meet him, he readily advances; if you offer him your hand, he +extends his own with an air of the utmost frankness; but, though you calculate +upon a hearty shake, you do not get hold of his little finger. Ah, this +Monsieur du Miroir is a slippery fellow! +</p> + +<p> +These truly are matters of special admiration. After vainly endeavoring, by the +strenuous exertion of my own wits, to gain a satisfactory insight into the +character of Monsieur du Miroir, I had recourse to certain wise men, and also +to books of abstruse philosophy, seeking who it was that haunted me, and why. I +heard long lectures and read huge volumes with little profit beyond the +knowledge that many former instances are recorded, in successive ages, of +similar connections between ordinary mortals and beings possessing the +attributes of Monsieur du Miroir. Some now alive, perhaps, besides myself, have +such attendants. Would that Monsieur du Miroir could be persuaded to transfer +his attachment to one of those, and allow some other of his race to assume the +situation that he now holds in regard to me! If I must needs have so intrusive +an intimate, who stares me in the face in my closest privacy, and follows me +even to my bedchamber, I should prefer—scandal apart—the laughing +bloom of a young girl to the dark and bearded gravity of my present companion. +But such desires are never to be gratified. Though the members of Monsieur du +Miroir’s family have been accused, perhaps justly, of visiting their friends +often in splendid halls, and seldom in darksome dungeons, yet they exhibit a +rare constancy to the objects of their first attachment, however unlovely in +person or unamiable in disposition,—however unfortunate, or even +infamous, and deserted by all the world besides. So will it be with my +associate. Our fates appear inseparably blended. It is my belief, as I find him +mingling with my earliest recollections, that we came into existence together, +as my shadow follows me into the sunshine, and that hereafter, as heretofore, +the brightness or gloom of my fortunes will shine upon, or darken, the face of +Monsieur du Miroir. As we have been young together, and as it is now near the +summer noon with both of us, so, if long life be granted, shall each count his +own wrinkles on the other’s brow and his white hairs on the other’s head. And +when the coffin-lid shall have closed over me and that face and form, which, +more truly than the lover swears it to his beloved, are the sole light of his +existence,—when they shall be laid in that dark chamber, whither his +swift and secret footsteps cannot bring him,—then what is to become of +poor Monsieur du Miroir? Will he have the fortitude, with my other friends, to +take a last look at my pale countenance? Will he walk foremost in the funeral +train? Will he come often and haunt around my grave, and weed away the nettles, +and plant flowers amid the verdure, and scrape the moss out of the letters of +my burial-stone? Will he linger where I have lived, to remind the neglectful +world of one who staked much to win a name, but will not then care whether he +lost or won? +</p> + +<p> +Not thus will he prove his deep fidelity. O, what terror, if this friend of +mine, after our last farewell, should step into the crowded street, or roam +along our old frequented path by the still waters, or sit down in the domestic +circle where our faces are most familiar and beloved! No; but when the rays of +heaven shall bless me no more, nor the thoughtful lamplight gleam upon my +studies, nor the cheerful fireside gladden the meditative man, then, his task +fulfilled, shall this mysterious being vanish from the earth forever. He will +pass to the dark realm of nothingness, but will not find me there. +</p> + +<p> +There is something fearful in bearing such a relation to a creature so +imperfectly known, and in the idea that, to a certain extent, all which +concerns myself will be reflected in its consequences upon him. When we feel +that another is to share the self-same fortune with ourselves we judge more +severely of our prospects, and withhold our confidence from that delusive magic +which appears to shed an infallibility of happiness over our own pathway. Of +late years, indeed, there has been much to sadden my intercourse with Monsieur +de Miroir. Had not our union been a necessary condition of our life, we must +have been estranged ere now. In early youth, when my affections were warm and +free, I loved him well, and could always spend a pleasant hour in his society, +chiefly because it gave me an excellent opinion of myself. Speechless as he +was, Monsieur du Miroir had then a most agreeable way of calling me a handsome +fellow; and I, of course, returned the compliment; so that, the more we kept +each other’s company, the greater coxcombs we mutually grew. But neither of us +need apprehend any such misfortune now. When we chance to meet,—for it is +chance oftener than design,—each glances sadly at the other’s forehead, +dreading wrinkles there; and at our temples, whence the hair is thinning away +too early; and at the sunken eyes, which no longer shed a gladsome light over +the whole face. I involuntarily peruse him as a record of my heavy youth, which +has been wasted in sluggishness for lack of hope and impulse, or equally thrown +away in toil that had no wise motive and has accomplished no good end. I +perceive that the tranquil gloom of a disappointed soul has darkened through +his countenance, where the blackness of the future seems to mingle with the +shadows of the past, giving him the aspect of a fated man. Is it too wild a +thought that my fate may have assumed this image of myself, and therefore +haunts me with such inevitable pertinacity, originating every act which it +appears to imitate, while it deludes me by pretending to share the events of +which it is merely the emblem and the prophecy? I must banish this idea, or it +will throw too deep an awe round my companion. At our next meeting, especially +if it be at midnight or in solitude, I fear that I shall glance aside and +shudder; in which case, as Monsieur du Miroir is extremely sensitive to +ill-treatment, he also will avert his eyes and express horror or disgust. +</p> + +<p> +But no; this is unworthy of me. As of old I sought his society for the +bewitching dreams of woman’s love which he inspired, and because I fancied a +bright fortune in his aspect, so now will I hold daily and long communion with +hint for the sake of the stern lessons that he will teach my manhood. With +folded arms we will sit face to face, and lengthen out our silent converse till +a wiser cheerfulness shall have been wrought from the very texture of +despondency. He will say, perhaps indignantly, that it befits only him to mourn +for the decay of outward grace, which, while he possessed it, was his all. But +have not you, he will ask, a treasure in reserve, to which every year may add +far more value than age or death itself can snatch from that miserable clay? He +will tell me that though the bloom of life has been nipped with a frost, yet +the soul must not sit shivering in its cell, but bestir itself manfully, and +kindle a genial warmth from its own exercise against; the autumnal and the +wintry atmosphere. And I, in return, will bid him be of good cheer, nor take it +amiss that I must blanch his locks and wrinkle him up like a wilted apple, +since it shall be my endeavor so to beautify his face with intellect and mild +benevolence that he shall profit immensely by the change. But here a smile will +glimmer somewhat sadly over Monsieur du Miroir’s visage. +</p> + +<p> +When this subject shall have been sufficiently discussed we may take up others +as important. Reflecting upon his power of following me to the remotest regions +and into the deepest privacy, I will compare the attempt to escape him to the +hopeless race that men sometimes run with memory, or their own hearts, or their +moral selves, which, though burdened with cares enough to crush an elephant, +will never be one step behind. I will be self-contemplative, as nature bids me, +and make him the picture or visible type of what I muse upon, that my mind may +not wander so vaguely as heretofore, chasing its own shadow through a chaos and +catching only the monsters that abide there. Then will we turn our thoughts to +the spiritual world, of the reality of which my companions shall furnish me an +illustration, if not an argument; for, as we have only the testimony of the eye +to Monsieur du Miroir’s existence, while all the other senses would fail to +inform us that such a figure stands within arm’s-length, wherefore should there +not be beings innumerable close beside us, and filling heaven and earth with +their multitude, yet of whom no corporeal perception can take cognizance? A +blind man might as reasonably deny that Monsieur du Miroir exists, as we, +because the Creator has hitherto withheld the spiritual perception, can +therefore contend that there are no spirits. O, there are! And, at this moment, +when the subject of which I write has grown strong within me and surrounded +itself with those solemn and awful associations which might have seemed most +alien to it, I could fancy that Monsieur du Miroir himself is a wanderer from +the spiritual world, with nothing human except his delusive garment of +visibility. Methinks I should tremble now were his wizard power of gliding +through all impediments in search of me to place him suddenly before my eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Ha! What is yonder? Shape of mystery, did the tremor of my heartstrings vibrate +to thine own, and call thee from thy home among the dancers of the northern +lights, and shadows flung from departed sunshine, and giant spectres that +appear on clouds at daybreak and affright the climber of the Alps? In truth it +startled me, as I threw a wary glance eastward across the chamber, to discern +an unbidden guest with his eyes bent on mine. The identical MONSIEUR DU MIROIR! +Still there he sits and returns my gaze with as much of awe and curiosity as if +he, too, had spent a solitary evening in fantastic musings and made me his +theme. So inimitably does he counterfeit that I could almost doubt which of us +is the visionary form, or whether each be not the other’s mystery, and both +twin brethren of one fate, in mutually reflected spheres. O friend, canst thou +not hear and answer me? Break down the barrier between us! Grasp my hand! +Speak! Listen! A few words, perhaps, might satisfy the feverish yearning of my +soul for some master-thought that should guide me through this labyrinth of +life, teaching wherefore I was born, and how to do my task on earth, and what +is death. Alas! Even that unreal image should forget to ape me and smile at +these vain questions. Thus do mortals deify, as it were, a mere shadow of +themselves, a spectre of human reason, and ask of that to unveil the mysteries +which Divine Intelligence has revealed so far as needful to our guidance, and +hid the rest. +</p> + +<p> +Farewell, Monsieur du Miroir. Of you, perhaps, as of many men, it may be +doubted whether you are the wiser, though your whole business is +<small>REFLECTION</small>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a> +THE HALL OF FANTASY</h2> + +<p> +It has happened to me, on various occasions, to find myself in a certain +edifice which would appear to have some of the characteristics of a public +exchange. Its interior is a spacious hall, with a pavement of white marble. +Overhead is a lofty dome, supported by long rows of pillars of fantastic +architecture, the idea of which was probably taken from the Moorish ruins of +the Alhambra, or perhaps from some enchanted edifice in the Arabian tales. The +windows of this hall have a breadth and grandeur of design and an elaborateness +of workmanship that have nowhere been equalled, except in the Gothic cathedrals +of the Old World. Like their prototypes, too, they admit the light of heaven +only through stained and pictured glass, thus filling the hall with +many-colored radiance and painting its marble floor with beautiful or grotesque +designs; so that its inmates breathe, as it were, a visionary atmosphere, and +tread upon the fantasies of poetic minds. These peculiarities, combining a +wilder mixture of styles than even an American architect usually recognizes as +allowable,—Grecian, Gothic, Oriental, and nondescript,—cause the +whole edifice to give the impression of a dream, which might be dissipated and +shattered to fragments by merely stamping the foot upon the pavement. Yet, with +such modifications and repairs as successive ages demand, the Hall of Fantasy +is likely to endure longer than the most substantial structure that ever +cumbered the earth. +</p> + +<p> +It is not at all times that one can gain admittance into this edifice, although +most persons enter it at some period or other of their lives; if not in their +waking moments, then by the universal passport of a dream. At my last visit I +wandered thither unawares while my mind was busy with an idle tale, and was +startled by the throng of people who seemed suddenly to rise up around me. +</p> + +<p> +“Bless me! Where am I?” cried I, with but a dim recognition of the place. +</p> + +<p> +“You are in a spot,” said a friend who chanced to be near at hand, “which +occupies in the world of fancy the same position which the Bourse, the Rialto, +and the Exchange do in the commercial world. All who have affairs in that +mystic region, which lies above, below, or beyond the actual, may here meet and +talk over the business of their dreams.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a noble hall,” observed I. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied. “Yet we see but a small portion of the edifice. In its upper +stories are said to be apartments where the inhabitants of earth may hold +converse with those of the moon; and beneath our feet are gloomy cells, which +communicate with the infernal regions, and where monsters and chimeras are kept +in confinement and fed with all unwholesomeness.” +</p> + +<p> +In niches and on pedestals around about the hall stood the statues or busts of +men who in every age have been rulers and demigods in the realms of imagination +and its kindred regions. The grand old countenance of Homer; the shrunken and +decrepit form but vivid face of AEsop; the dark presence of Dante; the wild +Ariosto; Rabelais’s smile of deep-wrought mirth, the profound, pathetic humor +of Cervantes; the all-glorious Shakespeare; Spenser, meet guest for an +allegoric structure; the severe divinity of Milton; and Bunyan, moulded of +homeliest clay, but instinct with celestial fire,—were those that chiefly +attracted my eye. Fielding, Richardson, and Scott occupied conspicuous +pedestals. In an obscure and shadowy niche was deposited the bust of our +countryman, the author of Arthur Mervyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Besides these indestructible memorials of real genius,” remarked my companion, +“each century has erected statues of its own ephemeral favorites in wood.” +</p> + +<p> +“I observe a few crumbling relics of such,” said I. “But ever and anon, I +suppose, Oblivion comes with her huge broom and sweeps them all from the marble +floor. But such will never be the fate of this fine statue of Goethe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor of that next to it,—Emanuel Swedenborg,” said he. “Were ever two men +of transcendent imagination more unlike?” +</p> + +<p> +In the centre of the hall springs an ornamental fountain, the water of which +continually throws itself into new shapes and snatches the most diversified +lines from the stained atmosphere around. It is impossible to conceive what a +strange vivacity is imparted to the scene by the magic dance of this fountain, +with its endless transformations, in which the imaginative beholder may discern +what form he will. The water is supposed by some to flow from the same source +as the Castalian spring, and is extolled by others as uniting the virtues of +the Fountain of Youth with those of many other enchanted wells long celebrated +in tale and song. Having never tasted it, I can bear no testimony to its +quality. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever drink this water?” I inquired of my friend. +</p> + +<p> +“A few sips now and then,” answered he. “But there are men here who make it +their constant beverage,—or, at least, have the credit of doing so. In +some instances it is known to have intoxicating qualities.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray let us look at these water-drinkers,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +So we passed among the fantastic pillars till we came to a spot where a number +of persons were clustered together in the light of one of the great stained +windows, which seemed to glorify the whole group as well as the marble that +they trod on. Most of them were men of broad foreheads, meditative +countenances, and thoughtful, inward eyes; yet it required but a trifle to +summon up mirth, peeping out from the very midst of grave and lofty musings. +Some strode about, or leaned against the pillars of the hall, alone and in +silence; their faces wore a rapt expression, as if sweet music were in the air +around them, or as if their inmost souls were about to float away in song. One +or two, perhaps, stole a glance at the bystanders, to watch if their poetic +absorption were observed. Others stood talking in groups, with a liveliness of +expression, a ready smile, and a light, intellectual laughter, which showed how +rapidly the shafts of wit were glancing to and fro among them. +</p> + +<p> +A few held higher converse, which caused their calm and melancholy souls to +beam moonlight from their eyes. As I lingered near them,—for I felt an +inward attraction towards these men, as if the sympathy of feeling, if not of +genius, had united me to their order,—my friend mentioned several of +their names. The world has likewise heard those names; with some it has been +familiar for years; and others are daily making their way deeper into the +universal heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven,” observed I to my companion, as we passed to another part of the +hall, “we have done with this techy, wayward, shy, proud unreasonable set of +laurel-gatherers. I love them in their works, but have little desire to meet +them elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have adopted all old prejudice, I see,” replied my friend, who was +familiar with most of these worthies, being himself a student of poetry, and +not without the poetic flame. “But, so far as my experience goes, men of genius +are fairly gifted with the social qualities; and in this age there appears to +be a fellow-feeling among them which had not heretofore been developed. As men, +they ask nothing better than to be on equal terms with their fellow-men; and as +authors, they have thrown aside their proverbial jealousy, and acknowledge a +generous brotherhood.” +</p> + +<p> +“The world does not think so,” answered I. “An author is received in general +society pretty much as we honest citizens are in the Hall of Fantasy. We gaze +at him as if he had no business among us, and question whether he is fit for +any of our pursuits.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is a very foolish question,” said he. “Now, here are a class of men +whom we may daily meet on ’Change. Yet what poet in the hall is more a fool of +fancy than the sagest of them?” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to a number of persons, who, manifest as the fact was, would have +deemed it an insult to be told that they stood in the Hall of Fantasy. Their +visages were traced into wrinkles and furrows, each of which seemed the record +of some actual experience in life. Their eyes had the shrewd, calculating +glance which detects so quickly and so surely all that it concerns a man of +business to know about the characters and purposes of his fellow-men. Judging +them as they stood, they might be honored and trusted members of the Chamber of +Commerce, who had found the genuine secret of wealth and whose sagacity gave +them the command of fortune. +</p> + +<p> +There was a character of detail and matter of fact in their talk which +concealed the extravagance of its purport, insomuch that the wildest schemes +had the aspect of everyday realities. Thus the listener was not startled at the +idea of cities to be built, as if by magic, in the heart of pathless forests; +and of streets to be laid out where now the sea was tossing; and of mighty +rivers to be stayed in their courses in order to turn the machinery of a +cotton-mill. It was only by an effort, and scarcely then, that the mind +convinced itself that such speculations were as much matter of fantasy as the +old dream of Eldorado, or as Mammon’s Cave, or any other vision of gold ever +conjured up by the imagination of needy poet or romantic adventurer. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word,” said I, “it is dangerous to listen to such dreamers as these. +Their madness is contagious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said my friend, “because they mistake the Hall of Fantasy for actual +brick and mortar, and its purple atmosphere for unsophisticated sunshine. But +the poet knows his whereabout, and therefore is less likely to make a fool of +himself in real life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here again,” observed I, as we advanced a little farther, “we see another +order of dreamers, peculiarly characteristic, too, of the genius of our +country.” +</p> + +<p> +These were the inventors of fantastic machines. Models of their contrivances +were placed against some of the pillars of the hall, and afforded good emblems +of the result generally to be anticipated from an attempt to reduce day-dreams +to practice. The analogy may hold in morals as well as physics; for instance, +here was the model of a railroad through the air and a tunnel under the sea. +Here was a machine—stolen, I believe—for the distillation of heat +from moonshine; and another for the condensation of morning mist into square +blocks of granite, wherewith it was proposed to rebuild the entire Hall of +Fantasy. One man exhibited a sort of lens whereby he had succeeded in making +sunshine out of a lady’s smile; and it was his purpose wholly to irradiate the +earth by means of this wonderful invention. +</p> + +<p> +“It is nothing new,” said I; “for most of our sunshine comes from woman’s smile +already.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” answered the inventor; “but my machine will secure a constant supply +for domestic use; whereas hitherto it has been very precarious.” +</p> + +<p> +Another person had a scheme for fixing the reflections of objects in a pool of +water, and thus taking the most life-like portraits imaginable; and the same +gentleman demonstrated the practicability of giving a permanent dye to ladies’ +dresses, in the gorgeous clouds of sunset. There were at least fifty kinds of +perpetual motion, one of which was applicable to the wits of newspaper editors +and writers of every description. Professor Espy was here, with a tremendous +storm in a gum-elastic bag. I could enumerate many more of these Utopian +inventions; but, after all, a more imaginative collection is to be found in the +Patent Office at Washington. +</p> + +<p> +Turning from the inventors we took a more general survey of the inmates of the +hall. Many persons were present whose right of entrance appeared to consist in +some crotchet of the brain, which, so long as it might operate, produced a +change in their relation to the actual world. It is singular how very few there +are who do not occasionally gain admittance on such a score, either in +abstracted musings, or momentary thoughts, or bright anticipations, or vivid +remembrances; for even the actual becomes ideal, whether in hope or memory, and +beguiles the dreamer into the Hall of Fantasy. Some unfortunates make their +whole abode and business here, and contract habits which unfit them for all the +real employments of life. Others—but these are few—possess the +faculty, in their occasional visits, of discovering a purer truth than the +world call impart among the lights and shadows of these pictured windows. +</p> + +<p> +And with all its dangerous influences, we have reason to thank God that there +is such a place of refuge from the gloom and chillness of actual life. Hither +may come the prisoner, escaping from his dark and narrow cell and cankerous +chain, to breathe free air in this enchanted atmosphere. The sick man leaves +his weary pillow, and finds strength to wander hither, though his wasted limbs +might not support him even to the threshold of his chamber. The exile passes +through the Hall of Fantasy to revisit his native soil. The burden of years +rolls down from the old man’s shoulders the moment that the door uncloses. +Mourners leave their heavy sorrows at the entrance, and here rejoin the lost +ones whose faces would else be seen no more, until thought shall have become +the only fact. It may be said, in truth, that there is but half a +life—the meaner and earthier half—for those who never find their +way into the hall. Nor must I fail to mention that in the observatory of the +edifice is kept that wonderful perspective-glass, through which the shepherds +of the Delectable Mountains showed Christian the far-off gleam of the Celestial +City. The eye of Faith still loves to gaze through it. +</p> + +<p> +“I observe some men here,” said I to my friend, “who might set up a strong +claim to be reckoned among the most real personages of the day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” he replied. “If a man be in advance of his age, he must be content +to make his abode in this hall until the lingering generations of his +fellow-men come up with him. He can find no other shelter in the universe. But +the fantasies of one day are the deepest realities of a future one.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is difficult to distinguish them apart amid the gorgeous and bewildering +light of this ball,” rejoined I. “The white sunshine of actual life is +necessary in order to test them. I am rather apt to doubt both men and their +reasonings till I meet them in that truthful medium.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps your faith in the ideal is deeper than you are aware,” said my friend. +“You are at least a democrat; and methinks no scanty share of such faith is +essential to the adoption of that creed.” +</p> + +<p> +Among the characters who had elicited these remarks were most of the noted +reformers of the day, whether in physics, politics, morals, or religion. There +is no surer method of arriving at the Hall of Fantasy than to throw one’s-self +into the current of a theory; for, whatever landmarks of fact may be set up +along the stream, there is a law of nature that impels it thither. And let it +be so; for here the wise head and capacious heart may do their work; and what +is good and true becomes gradually hardened into fact, while error melts away +and vanishes among the shadows of the ball. Therefore may none who believe and +rejoice in the progress of mankind be angry with me because I recognized their +apostles and leaders amid the fantastic radiance of those pictured windows. I +love and honor such men as well as they. +</p> + +<p> +It would be endless to describe the herd of real or self styled reformers that +peopled this place of refuge. They were the representatives of an unquiet +period, when mankind is seeking to cast off the whole tissue of ancient custom +like a tattered garment. Many of then had got possession of some crystal +fragment of truth, the brightness of which so dazzled them that they could see +nothing else in the wide universe. Here were men whose faith had embodied +itself in the form of a potato; and others whose long beards had a deep +spiritual significance. Here was the abolitionist, brandishing his one idea +like an iron flail. In a word, there were a thousand shapes of good and evil, +faith and infidelity, wisdom and nonsense,—a most incongruous throng. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, withal, the heart of the stanchest conservative, unless he abjured his +fellowship with man, could hardly have helped throbbing in sympathy with the +spirit that pervaded these innumerable theorists. It was good for the man of +unquickened heart to listen even to their folly. Far down beyond the fathom of +the intellect the soul acknowledged that all these varying and conflicting +developments of humanity were united in one sentiment. Be the individual theory +as wild as fancy could make it, still the wiser spirit would recognize the +struggle of the race after a better and purer life than had yet been realized +on earth. My faith revived even while I rejected all their schemes. It could +not be that the world should continue forever what it has been; a soil where +Happiness is so rare a flower and Virtue so often a blighted fruit; a +battle-field where the good principle, with its shield flung above its head, +can hardly save itself amid the rush of adverse influences. In the enthusiasm +of such thoughts I gazed through one of the pictured windows, and, behold! the +whole external world was tinged with the dimly glorious aspect that is peculiar +to the Hall of Fantasy, insomuch that it seemed practicable at that very +instant to realize some plan for the perfection of mankind. But, alas! if +reformers would understand the sphere in which their lot is cast they must +cease to look through pictured windows. Yet they not only use this medium, but +mistake it for the whitest sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said I to my friend, starting from a deep revery, “let us hasten hence, +or I shall be tempted to make a theory, after which there is little hope of any +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come hither, then,” answered he. “Here is one theory that swallows up and +annihilates all others.” +</p> + +<p> +He led me to a distant part of the hall where a crowd of deeply attentive +auditors were assembled round an elderly man of plain, honest, trustworthy +aspect. With an earnestness that betokened the sincerest faith in his own +doctrine, he announced that the destruction of the world was close at hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Father Miller himself!” exclaimed I. +</p> + +<p> +“No less a man,” said my friend; “and observe how picturesque a contrast +between his dogma and those of the reformers whom we have just glanced at. They +look for the earthly perfection of mankind, and are forming schemes which imply +that the immortal spirit will be connected with a physical nature for +innumerable ages of futurity. On the other hand, here comes good Father Miller, +and with one puff of his relentless theory scatters all their dreams like so +many withered leaves upon the blast.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, perhaps, the only method of getting mankind out of the various +perplexities into which they have fallen,” I replied. “Yet I could wish that +the world might be permitted to endure until some great moral shall have been +evolved. A riddle is propounded. Where is the solution? The sphinx did not slay +herself until her riddle had been guessed. Will it not be so with the world? +Now, if it should be burned to-morrow morning, I am at a loss to know what +purpose will have been accomplished, or how the universe will be wiser or +better for our existence and destruction.” +</p> + +<p> +“We cannot tell what mighty truths may have been embodied in act through the +existence of the globe and its inhabitants,” rejoined my companion. “Perhaps it +may be revealed to us after the fall of the curtain over our catastrophe; or +not impossibly, the whole drama, in which we are involuntary actors, may have +been performed for the instruction of another set of spectators. I cannot +perceive that our own comprehension of it is at all essential to the matter. At +any rate, while our view is so ridiculously narrow and superficial it would be +absurd to argue the continuance of the world from the fact that it seems to +have existed hitherto in vain.” +</p> + +<p> +“The poor old earth,” murmured I. “She has faults enough, in all conscience, +but I cannot hear to have her perish.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is no great matter,” said my friend. “The happiest of us has been weary of +her many a time and oft.” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt it,” answered I, pertinaciously; “the root of human nature strikes +down deep into this earthly soil, and it is but reluctantly that we submit to +be transplanted, even for a higher cultivation in heaven. I query whether the +destruction of the earth would gratify any one individual, except perhaps some +embarrassed man of business whose notes fall due a day after the day of doom.” +</p> + +<p> +Then methought I heard the expostulating cry of a multitude against the +consummation prophesied by Father Miller. The lover wrestled with Providence +for his foreshadowed bliss. Parents entreated that the earth’s span of +endurance might be prolonged by some seventy years, so that their new-born +infant should not be defrauded of his lifetime. A youthful poet murmured +because there would be no posterity to recognize the inspiration of his song. +The reformers, one and all, demanded a few thousand years to test their +theories, after which the universe might go to wreck. A mechanician, who was +busied with an improvement of the steam-engine, asked merely time to perfect +his model. A miser insisted that the world’s destruction would be a personal +wrong to himself, unless he should first be permitted to add a specified sum to +his enormous heap of gold. A little boy made dolorous inquiry whether the last +day would come before Christmas, and thus deprive him of his anticipated +dainties. In short, nobody seemed satisfied that this mortal scene of things +should have its close just now. Yet, it must be confessed, the motives of the +crowd for desiring its continuance were mostly so absurd, that unless infinite +Wisdom had been aware of much better reasons, the solid earth must have melted +away at once. +</p> + +<p> +For my own part, not to speak of a few private and personal ends, I really +desired our old mother’s prolonged existence for her own dear sake. +</p> + +<p> +“The poor old earth!” I repeated. “What I should chiefly regret in her +destruction would be that very earthliness which no other sphere or state of +existence can renew or compensate. The fragrance of flowers and of new-mown +hay; the genial warmth of sunshine, and the beauty of a sunset among clouds; +the comfort and cheerful glow of the fireside; the deliciousness of fruits and +of all good cheer; the magnificence of mountains, and seas, and cataracts, and +the softer charm of rural scenery; even the fast-falling snow and the gray +atmosphere through which it descends,—all these and innumerable other +enjoyable things of earth must perish with her. Then the country frolics; the +homely humor; the broad, open-mouthed roar of laughter, in which body and soul +conjoin so heartily! I fear that no other world call show its anything just +like this. As for purely moral enjoyments, the good will find them in every +state of being. But where the material and the moral exist together, what is to +happen then? And then our mute four-footed friends and the winged songsters of +our woods! Might it not be lawful to regret them, even in the hallowed groves +of paradise?” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak like the very spirit of earth, imbued with a scent of freshly turned +soil,” exclaimed my friend. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not that I so much object to giving up these enjoyments on my own +account,” continued I, “but I hate to think that they will have been eternally +annihilated from the list of joys.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor need they be,” he replied. “I see no real force in what you say. Standing +in this Hall of Fantasy, we perceive what even the earth-clogged intellect of +man can do in creating circumstances which, though we call them shadowy and +visionary, are scarcely more so than those that surround us in actual life. +Doubt not then that man’s disembodied spirit may recreate time and the world +for itself, with all their peculiar enjoyments, should there still be human +yearnings amid life eternal and infinite. But I doubt whether we shall be +inclined to play such a poor scene over again.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, you are ungrateful to our mother earth!” rejoined I. “Come what may, I +never will forget her! Neither will it satisfy me to have her exist merely in +idea. I want her great, round, solid self to endure interminably, and still to +be peopled with the kindly race of man, whom I uphold to be much better than he +thinks himself. Nevertheless, I confide the whole matter to Providence, and +shall endeavor so to live that the world may come to an end at any moment +without leaving me at a loss to find foothold somewhere else.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is an excellent resolve,” said my companion, looking at his watch. “But +come; it is the dinner-hour. Will you partake of my vegetable diet?” +</p> + +<p> +A thing so matter of fact as an invitation to dinner, even when the fare was to +be nothing more substantial than vegetables and fruit, compelled us forthwith +to remove from the Hall of Fantasy. As we passed out of the portal we met the +spirits of several persons who had been sent thither in magnetic sleep. I +looked back among the sculptured pillars and at the transformations of the +gleaming fountain, and almost desired that the whole of life might be spent in +that visionary scene where the actual world, with its hard angles, should never +rub against me, and only be viewed through the medium of pictured windows. But +for those who waste all their days in the Hall of Fantasy, good Father Miller’s +prophecy is already accomplished, and the solid earth has come to an untimely +end. Let us be content, therefore, with merely an occasional visit, for the +sake of spiritualizing the grossness of this actual life, and prefiguring to +ourselves a state in which the Idea shall be all in all. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a> +THE CELESTIAL RAILROAD</h2> + +<p> +Not a great while ago, passing through the gate of dreams, I visited that +region of the earth in which lies the famous City of Destruction. It interested +me much to learn that by the public spirit of some of the inhabitants a +railroad has recently been established between this populous and flourishing +town and the Celestial City. Having a little time upon my hands, I resolved to +gratify a liberal curiosity by making a trip thither. Accordingly, one fine +morning after paying my bill at the hotel, and directing the porter to stow my +luggage behind a coach, I took my seat in the vehicle and set out for the +station-house. It was my good fortune to enjoy the company of a +gentleman—one Mr. Smooth-it-away—who, though he had never actually +visited the Celestial City, yet seemed as well acquainted with its laws, +customs, policy, and statistics, as with those of the City of Destruction, of +which he was a native townsman. Being, moreover, a director of the railroad +corporation and one of its largest stockholders, he had it in his power to give +me all desirable information respecting that praiseworthy enterprise. +</p> + +<p> +Our coach rattled out of the city, and at a short distance from its outskirts +passed over a bridge of elegant construction, but somewhat too slight, as I +imagined, to sustain any considerable weight. On both sides lay an extensive +quagmire, which could not have been more disagreeable either to sight or smell, +had all the kennels of the earth emptied their pollution there. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” remarked Mr. Smooth-it-away, “is the famous Slough of Despond—a +disgrace to all the neighborhood; and the greater that it might so easily be +converted into firm ground.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have understood,” said I, “that efforts have been made for that purpose from +time immemorial. Bunyan mentions that above twenty thousand cartloads of +wholesome instructions had been thrown in here without effect.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very probably! And what effect could be anticipated from such unsubstantial +stuff?” cried Mr. Smooth-it-away. “You observe this convenient bridge. We +obtained a sufficient foundation for it by throwing into the slough some +editions of books of morality, volumes of French philosophy and German +rationalism; tracts, sermons, and essays of modern clergymen; extracts from +Plato, Confucius, and various Hindoo sages together with a few ingenious +commentaries upon texts of Scripture,—all of which by some scientific +process, have been converted into a mass like granite. The whole bog might be +filled up with similar matter.” +</p> + +<p> +It really seemed to me, however, that the bridge vibrated and heaved up and +down in a very formidable manner; and, in spite of Mr. Smooth-it-away’s +testimony to the solidity of its foundation, I should be loath to cross it in a +crowded omnibus, especially if each passenger were encumbered with as heavy +luggage as that gentleman and myself. Nevertheless we got over without +accident, and soon found ourselves at the stationhouse. This very neat and +spacious edifice is erected on the site of the little wicket gate, which +formerly, as all old pilgrims will recollect, stood directly across the +highway, and, by its inconvenient narrowness, was a great obstruction to the +traveller of liberal mind and expansive stomach. The reader of John Bunyan will +be glad to know that Christian’s old friend Evangelist, who was accustomed to +supply each pilgrim with a mystic roll, now presides at the ticket office. Some +malicious persons it is true deny the identity of this reputable character with +the Evangelist of old times, and even pretend to bring competent evidence of an +imposture. Without involving myself in a dispute I shall merely observe that, +so far as my experience goes, the square pieces of pasteboard now delivered to +passengers are much more convenient and useful along the road than the antique +roll of parchment. Whether they will be as readily received at the gate of the +Celestial City I decline giving an opinion. +</p> + +<p> +A large number of passengers were already at the station-house awaiting the +departure of the cars. By the aspect and demeanor of these persons it was easy +to judge that the feelings of the community had undergone a very favorable +change in reference to the celestial pilgrimage. It would have done Bunyan’s +heart good to see it. Instead of a lonely and ragged man with a huge burden on +his back, plodding along sorrowfully on foot while the whole city hooted after +him, here were parties of the first gentry and most respectable people in the +neighborhood setting forth towards the Celestial City as cheerfully as if the +pilgrimage were merely a summer tour. Among the gentlemen were characters of +deserved eminence—magistrates, politicians, and men of wealth, by whose +example religion could not but be greatly recommended to their meaner brethren. +In the ladies’ apartment, too, I rejoiced to distinguish some of those flowers +of fashionable society who are so well fitted to adorn the most elevated +circles of the Celestial City. There was much pleasant conversation about the +news of the day, topics of business and politics, or the lighter matters of +amusement; while religion, though indubitably the main thing at heart, was +thrown tastefully into the background. Even an infidel would have heard little +or nothing to shock his sensibility. +</p> + +<p> +One great convenience of the new method of going on pilgrimage I must not +forget to mention. Our enormous burdens, instead of being carried on our +shoulders as had been the custom of old, were all snugly deposited in the +baggage car, and, as I was assured, would be delivered to their respective +owners at the journey’s end. Another thing, likewise, the benevolent reader +will be delighted to understand. It may be remembered that there was an ancient +feud between Prince Beelzebub and the keeper of the wicket gate, and that the +adherents of the former distinguished personage were accustomed to shoot deadly +arrows at honest pilgrims while knocking at the door. This dispute, much to the +credit as well of the illustrious potentate above mentioned as of the worthy +and enlightened directors of the railroad, has been pacifically arranged on the +principle of mutual compromise. The prince’s subjects are now pretty numerously +employed about the station-house, some in taking care of the baggage, others in +collecting fuel, feeding the engines, and such congenial occupations; and I can +conscientiously affirm that persons more attentive to their business, more +willing to accommodate, or more generally agreeable to the passengers, are not +to be found on any railroad. Every good heart must surely exult at so +satisfactory an arrangement of an immemorial difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Mr. Greatheart?” inquired I. “Beyond a doubt the directors have +engaged that famous old champion to be chief conductor on the railroad?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no,” said Mr. Smooth-it-away, with a dry cough. “He was offered the +situation of brakeman; but, to tell you the truth, our friend Greatheart has +grown preposterously stiff and narrow in his old age. He has so often guided +pilgrims over the road on foot that he considers it a sin to travel in any +other fashion. Besides, the old fellow had entered so heartily into the ancient +feud with Prince Beelzebub that he would have been perpetually at blows or ill +language with some of the prince’s subjects, and thus have embroiled us anew. +So, on the whole, we were not sorry when honest Greatheart went off to the +Celestial City in a huff and left us at liberty to choose a more suitable and +accommodating man. Yonder comes the engineer of the train. You will probably +recognize him at once.” +</p> + +<p> +The engine at this moment took its station in advance of the cars, looking, I +must confess, much more like a sort of mechanical demon that would hurry us to +the infernal regions than a laudable contrivance for smoothing our way to the +Celestial City. On its top sat a personage almost enveloped in smoke and flame, +which, not to startle the reader, appeared to gush from his own mouth and +stomach as well as from the engine’s brazen abdomen. +</p> + +<p> +“Do my eyes deceive me?” cried I. “What on earth is this! A living creature? If +so, he is own brother to the engine he rides upon!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poh, poh, you are obtuse!” said Mr. Smooth-it-away, with a hearty laugh. +“Don’t you know Apollyon, Christian’s old enemy, with whom he fought so fierce +a battle in the Valley of Humiliation? He was the very fellow to manage the +engine; and so we have reconciled him to the custom of going on pilgrimage, and +engaged him as chief engineer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, bravo!” exclaimed I, with irrepressible enthusiasm; “this shows the +liberality of the age; this proves, if anything can, that all musty prejudices +are in a fair way to be obliterated. And how will Christian rejoice to hear of +this happy transformation of his old antagonist! I promise myself great +pleasure in informing him of it when we reach the Celestial City.” +</p> + +<p> +The passengers being all comfortably seated, we now rattled away merrily, +accomplishing a greater distance in ten minutes than Christian probably trudged +over in a day. It was laughable, while we glanced along, as it were, at the +tail of a thunderbolt, to observe two dusty foot travellers in the old pilgrim +guise, with cockle shell and staff, their mystic rolls of parchment in their +hands and their intolerable burdens on their backs. The preposterous obstinacy +of these honest people in persisting to groan and stumble along the difficult +pathway rather than take advantage of modern improvements, excited great mirth +among our wiser brotherhood. We greeted the two pilgrims with many pleasant +gibes and a roar of laughter; whereupon they gazed at us with such woful and +absurdly compassionate visages that our merriment grew tenfold more +obstreperous. Apollyon also entered heartily into the fun, and contrived to +flirt the smoke and flame of the engine, or of his own breath, into their +faces, and envelop them in an atmosphere of scalding steam. These little +practical jokes amused us mightily, and doubtless afforded the pilgrims the +gratification of considering themselves martyrs. +</p> + +<p> +At some distance from the railroad Mr. Smooth-it-away pointed to a large, +antique edifice, which, he observed, was a tavern of long standing, and had +formerly been a noted stopping-place for pilgrims. In Bunyan’s road-book it is +mentioned as the Interpreter’s House. +</p> + +<p> +“I have long had a curiosity to visit that old mansion,” remarked I. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not one of our stations, as you perceive,” said my companion “The keeper +was violently opposed to the railroad; and well he might be, as the track left +his house of entertainment on one side, and thus was pretty certain to deprive +him of all his reputable customers. But the footpath still passes his door, and +the old gentleman now and then receives a call from some simple traveller, and +entertains him with fare as old-fashioned as himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Before our talk on this subject came to a conclusion we were rushing by the +place where Christian’s burden fell from his shoulders at the sight of the +Cross. This served as a theme for Mr. Smooth-it-away, Mr. Livefor-the-world, +Mr. Hide-sin-in-the-heart, Mr. Scaly-conscience, and a knot of gentlemen from +the town of Shun-repentance, to descant upon the inestimable advantages +resulting from the safety of our baggage. Myself, and all the passengers +indeed, joined with great unanimity in this view of the matter; for our burdens +were rich in many things esteemed precious throughout the world; and, +especially, we each of us possessed a great variety of favorite Habits, which +we trusted would not be out of fashion even in the polite circles of the +Celestial City. It would have been a sad spectacle to see such an assortment of +valuable articles tumbling into the sepulchre. Thus pleasantly conversing on +the favorable circumstances of our position as compared with those of past +pilgrims and of narrow-minded ones at the present day, we soon found ourselves +at the foot of the Hill Difficulty. Through the very heart of this rocky +mountain a tunnel has been constructed of most admirable architecture, with a +lofty arch and a spacious double track; so that, unless the earth and rocks +should chance to crumble down, it will remain an eternal monument of the +builder’s skill and enterprise. It is a great though incidental advantage that +the materials from the heart of the Hill Difficulty have been employed in +filling up the Valley of Humiliation, thus obviating the necessity of +descending into that disagreeable and unwholesome hollow. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a wonderful improvement, indeed,” said I. “Yet I should have been glad +of an opportunity to visit the Palace Beautiful and be introduced to the +charming young ladies—Miss Prudence, Miss Piety, Miss Charity, and the +rest—who have the kindness to entertain pilgrims there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young ladies!” cried Mr. Smooth-it-away, as soon as he could speak for +laughing. “And charming young ladies! Why, my dear fellow, they are old maids, +every soul of them—prim, starched, dry, and angular; and not one of them, +I will venture to say, has altered so much as the fashion of her gown since the +days of Christian’s pilgrimage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well,” said I, much comforted, “then I can very readily dispense with +their acquaintance.” +</p> + +<p> +The respectable Apollyon was now putting on the steam at a prodigious rate, +anxious, perhaps, to get rid of the unpleasant reminiscences connected with the +spot where he had so disastrously encountered Christian. Consulting Mr. +Bunyan’s road-book, I perceived that we must now be within a few miles of the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, into which doleful region, at our present speed, +we should plunge much sooner than seemed at all desirable. In truth, I expected +nothing better than to find myself in the ditch on one side or the Quag on the +other; but on communicating my apprehensions to Mr. Smooth-it-away, he assured +me that the difficulties of this passage, even in its worst condition, had been +vastly exaggerated, and that, in its present state of improvement, I might +consider myself as safe as on any railroad in Christendom. +</p> + +<p> +Even while we were speaking the train shot into the entrance of this dreaded +Valley. Though I plead guilty to some foolish palpitations of the heart during +our headlong rush over the causeway here constructed, yet it were unjust to +withhold the highest encomiums on the boldness of its original conception and +the ingenuity of those who executed it. It was gratifying, likewise, to observe +how much care had been taken to dispel the everlasting gloom and supply the +defect of cheerful sunshine, not a ray of which has ever penetrated among these +awful shadows. For this purpose, the inflammable gas which exudes plentifully +from the soil is collected by means of pipes, and thence communicated to a +quadruple row of lamps along the whole extent of the passage. Thus a radiance +has been created even out of the fiery and sulphurous curse that rests forever +upon the valley—a radiance hurtful, however, to the eyes, and somewhat +bewildering, as I discovered by the changes which it wrought in the visages of +my companions. In this respect, as compared with natural daylight, there is the +same difference as between truth and falsehood, but if the reader have ever +travelled through the dark Valley, he will have learned to be thankful for any +light that he could get—if not from the sky above, then from the blasted +soil beneath. Such was the red brilliancy of these lamps that they appeared to +build walls of fire on both sides of the track, between which we held our +course at lightning speed, while a reverberating thunder filled the Valley with +its echoes. Had the engine run off the track,—a catastrophe, it is +whispered, by no means unprecedented,—the bottomless pit, if there be any +such place, would undoubtedly have received us. Just as some dismal fooleries +of this nature had made my heart quake there came a tremendous shriek, +careering along the valley as if a thousand devils had burst their lungs to +utter it, but which proved to be merely the whistle of the engine on arriving +at a stopping-place. +</p> + +<p> +The spot where we had now paused is the same that our friend Bunyan—a +truthful man, but infected with many fantastic notions—has designated, in +terms plainer than I like to repeat, as the mouth of the infernal region. This, +however, must be a mistake, inasmuch as Mr. Smooth-it-away, while we remained +in the smoky and lurid cavern, took occasion to prove that Tophet has not even +a metaphorical existence. The place, he assured us, is no other than the crater +of a half-extinct volcano, in which the directors had caused forges to be set +up for the manufacture of railroad iron. Hence, also, is obtained a plentiful +supply of fuel for the use of the engines. Whoever had gazed into the dismal +obscurity of the broad cavern mouth, whence ever and anon darted huge tongues +of dusky flame, and had seen the strange, half-shaped monsters, and visions of +faces horribly grotesque, into which the smoke seemed to wreathe itself, and +had heard the awful murmurs, and shrieks, and deep, shuddering whispers of the +blast, sometimes forming themselves into words almost articulate, would have +seized upon Mr. Smooth-it-away’s comfortable explanation as greedily as we did. +The inhabitants of the cavern, moreover, were unlovely personages, dark, +smoke-begrimed, generally deformed, with misshapen feet, and a glow of dusky +redness in their eyes as if their hearts had caught fire and were blazing out +of the upper windows. It struck me as a peculiarity that the laborers at the +forge and those who brought fuel to the engine, when they began to draw short +breath, positively emitted smoke from their mouth and nostrils. +</p> + +<p> +Among the idlers about the train, most of whom were puffing cigars which they +had lighted at the flame of the crater, I was perplexed to notice several who, +to my certain knowledge, had heretofore set forth by railroad for the Celestial +City. They looked dark, wild, and smoky, with a singular resemblance, indeed, +to the native inhabitants, like whom, also, they had a disagreeable propensity +to ill-natured gibes and sneers, the habit of which had wrought a settled +contortion of their visages. Having been on speaking terms with one of these +persons,—an indolent, good-for-nothing fellow, who went by the name of +Take-it-easy,—I called him, and inquired what was his business there. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you not start,” said I, “for the Celestial City?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a fact,” said Mr. Take-it-easy, carelessly puffing some smoke into my +eyes. “But I heard such bad accounts that I never took pains to climb the hill +on which the city stands. No business doing, no fun going on, nothing to drink, +and no smoking allowed, and a thrumming of church music from morning till +night. I would not stay in such a place if they offered me house room and +living free.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my good Mr. Take-it-easy,” cried I, “why take up your residence here, of +all places in the world?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the loafer, with a grin, “it is very warm hereabouts, and I meet +with plenty of old acquaintances, and altogether the place suits me. I hope to +see you back again some day soon. A pleasant journey to you.” +</p> + +<p> +While he was speaking the bell of the engine rang, and we dashed away after +dropping a few passengers, but receiving no new ones. Rattling onward through +the Valley, we were dazzled with the fiercely gleaming gas lamps, as before. +But sometimes, in the dark of intense brightness, grim faces, that bore the +aspect and expression of individual sins, or evil passions, seemed to thrust +themselves through the veil of light, glaring upon us, and stretching forth a +great, dusky hand, as if to impede our progress. I almost thought that they +were my own sins that appalled me there. These were freaks of +imagination—nothing more, certainly-mere delusions, which I ought to be +heartily ashamed of; but all through the Dark Valley I was tormented, and +pestered, and dolefully bewildered with the same kind of waking dreams. The +mephitic gases of that region intoxicate the brain. As the light of natural +day, however, began to struggle with the glow of the lanterns, these vain +imaginations lost their vividness, and finally vanished from the first ray of +sunshine that greeted our escape from the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Ere we +had gone a mile beyond it I could well-nigh have taken my oath that this whole +gloomy passage was a dream. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the valley, as John Bunyan mentions, is a cavern, where, in his +days, dwelt two cruel giants, Pope and Pagan, who had strown the ground about +their residence with the bones of slaughtered pilgrims. These vile old +troglodytes are no longer there; but into their deserted cave another terrible +giant has thrust himself, and makes it his business to seize upon honest +travellers and fatten them for his table with plentiful meals of smoke, mist, +moonshine, raw potatoes, and sawdust. He is a German by birth, and is called +Giant Transcendentalist; but as to his form, his features, his substance, and +his nature generally, it is the chief peculiarity of this huge miscreant that +neither he for himself, nor anybody for him, has ever been able to describe +them. As we rushed by the cavern’s mouth we caught a hasty glimpse of him, +looking somewhat like an ill-proportioned figure, but considerably more like a +heap of fog and duskiness. He shouted after us, but in so strange a phraseology +that we knew not what he meant, nor whether to be encouraged or affrighted. +</p> + +<p> +It was late in the day when the train thundered into the ancient city of +Vanity, where Vanity Fair is still at the height of prosperity, and exhibits an +epitome of whatever is brilliant, gay, and fascinating beneath the sun. As I +purposed to make a considerable stay here, it gratified me to learn that there +is no longer the want of harmony between the town’s-people and pilgrims, which +impelled the former to such lamentably mistaken measures as the persecution of +Christian and the fiery martyrdom of Faithful. On the contrary, as the new +railroad brings with it great trade and a constant influx of strangers, the +lord of Vanity Fair is its chief patron, and the capitalists of the city are +among the largest stockholders. Many passengers stop to take their pleasure or +make their profit in the Fair, instead of going onward to the Celestial City. +Indeed, such are the charms of the place that people often affirm it to be the +true and only heaven; stoutly contending that there is no other, that those who +seek further are mere dreamers, and that, if the fabled brightness of the +Celestial City lay but a bare mile beyond the gates of Vanity, they would not +be fools enough to go thither. Without subscribing to these perhaps exaggerated +encomiums, I can truly say that my abode in the city was mainly agreeable, and +my intercourse with the inhabitants productive of much amusement and +instruction. +</p> + +<p> +Being naturally of a serious turn, my attention was directed to the solid +advantages derivable from a residence here, rather than to the effervescent +pleasures which are the grand object with too many visitants. The Christian +reader, if he have had no accounts of the city later than Bunyan’s time, will +be surprised to hear that almost every street has its church, and that the +reverend clergy are nowhere held in higher respect than at Vanity Fair. And +well do they deserve such honorable estimation; for the maxims of wisdom and +virtue which fall from their lips come from as deep a spiritual source, and +tend to as lofty a religious aim, as those of the sagest philosophers of old. +In justification of this high praise I need only mention the names of the Rev. +Mr. Shallow-deep, the Rev. Mr. Stumble-at-truth, that fine old clerical +character the Rev. Mr. This-today, who expects shortly to resign his pulpit to +the Rev. Mr. That-tomorrow; together with the Rev. Mr. Bewilderment, the Rev. +Mr. Clog-the-spirit, and, last and greatest, the Rev. Dr. Wind-of-doctrine. The +labors of these eminent divines are aided by those of innumerable lecturers, +who diffuse such a various profundity, in all subjects of human or celestial +science, that any man may acquire an omnigenous erudition without the trouble +of even learning to read. Thus literature is etherealized by assuming for its +medium the human voice; and knowledge, depositing all its heavier particles, +except, doubtless, its gold becomes exhaled into a sound, which forthwith +steals into the ever-open ear of the community. These ingenious methods +constitute a sort of machinery, by which thought and study are done to every +person’s hand without his putting himself to the slightest inconvenience in the +matter. There is another species of machine for the wholesale manufacture of +individual morality. This excellent result is effected by societies for all +manner of virtuous purposes, with which a man has merely to connect himself, +throwing, as it were, his quota of virtue into the common stock, and the +president and directors will take care that the aggregate amount be well +applied. All these, and other wonderful improvements in ethics, religion, and +literature, being made plain to my comprehension by the ingenious Mr. +Smooth-it-away, inspired me with a vast admiration of Vanity Fair. +</p> + +<p> +It would fill a volume, in an age of pamphlets, were I to record all my +observations in this great capital of human business and pleasure. There was an +unlimited range of society—the powerful, the wise, the witty, and the +famous in every walk of life; princes, presidents, poets, generals, artists, +actors, and philanthropists,—all making their own market at the fair, and +deeming no price too exorbitant for such commodities as hit their fancy. It was +well worth one’s while, even if he had no idea of buying or selling, to loiter +through the bazaars and observe the various sorts of traffic that were going +forward. +</p> + +<p> +Some of the purchasers, I thought, made very foolish bargains. For instance, a +young man having inherited a splendid fortune, laid out a considerable portion +of it in the purchase of diseases, and finally spent all the rest for a heavy +lot of repentance and a suit of rags. A very pretty girl bartered a heart as +clear as crystal, and which seemed her most valuable possession, for another +jewel of the same kind, but so worn and defaced as to be utterly worthless. In +one shop there were a great many crowns of laurel and myrtle, which soldiers, +authors, statesmen, and various other people pressed eagerly to buy; some +purchased these paltry wreaths with their lives, others by a toilsome servitude +of years, and many sacrificed whatever was most valuable, yet finally slunk +away without the crown. There was a sort of stock or scrip, called Conscience, +which seemed to be in great demand, and would purchase almost anything. Indeed, +few rich commodities were to be obtained without paying a heavy sum in this +particular stock, and a man’s business was seldom very lucrative unless he knew +precisely when and how to throw his hoard of conscience into the market. Yet as +this stock was the only thing of permanent value, whoever parted with it was +sure to find himself a loser in the long run. Several of the speculations were +of a questionable character. Occasionally a member of Congress recruited his +pocket by the sale of his constituents; and I was assured that public officers +have often sold their country at very moderate prices. Thousands sold their +happiness for a whim. Gilded chains were in great demand, and purchased with +almost any sacrifice. In truth, those who desired, according to the old adage, +to sell anything valuable for a song, might find customers all over the Fair; +and there were innumerable messes of pottage, piping hot, for such as chose to +buy them with their birthrights. A few articles, however, could not be found +genuine at Vanity Fair. If a customer wished to renew his stock of youth the +dealers offered him a set of false teeth and an auburn wig; if he demanded +peace of mind, they recommended opium or a brandy bottle. +</p> + +<p> +Tracts of land and golden mansions, situate in the Celestial City, were often +exchanged, at very disadvantageous rates, for a few years’ lease of small, +dismal, inconvenient tenements in Vanity Fair. Prince Beelzebub himself took +great interest in this sort of traffic, and sometimes condescended to meddle +with smaller matters. I once had the pleasure to see him bargaining with a +miser for his soul, which, after much ingenious skirmishing on both sides, his +highness succeeded in obtaining at about the value of sixpence. The prince +remarked with a smile, that he was a loser by the transaction. +</p> + +<p> +Day after day, as I walked the streets of Vanity, my manners and deportment +became more and more like those of the inhabitants. The place began to seem +like home; the idea of pursuing my travels to the Celestial City was almost +obliterated from my mind. I was reminded of it, however, by the sight of the +same pair of simple pilgrims at whom we had laughed so heartily when Apollyon +puffed smoke and steam into their faces at the commencement of our journey. +There they stood amidst the densest bustle of Vanity; the dealers offering them +their purple and fine linen and jewels, the men of wit and humor gibing at +them, a pair of buxom ladies ogling them askance, while the benevolent Mr. +Smooth-it-away whispered some of his wisdom at their elbows, and pointed to a +newly-erected temple; but there were these worthy simpletons, making the scene +look wild and monstrous, merely by their sturdy repudiation of all part in its +business or pleasures. +</p> + +<p> +One of them—his name was Stick-to-the-right—perceived in my face, I +suppose, a species of sympathy and almost admiration, which, to my own great +surprise, I could not help feeling for this pragmatic couple. It prompted him +to address me. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” inquired he, with a sad, yet mild and kindly voice, “do you call +yourself a pilgrim?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I replied, “my right to that appellation is indubitable. I am merely a +sojourner here in Vanity Fair, being bound to the Celestial City by the new +railroad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, friend,” rejoined Mr. Stick-to-the-truth, “I do assure you, and beseech +you to receive the truth of my words, that that whole concern is a bubble. You +may travel on it all your lifetime, were you to live thousands of years, and +yet never get beyond the limits of Vanity Fair. Yea, though you should deem +yourself entering the gates of the blessed city, it will be nothing but a +miserable delusion.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Lord of the Celestial City,” began the other pilgrim, whose name was Mr. +Foot-it-to-heaven, “has refused, and will ever refuse, to grant an act of +incorporation for this railroad; and unless that be obtained, no passenger can +ever hope to enter his dominions. Wherefore every man who buys a ticket must +lay his account with losing the purchase money, which is the value of his own +soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poh, nonsense!” said Mr. Smooth-it-away, taking my arm and leading me off, +“these fellows ought to be indicted for a libel. If the law stood as it once +did in Vanity Fair we should see them grinning through the iron bars of the +prison window.” +</p> + +<p> +This incident made a considerable impression on my mind, and contributed with +other circumstances to indispose me to a permanent residence in the city of +Vanity; although, of course, I was not simple enough to give up my original +plan of gliding along easily and commodiously by railroad. Still, I grew +anxious to be gone. There was one strange thing that troubled me. Amid the +occupations or amusements of the Fair, nothing was more common than for a +person—whether at feast, theatre, or church, or trafficking for wealth +and honors, or whatever he might be doing, to vanish like a soap bubble, and be +never more seen of his fellows; and so accustomed were the latter to such +little accidents that they went on with their business as quietly as if nothing +had happened. But it was otherwise with me. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, after a pretty long residence at the Fair, I resumed my journey +towards the Celestial City, still with Mr. Smooth-it-away at my side. At a +short distance beyond the suburbs of Vanity we passed the ancient silver mine, +of which Demas was the first discoverer, and which is now wrought to great +advantage, supplying nearly all the coined currency of the world. A little +further onward was the spot where Lot’s wife had stood forever under the +semblance of a pillar of salt. Curious travellers have long since carried it +away piecemeal. Had all regrets been punished as rigorously as this poor dame’s +were, my yearning for the relinquished delights of Vanity Fair might have +produced a similar change in my own corporeal substance, and left me a warning +to future pilgrims. +</p> + +<p> +The next remarkable object was a large edifice, constructed of moss-grown +stone, but in a modern and airy style of architecture. The engine came to a +pause in its vicinity, with the usual tremendous shriek. +</p> + +<p> +“This was formerly the castle of the redoubted giant Despair,” observed Mr. +Smooth-it-away; “but since his death Mr. Flimsy-faith has repaired it, and +keeps an excellent house of entertainment here. It is one of our +stopping-places.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems but slightly put together,” remarked I, looking at the frail yet +ponderous walls. “I do not envy Mr. Flimsy-faith his habitation. Some day it +will thunder down upon the heads of the occupants.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall escape at all events,” said Mr. Smooth-it-away, “for Apollyon is +putting on the steam again.” +</p> + +<p> +The road now plunged into a gorge of the Delectable Mountains, and traversed +the field where in former ages the blind men wandered and stumbled among the +tombs. One of these ancient tombstones had been thrust across the track by some +malicious person, and gave the train of cars a terrible jolt. Far up the rugged +side of a mountain I perceived a rusty iron door, half overgrown with bushes +and creeping plants, but with smoke issuing from its crevices. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that,” inquired I, “the very door in the hill-side which the shepherds +assured Christian was a by-way to hell?” +</p> + +<p> +“That was a joke on the part of the shepherds,” said Mr. Smooth-itaway, with a +smile. “It is neither more nor less than the door of a cavern which they use as +a smoke-house for the preparation of mutton hams.” +</p> + +<p> +My recollections of the journey are now, for a little space, dim and confused, +inasmuch as a singular drowsiness here overcame me, owing to the fact that we +were passing over the enchanted ground, the air of which encourages a +disposition to sleep. I awoke, however, as soon as we crossed the borders of +the pleasant land of Beulah. All the passengers were rubbing their eyes, +comparing watches, and congratulating one another on the prospect of arriving +so seasonably at the journey’s end. The sweet breezes of this happy clime came +refreshingly to our nostrils; we beheld the glimmering gush of silver +fountains, overhung by trees of beautiful foliage and delicious fruit, which +were propagated by grafts from the celestial gardens. Once, as we dashed onward +like a hurricane, there was a flutter of wings and the bright appearance of an +angel in the air, speeding forth on some heavenly mission. The engine now +announced the close vicinity of the final station-house by one last and +horrible scream, in which there seemed to be distinguishable every kind of +wailing and woe, and bitter fierceness of wrath, all mixed up with the wild +laughter of a devil or a madman. Throughout our journey, at every +stopping-place, Apollyon had exercised his ingenuity in screwing the most +abominable sounds out of the whistle of the steam-engine; but in this closing +effort he outdid himself and created an infernal uproar, which, besides +disturbing the peaceful inhabitants of Beulah, must have sent its discord even +through the celestial gates. +</p> + +<p> +While the horrid clamor was still ringing in our ears we heard an exulting +strain, as if a thousand instruments of music, with height and depth and +sweetness in their tones, at once tender and triumphant, were struck in unison, +to greet the approach of some illustrious hero, who had fought the good fight +and won a glorious victory, and was come to lay aside his battered arms +forever. Looking to ascertain what might be the occasion of this glad harmony, +I perceived, on alighting from the cars, that a multitude of shining ones had +assembled on the other side of the river, to welcome two poor pilgrims, who +were just emerging from its depths. They were the same whom Apollyon and +ourselves had persecuted with taunts, and gibes, and scalding steam, at the +commencement of our journey—the same whose unworldly aspect and +impressive words had stirred my conscience amid the wild revellers of Vanity +Fair. +</p> + +<p> +“How amazingly well those men have got on,” cried I to Mr. Smoothit—away. +“I wish we were secure of as good a reception.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never fear, never fear!” answered my friend. “Come, make haste; the ferry boat +will be off directly, and in three minutes you will be on the other side of the +river. No doubt you will find coaches to carry you up to the city gates.” +</p> + +<p> +A steam ferry boat, the last improvement on this important route, lay at the +river side, puffing, snorting, and emitting all those other disagreeable +utterances which betoken the departure to be immediate. I hurried on board with +the rest of the passengers, most of whom were in great perturbation: some +bawling out for their baggage; some tearing their hair and exclaiming that the +boat would explode or sink; some already pale with the heaving of the stream; +some gazing affrighted at the ugly aspect of the steersman; and some still +dizzy with the slumberous influences of the Enchanted Ground. Looking back to +the shore, I was amazed to discern Mr. Smooth-it-away waving his hand in token +of farewell. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you go over to the Celestial City?” exclaimed I. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” answered he with a queer smile, and that same disagreeable contortion +of visage which I had remarked in the inhabitants of the Dark Valley. “Oh, no! +I have come thus far only for the sake of your pleasant company. Good-by! We +shall meet again.” +</p> + +<p> +And then did my excellent friend Mr. Smooth-it-away laugh outright, in the +midst of which cachinnation a smoke-wreath issued from his mouth and nostrils, +while a twinkle of lurid flame darted out of either eye, proving indubitably +that his heart was all of a red blaze. The impudent fiend! To deny the +existence of Tophet, when he felt its fiery tortures raging within his breast. +I rushed to the side of the boat, intending to fling myself on shore; but the +wheels, as they began their revolutions, threw a dash of spray over me so +cold—so deadly cold, with the chill that will never leave those waters +until Death be drowned in his own river—that with a shiver and a +heartquake I awoke. Thank Heaven it was a Dream! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a> +THE PROCESSION OF LIFE</h2> + +<p> +Life figures itself to me as a festal or funereal procession. All of us have +our places, and are to move onward under the direction of the Chief Marshal. +The grand difficulty results from the invariably mistaken principles on which +the deputy marshals seek to arrange this immense concourse of people, so much +more numerous than those that train their interminable length through streets +and highways in times of political excitement. Their scheme is ancient, far +beyond the memory of man or even the record of history, and has hitherto been +very little modified by the innate sense of something wrong, and the dim +perception of better methods, that have disquieted all the ages through which +the procession has taken its march. Its members are classified by the merest +external circumstances, and thus are more certain to be thrown out of their +true positions than if no principle of arrangement were attempted. In one part +of the procession we see men of landed estate or moneyed capital gravely +keeping each other company, for the preposterous reason that they chance to +have a similar standing in the tax-gatherer’s book. Trades and professions +march together with scarcely a more real bond of union. In this manner, it +cannot be denied, people are disentangled from the mass and separated into +various classes according to certain apparent relations; all have some +artificial badge which the world, and themselves among the first, learn to +consider as a genuine characteristic. Fixing our attention on such outside +shows of similarity or difference, we lose sight of those realities by which +nature, fortune, fate, or Providence has constituted for every man a +brotherhood, wherein it is one great office of human wisdom to classify him. +When the mind has once accustomed itself to a proper arrangement of the +Procession of Life, or a true classification of society, even though merely +speculative, there is thenceforth a satisfaction which pretty well suffices for +itself without the aid of any actual reformation in the order of march. +</p> + +<p> +For instance, assuming to myself the power of marshalling the aforesaid +procession, I direct a trumpeter to send forth a blast loud enough to be heard +from hence to China; and a herald, with world-pervading voice, to make +proclamation for a certain class of mortals to take their places. What shall be +their principle of union? After all, an external one, in comparison with many +that might be found, yet far more real than those which the world has selected +for a similar purpose. Let all who are afflicted with like physical diseases +form themselves into ranks. +</p> + +<p> +Our first attempt at classification is not very successful. It may gratify the +pride of aristocracy to reflect that disease, more than any other circumstance +of human life, pays due observance to the distinctions which rank and wealth, +and poverty and lowliness, have established among mankind. Some maladies are +rich and precious, and only to be acquired by the right of inheritance or +purchased with gold. Of this kind is the gout, which serves as a bond of +brotherhood to the purple-visaged gentry, who obey the herald’s voice, and +painfully hobble from all civilized regions of the globe to take their post in +the grand procession. In mercy to their toes, let us hope that the march may +not be long. The Dyspeptics, too, are people of good standing in the world. For +them the earliest salmon is caught in our eastern rivers, and the shy woodcock +stains the dry leaves with his blood in his remotest haunts, and the turtle +comes from the far Pacific Islands to be gobbled up in soup. They can afford to +flavor all their dishes with indolence, which, in spite of the general opinion, +is a sauce more exquisitely piquant than appetite won by exercise. Apoplexy is +another highly respectable disease. We will rank together all who have the +symptom of dizziness in the brain, and as fast as any drop by the way supply +their places with new members of the board of aldermen. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, here come whole tribes of people whose physical lives are +but a deteriorated variety of life, and themselves a meaner species of mankind; +so sad an effect has been wrought by the tainted breath of cities, scanty and +unwholesome food, destructive modes of labor, and the lack of those moral +supports that might partially have counteracted such bad influences. Behold +here a train of house painters, all afflicted with a peculiar sort of colic. +Next in place we will marshal those workmen in cutlery, who have breathed a +fatal disorder into their lungs with the impalpable dust of steel. Tailors and +shoemakers, being sedentary men, will chiefly congregate into one part of the +procession and march under similar banners of disease; but among them we may +observe here and there a sickly student, who has left his health between the +leaves of classic volumes; and clerks, likewise, who have caught their deaths +on high official stools; and men of genius too, who have written sheet after +sheet with pens dipped in their heart’s blood. These are a wretched quaking, +short-breathed set. But what is this cloud of pale-cheeked, slender girls, who +disturb the ear with the multiplicity of their short, dry coughs? They are +seamstresses, who have plied the daily and nightly needle in the service of +master tailors and close-fisted contractors, until now it is almost time for +each to hem the borders of her own shroud. Consumption points their place in +the procession. With their sad sisterhood are intermingled many youthful +maidens who have sickened in aristocratic mansions, and for whose aid science +has unavailingly searched its volumes, and whom breathless love has watched. In +our ranks the rich maiden and the poor seamstress may walk arm in arm. We might +find innumerable other instances, where the bond of mutual disease—not to +speak of nation-sweeping pestilence—embraces high and low, and makes the +king a brother of the clown. But it is not hard to own that disease is the +natural aristocrat. Let him keep his state, and have his established orders of +rank, and wear his royal mantle of the color of a fever flush and let the noble +and wealthy boast their own physical infirmities, and display their symptoms as +the badges of high station. All things considered, these are as proper subjects +of human pride as any relations of human rank that men can fix upon. +</p> + +<p> +Sound again, thou deep-breathed trumpeter! and herald, with thy voice of might, +shout forth another summons that shall reach the old baronial castles of +Europe, and the rudest cabin of our western wilderness! What class is next to +take its place in the procession of mortal life? Let it be those whom the gifts +of intellect have united in a noble brotherhood. +</p> + +<p> +Ay, this is a reality, before which the conventional distinctions of society +melt away like a vapor when we would grasp it with the hand. Were Byron now +alive, and Burns, the first would come from his ancestral abbey, flinging +aside, although unwillingly, the inherited honors of a thousand years, to take +the arm of the mighty peasant who grew immortal while he stooped behind his +plough. These are gone; but the hall, the farmer’s fireside, the hut, perhaps +the palace, the counting-room, the workshop, the village, the city, life’s high +places and low ones, may all produce their poets, whom a common temperament +pervades like an electric sympathy. Peer or ploughman, we will muster them pair +by pair and shoulder to shoulder. Even society, in its most artificial state, +consents to this arrangement. These factory girls from Lowell shall mate +themselves with the pride of drawing-rooms and literary circles, the bluebells +in fashion’s nosegay, the Sapphos, and Montagues, and Nortons of the age. Other +modes of intellect bring together as strange companies. Silk-gowned professor +of languages, give your arm to this sturdy blacksmith, and deem yourself +honored by the conjunction, though you behold him grimy from the anvil. All +varieties of human speech are like his mother tongue to this rare man. +Indiscriminately let those take their places, of whatever rank they come, who +possess the kingly gifts to lead armies or to sway a people—Nature’s +generals, her lawgivers, her kings, and with them also the deep philosophers +who think the thought in one generation that is to revolutionize society in the +next. With the hereditary legislator in whom eloquence is a far-descended +attainment—a rich echo repeated by powerful voices from Cicero +downward—we will match some wondrous backwoodsman, who has caught a wild +power of language from the breeze among his native forest boughs. But we may +safely leave these brethren and sisterhood to settle their own congenialities. +Our ordinary distinctions become so trifling, so impalpable, so ridiculously +visionary, in comparison with a classification founded on truth, that all talk +about the matter is immediately a common place. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the longer I reflect the less am I satisfied with the idea of forming a +separate class of mankind on the basis of high intellectual power. At best it +is but a higher development of innate gifts common to all. Perhaps, moreover, +he whose genius appears deepest and truest excels his fellows in nothing save +the knack of expression; he throws out occasionally a lucky hint at truths of +which every human soul is profoundly, though unutterably, conscious. Therefore, +though we suffer the brotherhood of intellect to march onward together, it may +be doubted whether their peculiar relation will not begin to vanish as soon as +the procession shall have passed beyond the circle of this present world. But +we do not classify for eternity. +</p> + +<p> +And next, let the trumpet pour forth a funereal wail, and the herald’s voice +give breath in one vast cry to all the groans and grievous utterances that are +audible throughout the earth. We appeal now to the sacred bond of sorrow, and +summon the great multitude who labor under similar afflictions to take their +places in the march. +</p> + +<p> +How many a heart that would have been insensible to any other call has +responded to the doleful accents of that voice! It has gone far and wide, and +high and low, and left scarcely a mortal roof unvisited. Indeed, the principle +is only too universal for our purpose, and, unless we limit it, will quite +break up our classification of mankind, and convert the whole procession into a +funeral train. We will therefore be at some pains to discriminate. Here comes a +lonely rich man: he has built a noble fabric for his dwelling-house, with a +front of stately architecture and marble floors and doors of precious woods; +the whole structure is as beautiful as a dream and as substantial as the native +rock. But the visionary shapes of a long posterity, for whose home this mansion +was intended, have faded into nothingness since the death of the founder’s only +son. The rich man gives a glance at his sable garb in one of the splendid +mirrors of his drawing-room, and descending a flight of lofty steps +instinctively offers his arm to yonder poverty stricken widow in the rusty +black bonnet, and with a check apron over her patched gown. The sailor boy, who +was her sole earthly stay, was washed overboard in a late tempest. This couple +from the palace and the almshouse are but the types of thousands more who +represent the dark tragedy of life and seldom quarrel for the upper parts. +Grief is such a leveller, with its own dignity and its own humility, that the +noble and the peasant, the beggar and the monarch, will waive their pretensions +to external rank without the officiousness of interference on our part. If +pride—the influence of the world’s false distinctions—remain in the +heart, then sorrow lacks the earnestness which makes it holy and reverend. It +loses its reality and becomes a miserable shadow. On this ground we have an +opportunity to assign over multitudes who would willingly claim places here to +other parts of the procession. If the mourner have anything dearer than his +grief he must seek his true position elsewhere. There are so many unsubstantial +sorrows which the necessity of our mortal state begets on idleness, that an +observer, casting aside sentiment, is sometimes led to question whether there +be any real woe, except absolute physical suffering and the loss of closest +friends. A crowd who exhibit what they deem to be broken hearts—and among +them many lovelorn maids and bachelors, and men of disappointed ambition in +arts or politics, and the poor who were once rich, or who have sought to be +rich in vain—the great majority of these may ask admittance into some +other fraternity. There is no room here. Perhaps we may institute a separate +class where such unfortunates will naturally fall into the procession. +Meanwhile let them stand aside and patiently await their time. +</p> + +<p> +If our trumpeter can borrow a note from the doomsday trumpet blast, let him +sound it now. The dread alarum should make the earth quake to its centre, for +the herald is about to address mankind with a summons to which even the purest +mortal may be sensible of some faint responding echo in his breast. In many +bosoms it will awaken a still small voice more terrible than its own +reverberating uproar. +</p> + +<p> +The hideous appeal has swept around the globe. Come, all ye guilty ones, and +rank yourselves in accordance with the brotherhood of crime. This, indeed, is +an awful summons. I almost tremble to look at the strange partnerships that +begin to be formed, reluctantly, but by the invincible necessity of like to +like in this part of the procession. A forger from the state prison seizes the +arm of a distinguished financier. How indignantly does the latter plead his +fair reputation upon ’Change, and insist that his operations, by their +magnificence of scope, were removed into quite another sphere of morality than +those of his pitiful companion! But let him cut the connection if he can. Here +comes a murderer with his clanking chains, and pairs himself—horrible to +tell—with as pure and upright a man, in all observable respects, as ever +partook of the consecrated bread and wine. He is one of those, perchance the +most hopeless of all sinners, who practise such an exemplary system of outward +duties, that even a deadly crime may be hidden from their own sight and +remembrance, under this unreal frostwork. Yet he now finds his place. Why do +that pair of flaunting girls, with the pert, affected laugh and the sly leer at +the by-standers, intrude themselves into the same rank with yonder decorous +matron, and that somewhat prudish maiden? Surely these poor creatures, born to +vice as their sole and natural inheritance, can be no fit associates for women +who have been guarded round about by all the proprieties of domestic life, and +who could not err unless they first created the opportunity. Oh no; it must be +merely the impertinence of those unblushing hussies; and we can only wonder how +such respectable ladies should have responded to a summons that was not meant +for them. +</p> + +<p> +We shall make short work of this miserable class, each member of which is +entitled to grasp any other member’s hand, by that vile degradation wherein +guilty error has buried all alike. The foul fiend to whom it properly belongs +must relieve us of our loathsome task. Let the bond servants of sin pass on. +But neither man nor woman, in whom good predominates, will smile or sneer, nor +bid the Rogues’ March be played, in derision of their array. Feeling within +their breasts a shuddering sympathy, which at least gives token of the sin that +might have been, they will thank God for any place in the grand procession of +human existence, save among those most wretched ones. Many, however, will be +astonished at the fatal impulse that drags them thitherward. Nothing is more +remarkable than the various deceptions by which guilt conceals itself from the +perpetrator’s conscience, and oftenest, perhaps, by the splendor of its +garments. Statesmen, rulers, generals, and all men who act over an extensive +sphere, are most liable to be deluded in this way; they commit wrong, +devastation, and murder, on so grand a scale, that it impresses them as +speculative rather than actual; but in our procession we find them linked in +detestable conjunction with the meanest criminals whose deeds have the +vulgarity of petty details. Here the effect of circumstance and accident is +done away, and a man finds his rank according to the spirit of his crime, in +whatever shape it may have been developed. +</p> + +<p> +We have called the Evil; now let us call the Good. The trumpet’s brazen throat +should pour heavenly music over the earth, and the herald’s voice go forth with +the sweetness of an angel’s accents, as if to summon each upright man to his +reward. But how is this? Does none answer to the call? Not one: for the just, +the pure, the true, and all who might most worthily obey it, shrink sadly back, +as most conscious of error and imperfection. Then let the summons be to those +whose pervading principle is Love. This classification will embrace all the +truly good, and none in whose souls there exists not something that may expand +itself into a heaven, both of well-doing and felicity. +</p> + +<p> +The first that presents himself is a man of wealth, who has bequeathed the bulk +of his property to a hospital; his ghost, methinks, would have a better right +here than his living body. But here they come, the genuine benefactors of their +race. Some have wandered about the earth with pictures of bliss in their +imagination, and with hearts that shrank sensitively from the idea of pain and +woe, yet have studied all varieties of misery that human nature can endure. The +prison, the insane asylum, the squalid chamber of the almshouse, the +manufactory where the demon of machinery annihilates the human soul, and the +cotton field where God’s image becomes a beast of burden; to these and every +other scene where man wrongs or neglects his brother, the apostles of humanity +have penetrated. This missionary, black with India’s burning sunshine, shall +give his arm to a pale-faced brother who has made himself familiar with the +infected alleys and loathsome haunts of vice in one of our own cities. The +generous founder of a college shall be the partner of a maiden lady of narrow +substance, one of whose good deeds it has been to gather a little school of +orphan children. If the mighty merchant whose benefactions are reckoned by +thousands of dollars deem himself worthy, let him join the procession with her +whose love has proved itself by watchings at the sick-bed, and all those lowly +offices which bring her into actual contact with disease and wretchedness. And +with those whose impulses have guided them to benevolent actions, we will rank +others to whom Providence has assigned a different tendency and different +powers. Men who have spent their lives in generous and holy contemplation for +the human race; those who, by a certain heavenliness of spirit, have purified +the atmosphere around them, and thus supplied a medium in which good and high +things may be projected and performed—give to these a lofty place among +the benefactors of mankind, although no deed, such as the world calls deeds, +may be recorded of them. There are some individuals of whom we cannot conceive +it proper that they should apply their hands to any earthly instrument, or work +out any definite act; and others, perhaps not less high, to whom it is an +essential attribute to labor in body as well as spirit for the welfare of their +brethren. Thus, if we find a spiritual sage whose unseen, inestimable influence +has exalted the moral standard of mankind, we will choose for his companion +some poor laborer who has wrought for love in the potato field of a neighbor +poorer than himself. +</p> + +<p> +We have summoned this various multitude—and, to the credit of our nature, +it is a large one—on the principle of Love. It is singular, nevertheless, +to remark the shyness that exists among many members of the present class, all +of whom we might expect to recognize one another by the freemasonry of mutual +goodness, and to embrace like brethren, giving God thanks for such various +specimens of human excellence. But it is far otherwise. Each sect surrounds its +own righteousness with a hedge of thorns. It is difficult for the good +Christian to acknowledge the good Pagan; almost impossible for the good +Orthodox to grasp the hand of the good Unitarian, leaving to their Creator to +settle the matters in dispute, and giving their mutual efforts strongly and +trustingly to whatever right thing is too evident to be mistaken. Then again, +though the heart be large, yet the mind is often of such moderate dimensions as +to be exclusively filled up with one idea. When a good man has long devoted +himself to a particular kind of beneficence—to one species of +reform—he is apt to become narrowed into the limits of the path wherein +he treads, and to fancy that there is no other good to be done on earth but +that self-same good to which he has put his hand, and in the very mode that +best suits his own conceptions. All else is worthless. His scheme must be +wrought out by the united strength of the whole world’s stock of love, or the +world is no longer worthy of a position in the universe. Moreover, powerful +Truth, being the rich grape juice expressed from the vineyard of the ages, has +an intoxicating quality, when imbibed by any save a powerful intellect, and +often, as it were, impels the quaffer to quarrel in his cups. For such reasons, +strange to say, it is harder to contrive a friendly arrangement of these +brethren of love and righteousness, in the procession of life, than to unite +even the wicked, who, indeed, are chained together by their crimes. The fact is +too preposterous for tears, too lugubrious for laughter. +</p> + +<p> +But, let good men push and elbow one another as they may during their earthly +march, all will be peace among them when the honorable array of their +procession shall tread on heavenly ground. There they will doubtless find that +they have been working each for the other’s cause, and that every +well-delivered stroke, which, with an honest purpose any mortal struck, even +for a narrow object, was indeed stricken for the universal cause of good. Their +own view may be bounded by country, creed, profession, the diversities of +individual character—but above them all is the breadth of Providence. How +many who have deemed themselves antagonists will smile hereafter, when they +look back upon the world’s wide harvest field, and perceive that, in +unconscious brotherhood, they were helping to bind the selfsame sheaf! +</p> + +<p> +But, come! The sun is hastening westward, while the march of human life, that +never paused before, is delayed by our attempt to rearrange its order. It is +desirable to find some comprehensive principle, that shall render our task +easier by bringing thousands into the ranks where hitherto we have brought one. +Therefore let the trumpet, if possible, split its brazen throat with a louder +note than ever, and the herald summon all mortals, who, from whatever cause, +have lost, or never found, their proper places in the wold. +</p> + +<p> +Obedient to this call, a great multitude come together, most of them with a +listless gait, betokening weariness of soul, yet with a gleam of satisfaction +in their faces, at a prospect of at length reaching those positions which, +hitherto, they have vainly sought. But here will be another disappointment; for +we can attempt no more than merely to associate in one fraternity all who are +afflicted with the same vague trouble. Some great mistake in life is the chief +condition of admittance into this class. Here are members of the learned +professions, whom Providence endowed with special gifts for the plough, the +forge, and the wheelbarrow, or for the routine of unintellectual business. We +will assign to them, as partners in the march, those lowly laborers and +handicraftsmen, who have pined, as with a dying thirst, after the unattainable +fountains of knowledge. The latter have lost less than their companions; yet +more, because they deem it infinite. Perchance the two species of unfortunates +may comfort one another. Here are Quakers with the instinct of battle in them; +and men of war who should have worn the broad brim. Authors shall be ranked +here whom some freak of Nature, making game of her poor children, had imbued +with the confidence of genius and strong desire of fame, but has favored with +no corresponding power; and others, whose lofty gifts were unaccompanied with +the faculty of expression, or any of that earthly machinery by which ethereal +endowments must be manifested to mankind. All these, therefore, are melancholy +laughing-stocks. Next, here are honest and well intentioned persons, who by a +want of tact—by inaccurate perceptions—by a distorting +imagination—have been kept continually at cross purposes with the world +and bewildered upon the path of life. Let us see if they can confine themselves +within the line of our procession. In this class, likewise, we must assign +places to those who have encountered that worst of ill success, a higher +fortune than their abilities could vindicate; writers, actors, painters, the +pets of a day, but whose laurels wither unrenewed amid their hoary hair; +politicians, whom some malicious contingency of affairs has thrust into +conspicuous station, where, while the world stands gazing at them, the dreary +consciousness of imbecility makes them curse their birth hour. To such men, we +give for a companion him whose rare talents, which perhaps require a Revolution +for their exercise, are buried in the tomb of sluggish circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Not far from these, we must find room for one whose success has been of the +wrong kind; the man who should have lingered in the cloisters of a university, +digging new treasures out of the Herculaneum of antique lore, diffusing depth +and accuracy of literature throughout his country, and thus making for himself +a great and quiet fame. But the outward tendencies around him have proved too +powerful for his inward nature, and have drawn him into the arena of political +tumult, there to contend at disadvantage, whether front to front, or side by +side, with the brawny giants of actual life. He becomes, it may be, a name for +brawling parties to bandy to and fro, a legislator of the Union; a governor of +his native state; an ambassador to the courts of kings or queens; and the world +may deem him a man of happy stars. But not so the wise; and not so himself, +when he looks through his experience, and sighs to miss that fitness, the one +invaluable touch which makes all things true and real. So much achieved, yet +how abortive is his life! Whom shall we choose for his companion? Some weak +framed blacksmith, perhaps, whose delicacy of muscle might have suited a +tailor’s shopboard better than the anvil. +</p> + +<p> +Shall we bid the trumpet sound again? It is hardly worth the while. There +remain a few idle men of fortune, tavern and grog-shop loungers, lazzaroni, old +bachelors, decaying maidens, and people of crooked intellect or temper, all of +whom may find their like, or some tolerable approach to it, in the plentiful +diversity of our latter class. There too, as his ultimate destiny, must we rank +the dreamer, who, all his life long, has cherished the idea that he was +peculiarly apt for something, but never could determine what it was; and there +the most unfortunate of men, whose purpose it has been to enjoy life’s +pleasures, but to avoid a manful struggle with its toil and sorrow. The +remainder, if any, may connect themselves with whatever rank of the procession +they shall find best adapted to their tastes and consciences. The worst +possible fate would be to remain behind, shivering in the solitude of time, +while all the world is on the move towards eternity. Our attempt to classify +society is now complete. The result may be anything but perfect; yet +better—to give it the very lowest praise—than the antique rule of +the herald’s office, or the modern one of the tax-gatherer, whereby the +accidents and superficial attributes with which the real nature of individuals +has least to do, are acted upon as the deepest characteristics of mankind. Our +task is done! Now let the grand procession move! +</p> + +<p> +Yet pause a while! We had forgotten the Chief Marshal. +</p> + +<p> +Hark! That world-wide swell of solemn music, with the clang of a mighty bell +breaking forth through its regulated uproar, announces his approach. He comes; +a severe, sedate, immovable, dark rider, waving his truncheon of universal +sway, as he passes along the lengthened line, on the pale horse of the +Revelation. It is Death! Who else could assume the guidance of a procession +that comprehends all humanity? And if some, among these many millions, should +deem themselves classed amiss, yet let them take to their hearts the +comfortable truth that Death levels us all into one great brotherhood, and that +another state of being will surely rectify the wrong of this. Then breathe thy +wail upon the earth’s wailing wind, thou band of melancholy music, made up of +every sigh that the human heart, unsatisfied, has uttered! There is yet triumph +in thy tones. And now we move! Beggars in their rags, and Kings trailing the +regal purple in the dust; the Warrior’s gleaming helmet; the Priest in his +sable robe; the hoary Grandsire, who has run life’s circle and come back to +childhood; the ruddy School-boy with his golden curls, frisking along the +march; the Artisan’s stuff jacket; the Noble’s star-decorated coat;—the +whole presenting a motley spectacle, yet with a dusky grandeur brooding over +it. Onward, onward, into that dimness where the lights of Time which have +blazed along the procession, are flickering in their sockets! And whither! We +know not; and Death, hitherto our leader, deserts us by the wayside, as the +tramp of our innumerable footsteps echoes beyond his sphere. He knows not, more +than we, our destined goal. But God, who made us, knows, and will not leave us +on our toilsome and doubtful march, either to wander in infinite uncertainty, +or perish by the way! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a> +FEATHERTOP: A MORALIZED LEGEND</h2> + +<p> +“Dickon,” cried Mother Rigby, “a coal for my pipe!” +</p> + +<p> +The pipe was in the old dame’s mouth when she said these words. She had thrust +it there after filling it with tobacco, but without stooping to light it at the +hearth, where indeed there was no appearance of a fire having been kindled that +morning. Forthwith, however, as soon as the order was given, there was an +intense red glow out of the bowl of the pipe, and a whiff of smoke came from +Mother Rigby’s lips. Whence the coal came, and how brought thither by an +invisible hand, I have never been able to discover. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” quoth Mother Rigby, with a nod of her head. “Thank ye, Dickon! And now +for making this scarecrow. Be within call, Dickon, in case I need you again.” +</p> + +<p> +The good woman had risen thus early (for as yet it was scarcely sunrise) in +order to set about making a scarecrow, which she intended to put in the middle +of her corn-patch. It was now the latter week of May, and the crows and +blackbirds had already discovered the little, green, rolledup leaf of the +Indian corn just peeping out of the soil. She was determined, therefore, to +contrive as lifelike a scarecrow as ever was seen, and to finish it +immediately, from top to toe, so that it should begin its sentinel’s duty that +very morning. Now Mother Rigby (as everybody must have heard) was one of the +most cunning and potent witches in New England, and might, with very little +trouble, have made a scarecrow ugly enough to frighten the minister himself. +But on this occasion, as she had awakened in an uncommonly pleasant humor, and +was further dulcified by her pipe tobacco, she resolved to produce something +fine, beautiful, and splendid, rather than hideous and horrible. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to set up a hobgoblin in my own corn-patch, and almost at my own +doorstep,” said Mother Rigby to herself, puffing out a whiff of smoke; “I could +do it if I pleased, but I’m tired of doing marvellous things, and so I’ll keep +within the bounds of every-day business just for variety’s sake. Besides, there +is no use in scaring the little children for a mile roundabout, though ’tis +true I’m a witch.” +</p> + +<p> +It was settled, therefore, in her own mind, that the scarecrow should represent +a fine gentleman of the period, so far as the materials at hand would allow. +Perhaps it may be as well to enumerate the chief of the articles that went to +the composition of this figure. +</p> + +<p> +The most important item of all, probably, although it made so little show, was +a certain broomstick, on which Mother Rigby had taken many an airy gallop at +midnight, and which now served the scarecrow by way of a spinal column, or, as +the unlearned phrase it, a backbone. One of its arms was a disabled flail which +used to be wielded by Goodman Rigby, before his spouse worried him out of this +troublesome world; the other, if I mistake not, was composed of the pudding +stick and a broken rung of a chair, tied loosely together at the elbow. As for +its legs, the right was a hoe handle, and the left an undistinguished and +miscellaneous stick from the woodpile. Its lungs, stomach, and other affairs of +that kind were nothing better than a meal bag stuffed with straw. Thus we have +made out the skeleton and entire corporosity of the scarecrow, with the +exception of its head; and this was admirably supplied by a somewhat withered +and shrivelled pumpkin, in which Mother Rigby cut two holes for the eyes and a +slit for the mouth, leaving a bluish-colored knob in the middle to pass for a +nose. It was really quite a respectable face. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen worse ones on human shoulders, at any rate,” said Mother Rigby. “And +many a fine gentleman has a pumpkin head, as well as my scarecrow.” +</p> + +<p> +But the clothes, in this case, were to be the making of the man. So the good +old woman took down from a peg an ancient plum-colored coat of London make, and +with relics of embroidery on its seams, cuffs, pocket-flaps, and button-holes, +but lamentably worn and faded, patched at the elbows, tattered at the skirts, +and threadbare all over. On the left breast was a round hole, whence either a +star of nobility had been rent away, or else the hot heart of some former +wearer had scorched it through and through. The neighbors said that this rich +garment belonged to the Black Man’s wardrobe, and that he kept it at Mother +Rigby’s cottage for the convenience of slipping it on whenever he wished to +make a grand appearance at the governor’s table. To match the coat there was a +velvet waistcoat of very ample size, and formerly embroidered with foliage that +had been as brightly golden as the maple leaves in October, but which had now +quite vanished out of the substance of the velvet. Next came a pair of scarlet +breeches, once worn by the French governor of Louisbourg, and the knees of +which had touched the lower step of the throne of Louis le Grand. The Frenchman +had given these small-clothes to an Indian powwow, who parted with them to the +old witch for a gill of strong waters, at one of their dances in the forest. +Furthermore, Mother Rigby produced a pair of silk stockings and put them on the +figure’s legs, where they showed as unsubstantial as a dream, with the wooden +reality of the two sticks making itself miserably apparent through the holes. +Lastly, she put her dead husband’s wig on the bare scalp of the pumpkin, and +surmounted the whole with a dusty three-cornered hat, in which was stuck the +longest tail feather of a rooster. +</p> + +<p> +Then the old dame stood the figure up in a corner of her cottage and chuckled +to behold its yellow semblance of a visage, with its nobby little nose thrust +into the air. It had a strangely self-satisfied aspect, and seemed to say, +“Come look at me!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you are well worth looking at, that’s a fact!” quoth Mother Rigby, in +admiration at her own handiwork. “I’ve made many a puppet since I’ve been a +witch, but methinks this is the finest of them all. ’Tis almost too good for a +scarecrow. And, by the by, I’ll just fill a fresh pipe of tobacco and then take +him out to the corn-patch.” +</p> + +<p> +While filling her pipe the old woman continued to gaze with almost motherly +affection at the figure in the corner. To say the truth, whether it were +chance, or skill, or downright witchcraft, there was something wonderfully +human in this ridiculous shape, bedizened with its tattered finery; and as for +the countenance, it appeared to shrivel its yellow surface into a grin—a +funny kind of expression betwixt scorn and merriment, as if it understood +itself to be a jest at mankind. The more Mother Rigby looked the better she was +pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“Dickon,” cried she sharply, “another coal for my pipe!” +</p> + +<p> +Hardly had she spoken, than, just as before, there was a red-glowing coal on +the top of the tobacco. She drew in a long whiff and puffed it forth again into +the bar of morning sunshine which struggled through the one dusty pane of her +cottage window. Mother Rigby always liked to flavor her pipe with a coal of +fire from the particular chimney corner whence this had been brought. But where +that chimney corner might be, or who brought the coal from it,—further +than that the invisible messenger seemed to respond to the name of +Dickon,—I cannot tell. +</p> + +<p> +“That puppet yonder,” thought Mother Rigby, still with her eyes fixed on the +scarecrow, “is too good a piece of work to stand all summer in a corn-patch, +frightening away the crows and blackbirds. He’s capable of better things. Why, +I’ve danced with a worse one, when partners happened to be scarce, at our witch +meetings in the forest! What if I should let him take his chance among the +other men of straw and empty fellows who go bustling about the world?” +</p> + +<p> +The old witch took three or four more whiffs of her pipe and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll meet plenty of his brethren at every street corner!” continued she. +“Well; I didn’t mean to dabble in witchcraft to-day, further than the lighting +of my pipe, but a witch I am, and a witch I’m likely to be, and there’s no use +trying to shirk it. I’ll make a man of my scarecrow, were it only for the +joke’s sake!” +</p> + +<p> +While muttering these words, Mother Rigby took the pipe from her own mouth and +thrust it into the crevice which represented the same feature in the pumpkin +visage of the scarecrow. +</p> + +<p> +“Puff, darling, puff!” said she. “Puff away, my fine fellow! your life depends +on it!” +</p> + +<p> +This was a strange exhortation, undoubtedly, to be addressed to a mere thing of +sticks, straw, and old clothes, with nothing better than a shrivelled pumpkin +for a head,—as we know to have been the scarecrow’s case. Nevertheless, +as we must carefully hold in remembrance, Mother Rigby was a witch of singular +power and dexterity; and, keeping this fact duly before our minds, we shall see +nothing beyond credibility in the remarkable incidents of our story. Indeed, +the great difficulty will be at once got over, if we can only bring ourselves +to believe that, as soon as the old dame bade him puff, there came a whiff of +smoke from the scarecrow’s mouth. It was the very feeblest of whiffs, to be +sure; but it was followed by another and another, each more decided than the +preceding one. +</p> + +<p> +“Puff away, my pet! puff away, my pretty one!” Mother Rigby kept repeating, +with her pleasantest smile. “It is the breath of life to ye; and that you may +take my word for.” +</p> + +<p> +Beyond all question the pipe was bewitched. There must have been a spell either +in the tobacco or in the fiercely-glowing coal that so mysteriously burned on +top of it, or in the pungently-aromatic smoke which exhaled from the kindled +weed. The figure, after a few doubtful attempts at length blew forth a volley +of smoke extending all the way from the obscure corner into the bar of +sunshine. There it eddied and melted away among the motes of dust. It seemed a +convulsive effort; for the two or three next whiffs were fainter, although the +coal still glowed and threw a gleam over the scarecrow’s visage. The old witch +clapped her skinny hands together, and smiled encouragingly upon her handiwork. +She saw that the charm worked well. The shrivelled, yellow face, which +heretofore had been no face at all, had already a thin, fantastic haze, as it +were of human likeness, shifting to and fro across it; sometimes vanishing +entirely, but growing more perceptible than ever with the next whiff from the +pipe. The whole figure, in like manner, assumed a show of life, such as we +impart to ill-defined shapes among the clouds, and half deceive ourselves with +the pastime of our own fancy. +</p> + +<p> +If we must needs pry closely into the matter, it may be doubted whether there +was any real change, after all, in the sordid, wornout worthless, and +ill-jointed substance of the scarecrow; but merely a spectral illusion, and a +cunning effect of light and shade so colored and contrived as to delude the +eyes of most men. The miracles of witchcraft seem always to have had a very +shallow subtlety; and, at least, if the above explanation do not hit the truth +of the process, I can suggest no better. +</p> + +<p> +“Well puffed, my pretty lad!” still cried old Mother Rigby. “Come, another good +stout whiff, and let it be with might and main. Puff for thy life, I tell thee! +Puff out of the very bottom of thy heart, if any heart thou hast, or any bottom +to it! Well done, again! Thou didst suck in that mouthful as if for the pure +love of it.” +</p> + +<p> +And then the witch beckoned to the scarecrow, throwing so much magnetic potency +into her gesture that it seemed as if it must inevitably be obeyed, like the +mystic call of the loadstone when it summons the iron. +</p> + +<p> +“Why lurkest thou in the corner, lazy one?” said she. “Step forth! Thou hast +the world before thee!” +</p> + +<p> +Upon my word, if the legend were not one which I heard on my grandmother’s +knee, and which had established its place among things credible before my +childish judgment could analyze its probability, I question whether I should +have the face to tell it now. +</p> + +<p> +In obedience to Mother Rigby’s word, and extending its arm as if to reach her +outstretched hand, the figure made a step forward—a kind of hitch and +jerk, however, rather than a step—then tottered and almost lost its +balance. What could the witch expect? It was nothing, after all, but a +scarecrow stuck upon two sticks. But the strong-willed old beldam scowled, and +beckoned, and flung the energy of her purpose so forcibly at this poor +combination of rotten wood, and musty straw, and ragged garments, that it was +compelled to show itself a man, in spite of the reality of things. So it +stepped into the bar of sunshine. There it stood, poor devil of a contrivance +that it was!—with only the thinnest vesture of human similitude about it, +through which was evident the stiff, rickety, incongruous, faded, tattered, +good-for-nothing patchwork of its substance, ready to sink in a heap upon the +floor, as conscious of its own unworthiness to be erect. Shall I confess the +truth? At its present point of vivification, the scarecrow reminds me of some +of the lukewarm and abortive characters, composed of heterogeneous materials, +used for the thousandth time, and never worth using, with which romance writers +(and myself, no doubt, among the rest) have so overpeopled the world of +fiction. +</p> + +<p> +But the fierce old hag began to get angry and show a glimpse of her diabolic +nature (like a snake’s head, peeping with a hiss out of her bosom), at this +pusillanimous behavior of the thing which she had taken the trouble to put +together. +</p> + +<p> +“Puff away, wretch!” cried she, wrathfully. “Puff, puff, puff, thou thing of +straw and emptiness! thou rag or two! thou meal bag! thou pumpkin head! thou +nothing! Where shall I find a name vile enough to call thee by? Puff, I say, +and suck in thy fantastic life with the smoke! else I snatch the pipe from thy +mouth and hurl thee where that red coal came from.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus threatened, the unhappy scarecrow had nothing for it but to puff away for +dear life. As need was, therefore, it applied itself lustily to the pipe, and +sent forth such abundant volleys of tobacco smoke that the small cottage +kitchen became all vaporous. The one sunbeam struggled mistily through, and +could but imperfectly define the image of the cracked and dusty window pane on +the opposite wall. Mother Rigby, meanwhile, with one brown arm akimbo and the +other stretched towards the figure, loomed grimly amid the obscurity with such +port and expression as when she was wont to heave a ponderous nightmare on her +victims and stand at the bedside to enjoy their agony. In fear and trembling +did this poor scarecrow puff. But its efforts, it must be acknowledged, served +an excellent purpose; for, with each successive whiff, the figure lost more and +more of its dizzy and perplexing tenuity and seemed to take denser substance. +Its very garments, moreover, partook of the magical change, and shone with the +gloss of novelty and glistened with the skilfully embroidered gold that had +long ago been rent away. And, half revealed among the smoke, a yellow visage +bent its lustreless eyes on Mother Rigby. +</p> + +<p> +At last the old witch clinched her fist and shook it at the figure. Not that +she was positively angry, but merely acting on the principle—perhaps +untrue, or not the only truth, though as high a one as Mother Rigby could be +expected to attain—that feeble and torpid natures, being incapable of +better inspiration, must be stirred up by fear. But here was the crisis. Should +she fail in what she now sought to effect, it was her ruthless purpose to +scatter the miserable simulacre into its original elements. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hast a man’s aspect,” said she, sternly. “Have also the echo and mockery +of a voice! I bid thee speak!” +</p> + +<p> +The scarecrow gasped, struggled, and at length emitted a murmur, which was so +incorporated with its smoky breath that you could scarcely tell whether it were +indeed a voice or only a whiff of tobacco. Some narrators of this legend hold +the opinion that Mother Rigby’s conjurations and the fierceness of her will had +compelled a familiar spirit into the figure, and that the voice was his. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” mumbled the poor stifled voice, “be not so awful with me! I would +fain speak; but being without wits, what can I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou canst speak, darling, canst thou?” cried Mother Rigby, relaxing her grim +countenance into a smile. “And what shalt thou say, quoth-a! Say, indeed! Art +thou of the brotherhood of the empty skull, and demandest of me what thou shalt +say? Thou shalt say a thousand things, and saying them a thousand times over, +thou shalt still have said nothing! Be not afraid, I tell thee! When thou +comest into the world (whither I purpose sending thee forthwith) thou shalt not +lack the wherewithal to talk. Talk! Why, thou shall babble like a mill-stream, +if thou wilt. Thou hast brains enough for that, I trow!” +</p> + +<p> +“At your service, mother,” responded the figure. +</p> + +<p> +“And that was well said, my pretty one,” answered Mother Rigby. “Then thou +speakest like thyself, and meant nothing. Thou shalt have a hundred such set +phrases, and five hundred to the boot of them. And now, darling, I have taken +so much pains with thee and thou art so beautiful, that, by my troth, I love +thee better than any witch’s puppet in the world; and I’ve made them of all +sorts—clay, wax, straw, sticks, night fog, morning mist, sea foam, and +chimney smoke. But thou art the very best. So give heed to what I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, kind mother,” said the figure, “with all my heart!” +</p> + +<p> +“With all thy heart!” cried the old witch, setting her hands to her sides and +laughing loudly. “Thou hast such a pretty way of speaking. With all thy heart! +And thou didst put thy hand to the left side of thy waistcoat as if thou really +hadst one!” +</p> + +<p> +So now, in high good humor with this fantastic contrivance of hers, Mother +Rigby told the scarecrow that it must go and play its part in the great world, +where not one man in a hundred, she affirmed, was gifted with more real +substance than itself. And, that he might hold up his head with the best of +them, she endowed him, on the spot, with an unreckonable amount of wealth. It +consisted partly of a gold mine in Eldorado, and of ten thousand shares in a +broken bubble, and of half a million acres of vineyard at the North Pole, and +of a castle in the air, and a chateau in Spain, together with all the rents and +income therefrom accruing. She further made over to him the cargo of a certain +ship, laden with salt of Cadiz, which she herself, by her necromantic arts, had +caused to founder, ten years before, in the deepest part of mid-ocean. If the +salt were not dissolved, and could be brought to market, it would fetch a +pretty penny among the fishermen. That he might not lack ready money, she gave +him a copper farthing of Birmingham manufacture, being all the coin she had +about her, and likewise a great deal of brass, which she applied to his +forehead, thus making it yellower than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“With that brass alone,” quoth Mother Rigby, “thou canst pay thy way all over +the earth. Kiss me, pretty darling! I have done my best for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +Furthermore, that the adventurer might lack no possible advantage towards a +fair start in life, this excellent old dame gave him a token by which he was to +introduce himself to a certain magistrate, member of the council, merchant, and +elder of the church (the four capacities constituting but one man), who stood +at the head of society in the neighboring metropolis. The token was neither +more nor less than a single word, which Mother Rigby whispered to the +scarecrow, and which the scarecrow was to whisper to the merchant. +</p> + +<p> +“Gouty as the old fellow is, he’ll run thy errands for thee, when once thou +hast given him that word in his ear,” said the old witch. “Mother Rigby knows +the worshipful Justice Gookin, and the worshipful Justice knows Mother Rigby!” +</p> + +<p> +Here the witch thrust her wrinkled face close to the puppet’s, chuckling +irrepressibly, and fidgeting all through her system, with delight at the idea +which she meant to communicate. +</p> + +<p> +“The worshipful Master Gookin,” whispered she, “hath a comely maiden to his +daughter. And hark ye, my pet! Thou hast a fair outside, and a pretty wit +enough of thine own. Yea, a pretty wit enough! Thou wilt think better of it +when thou hast seen more of other people’s wits. Now, with thy outside and thy +inside, thou art the very man to win a young girl’s heart. Never doubt it! I +tell thee it shall be so. Put but a bold face on the matter, sigh, smile, +flourish thy hat, thrust forth thy leg like a dancing-master, put thy right +hand to the left side of thy waistcoat, and pretty Polly Gookin is thine own!” +</p> + +<p> +All this while the new creature had been sucking in and exhaling the vapory +fragrance of his pipe, and seemed now to continue this occupation as much for +the enjoyment it afforded as because it was an essential condition of his +existence. It was wonderful to see how exceedingly like a human being it +behaved. Its eyes (for it appeared to possess a pair) were bent on Mother +Rigby, and at suitable junctures it nodded or shook its head. Neither did it +lack words proper for the occasion: “Really! Indeed! Pray tell me! Is it +possible! Upon my word! By no means! Oh! Ah! Hem!” and other such weighty +utterances as imply attention, inquiry, acquiescence, or dissent on the part of +the auditor. Even had you stood by and seen the scarecrow made, you could +scarcely have resisted the conviction that it perfectly understood the cunning +counsels which the old witch poured into its counterfeit of an ear. The more +earnestly it applied its lips to the pipe, the more distinctly was its human +likeness stamped among visible realities, the more sagacious grew its +expression, the more lifelike its gestures and movements, and the more +intelligibly audible its voice. Its garments, too, glistened so much the +brighter with an illusory magnificence. The very pipe, in which burned the +spell of all this wonderwork, ceased to appear as a smoke-blackened earthen +stump, and became a meerschaum, with painted bowl and amber mouthpiece. +</p> + +<p> +It might be apprehended, however, that as the life of the illusion seemed +identical with the vapor of the pipe, it would terminate simultaneously with +the reduction of the tobacco to ashes. But the beldam foresaw the difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold thou the pipe, my precious one,” said she, “while I fill it for thee +again.” +</p> + +<p> +It was sorrowful to behold how the fine gentleman began to fade back into a +scarecrow while Mother Rigby shook the ashes out of the pipe and proceeded to +replenish it from her tobacco-box. +</p> + +<p> +“Dickon,” cried she, in her high, sharp tone, “another coal for this pipe!” +</p> + +<p> +No sooner said than the intensely red speck of fire was glowing within the +pipe-bowl; and the scarecrow, without waiting for the witch’s bidding, applied +the tube to his lips and drew in a few short, convulsive whiffs, which soon, +however, became regular and equable. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, mine own heart’s darling,” quoth Mother Rigby, “whatever may happen to +thee, thou must stick to thy pipe. Thy life is in it; and that, at least, thou +knowest well, if thou knowest nought besides. Stick to thy pipe, I say! Smoke, +puff, blow thy cloud; and tell the people, if any question be made, that it is +for thy health, and that so the physician orders thee to do. And, sweet one, +when thou shalt find thy pipe getting low, go apart into some corner, and +(first filling thyself with smoke) cry sharply, ‘Dickon, a fresh pipe of +tobacco!’ and, ‘Dickon, another coal for my pipe!’ and have it into thy pretty +mouth as speedily as may be. Else, instead of a gallant gentleman in a +gold-laced coat, thou wilt be but a jumble of sticks and tattered clothes, and +a bag of straw, and a withered pumpkin! Now depart, my treasure, and good luck +go with thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“Never fear, mother!” said the figure, in a stout voice, and sending forth a +courageous whiff of smoke, “I will thrive, if an honest man and a gentleman +may!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, thou wilt be the death of me!” cried the old witch, convulsed with +laughter. “That was well said. If an honest man and a gentleman may! Thou +playest thy part to perfection. Get along with thee for a smart fellow; and I +will wager on thy head, as a man of pith and substance, with a brain and what +they call a heart, and all else that a man should have, against any other thing +on two legs. I hold myself a better witch than yesterday, for thy sake. Did not +I make thee? And I defy any witch in New England to make such another! Here; +take my staff along with thee!” +</p> + +<p> +The staff, though it was but a plain oaken stick, immediately took the aspect +of a gold-headed cane. +</p> + +<p> +“That gold head has as much sense in it as thine own,” said Mother Rigby, “and +it will guide thee straight to worshipful Master Gookin’s door. Get thee gone, +my pretty pet, my darling, my precious one, my treasure; and if any ask thy +name, it is Feathertop. For thou hast a feather in thy hat, and I have thrust a +handful of feathers into the hollow of thy head, and thy wig, too, is of the +fashion they call Feathertop,—so be Feathertop thy name!” +</p> + +<p> +And, issuing from the cottage, Feathertop strode manfully towards town. Mother +Rigby stood at the threshold, well pleased to see how the sunbeams glistened on +him, as if all his magnificence were real, and how diligently and lovingly he +smoked his pipe, and how handsomely he walked, in spite of a little stiffness +of his legs. She watched him until out of sight, and threw a witch benediction +after her darling, when a turn of the road snatched him from her view. +</p> + +<p> +Betimes in the forenoon, when the principal street of the neighboring town was +just at its acme of life and bustle, a stranger of very distinguished figure +was seen on the sidewalk. His port as well as his garments betokened nothing +short of nobility. He wore a richly-embroidered plum-colored coat, a waistcoat +of costly velvet, magnificently adorned with golden foliage, a pair of splendid +scarlet breeches, and the finest and glossiest of white silk stockings. His +head was covered with a peruke, so daintily powdered and adjusted that it would +have been sacrilege to disorder it with a hat; which, therefore (and it was a +gold-laced hat, set off with a snowy feather), he carried beneath his arm. On +the breast of his coat glistened a star. He managed his gold-headed cane with +an airy grace, peculiar to the fine gentlemen of the period; and, to give the +highest possible finish to his equipment, he had lace ruffles at his wrist, of +a most ethereal delicacy, sufficiently avouching how idle and aristocratic must +be the hands which they half concealed. +</p> + +<p> +It was a remarkable point in the accoutrement of this brilliant personage that +he held in his left hand a fantastic kind of a pipe, with an exquisitely +painted bowl and an amber mouthpiece. This he applied to his lips as often as +every five or six paces, and inhaled a deep whiff of smoke, which, after being +retained a moment in his lungs, might be seen to eddy gracefully from his mouth +and nostrils. +</p> + +<p> +As may well be supposed, the street was all astir to find out the stranger’s +name. +</p> + +<p> +“It is some great nobleman, beyond question,” said one of the townspeople. “Do +you see the star at his breast?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay; it is too bright to be seen,” said another. “Yes; he must needs be a +nobleman, as you say. But by what conveyance, think you, can his lordship have +voyaged or travelled hither? There has been no vessel from the old country for +a month past; and if he have arrived overland from the southward, pray where +are his attendants and equipage?” +</p> + +<p> +“He needs no equipage to set off his rank,” remarked a third. “If he came among +us in rags, nobility would shine through a hole in his elbow. I never saw such +dignity of aspect. He has the old Norman blood in his veins, I warrant him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I rather take him to be a Dutchman, or one of your high Germans,” said another +citizen. “The men of those countries have always the pipe at their mouths.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so has a Turk,” answered his companion. “But, in my judgment, this +stranger hath been bred at the French court, and hath there learned politeness +and grace of manner, which none understand so well as the nobility of France. +That gait, now! A vulgar spectator might deem it stiff—he might call it a +hitch and jerk—but, to my eye, it hath an unspeakable majesty, and must +have been acquired by constant observation of the deportment of the Grand +Monarque. The stranger’s character and office are evident enough. He is a +French ambassador, come to treat with our rulers about the cession of Canada.” +</p> + +<p> +“More probably a Spaniard,” said another, “and hence his yellow complexion; or, +most likely, he is from the Havana, or from some port on the Spanish main, and +comes to make investigation about the piracies which our government is thought +to connive at. Those settlers in Peru and Mexico have skins as yellow as the +gold which they dig out of their mines.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yellow or not,” cried a lady, “he is a beautiful man!—so tall, so +slender! such a fine, noble face, with so well-shaped a nose, and all that +delicacy of expression about the mouth! And, bless me, how bright his star is! +It positively shoots out flames!” +</p> + +<p> +“So do your eyes, fair lady,” said the stranger, with a bow and a flourish of +his pipe; for he was just passing at the instant. “Upon my honor, they have +quite dazzled me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was ever so original and exquisite a compliment?” murmured the lady, in an +ecstasy of delight. +</p> + +<p> +Amid the general admiration excited by the stranger’s appearance, there were +only two dissenting voices. One was that of an impertinent cur, which, after +snuffing at the heels of the glistening figure, put its tail between its legs +and skulked into its master’s back yard, vociferating an execrable howl. The +other dissentient was a young child, who squalled at the fullest stretch of his +lungs, and babbled some unintelligible nonsense about a pumpkin. +</p> + +<p> +Feathertop meanwhile pursued his way along the street. Except for the few +complimentary words to the lady, and now and then a slight inclination of the +head in requital of the profound reverences of the bystanders, he seemed wholly +absorbed in his pipe. There needed no other proof of his rank and consequence +than the perfect equanimity with which he comported himself, while the +curiosity and admiration of the town swelled almost into clamor around him. +With a crowd gathering behind his footsteps, he finally reached the +mansion-house of the worshipful Justice Gookin, entered the gate, ascended the +steps of the front door, and knocked. In the interim, before his summons was +answered, the stranger was observed to shake the ashes out of his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say in that sharp voice?” inquired one of the spectators. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I know not,” answered his friend. “But the sun dazzles my eyes strangely. +How dim and faded his lordship looks all of a sudden! Bless my wits, what is +the matter with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“The wonder is,” said the other, “that his pipe, which was out only an instant +ago, should be all alight again, and with the reddest coal I ever saw. There is +something mysterious about this stranger. What a whiff of smoke was that! Dim +and faded did you call him? Why, as he turns about the star on his breast is +all ablaze.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, indeed,” said his companion; “and it will go near to dazzle pretty +Polly Gookin, whom I see peeping at it out of the chamber window.” +</p> + +<p> +The door being now opened, Feathertop turned to the crowd, made a stately bend +of his body like a great man acknowledging the reverence of the meaner sort, +and vanished into the house. There was a mysterious kind of a smile, if it +might not better be called a grin or grimace, upon his visage; but, of all the +throng that beheld him, not an individual appears to have possessed insight +enough to detect the illusive character of the stranger except a little child +and a cur dog. +</p> + +<p> +Our legend here loses somewhat of its continuity, and, passing over the +preliminary explanation between Feathertop and the merchant, goes in quest of +the pretty Polly Gookin. She was a damsel of a soft, round figure, with light +hair and blue eyes, and a fair, rosy face, which seemed neither very shrewd nor +very simple. This young lady had caught a glimpse of the glistening stranger +while standing on the threshold, and had forthwith put on a laced cap, a string +of beads, her finest kerchief, and her stiffest damask petticoat in preparation +for the interview. Hurrying from her chamber to the parlor, she had ever since +been viewing herself in the large looking-glass and practising pretty airs-now +a smile, now a ceremonious dignity of aspect, and now a softer smile than the +former, kissing her hand likewise, tossing her head, and managing her fan; +while within the mirror an unsubstantial little maid repeated every gesture and +did all the foolish things that Polly did, but without making her ashamed of +them. In short, it was the fault of pretty Polly’s ability rather than her will +if she failed to be as complete an artifice as the illustrious Feathertop +himself; and, when she thus tampered with her own simplicity, the witch’s +phantom might well hope to win her. +</p> + +<p> +No sooner did Polly hear her father’s gouty footsteps approaching the parlor +door, accompanied with the stiff clatter of Feathertop’s high-heeled shoes, +than she seated herself bolt upright and innocently began warbling a song. +</p> + +<p> +“Polly! daughter Polly!” cried the old merchant. “Come hither, child.” +</p> + +<p> +Master Gookin’s aspect, as he opened the door, was doubtful and troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“This gentleman,” continued he, presenting the stranger, “is the Chevalier +Feathertop,—nay, I beg his pardon, my Lord Feathertop,—who hath +brought me a token of remembrance from an ancient friend of mine. Pay your duty +to his lordship, child, and honor him as his quality deserves.” +</p> + +<p> +After these few words of introduction, the worshipful magistrate immediately +quitted the room. But, even in that brief moment, had the fair Polly glanced +aside at her father instead of devoting herself wholly to the brilliant guest, +she might have taken warning of some mischief nigh at hand. The old man was +nervous, fidgety, and very pale. Purposing a smile of courtesy, he had deformed +his face with a sort of galvanic grin, which, when Feathertop’s back was +turned, he exchanged for a scowl, at the same time shaking his fist and +stamping his gouty foot—an incivility which brought its retribution along +with it. The truth appears to have been that Mother Rigby’s word of +introduction, whatever it might be, had operated far more on the rich +merchant’s fears than on his good will. Moreover, being a man of wonderfully +acute observation, he had noticed that these painted figures on the bowl of +Feathertop’s pipe were in motion. Looking more closely he became convinced that +these figures were a party of little demons, each duly provided with horns and +a tail, and dancing hand in hand, with gestures of diabolical merriment, round +the circumference of the pipe bowl. As if to confirm his suspicions, while +Master Gookin ushered his guest along a dusky passage from his private room to +the parlor, the star on Feathertop’s breast had scintillated actual flames, and +threw a flickering gleam upon the wall, the ceiling, and the floor. +</p> + +<p> +With such sinister prognostics manifesting themselves on all hands, it is not +to be marvelled at that the merchant should have felt that he was committing +his daughter to a very questionable acquaintance. He cursed, in his secret +soul, the insinuating elegance of Feathertop’s manners, as this brilliant +personage bowed, smiled, put his hand on his heart, inhaled a long whiff from +his pipe, and enriched the atmosphere with the smoky vapor of a fragrant and +visible sigh. Gladly would poor Master Gookin have thrust his dangerous guest +into the street; but there was a constraint and terror within him. This +respectable old gentleman, we fear, at an earlier period of life, had given +some pledge or other to the evil principle, and perhaps was now to redeem it by +the sacrifice of his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +It so happened that the parlor door was partly of glass, shaded by a silken +curtain, the folds of which hung a little awry. So strong was the merchant’s +interest in witnessing what was to ensue between the fair Polly and the gallant +Feathertop that, after quitting the room, he could by no means refrain from +peeping through the crevice of the curtain. +</p> + +<p> +But there was nothing very miraculous to be seen; nothing—except the +trifles previously noticed—to confirm the idea of a supernatural peril +environing the pretty Polly. The stranger it is true was evidently a thorough +and practised man of the world, systematic and self-possessed, and therefore +the sort of a person to whom a parent ought not to confide a simple, young girl +without due watchfulness for the result. The worthy magistrate who had been +conversant with all degrees and qualities of mankind, could not but perceive +every motion and gesture of the distinguished Feathertop came in its proper +place; nothing had been left rude or native in him; a well-digested +conventionalism had incorporated itself thoroughly with his substance and +transformed him into a work of art. Perhaps it was this peculiarity that +invested him with a species of ghastliness and awe. It is the effect of +anything completely and consummately artificial, in human shape, that the +person impresses us as an unreality and as having hardly pith enough to cast a +shadow upon the floor. As regarded Feathertop, all this resulted in a wild, +extravagant, and fantastical impression, as if his life and being were akin to +the smoke that curled upward from his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +But pretty Polly Gookin felt not thus. The pair were now promenading the room: +Feathertop with his dainty stride and no less dainty grimace, the girl with a +native maidenly grace, just touched, not spoiled, by a slightly affected +manner, which seemed caught from the perfect artifice of her companion. The +longer the interview continued, the more charmed was pretty Polly, until, +within the first quarter of an hour (as the old magistrate noted by his watch), +she was evidently beginning to be in love. Nor need it have been witchcraft +that subdued her in such a hurry; the poor child’s heart, it may be, was so +very fervent that it melted her with its own warmth as reflected from the +hollow semblance of a lover. No matter what Feathertop said, his words found +depth and reverberation in her ear; no matter what he did, his action was +heroic to her eye. And by this time it is to be supposed there was a blush on +Polly’s cheek, a tender smile about her mouth and a liquid softness in her +glance; while the star kept coruscating on Feathertop’s breast, and the little +demons careered with more frantic merriment than ever about the circumference +of his pipe bowl. O pretty Polly Gookin, why should these imps rejoice so madly +that a silly maiden’s heart was about to be given to a shadow! Is it so unusual +a misfortune, so rare a triumph? +</p> + +<p> +By and by Feathertop paused, and throwing himself into an imposing attitude, +seemed to summon the fair girl to survey his figure and resist him longer if +she could. His star, his embroidery, his buckles glowed at that instant with +unutterable splendor; the picturesque hues of his attire took a richer depth of +coloring; there was a gleam and polish over his whole presence betokening the +perfect witchery of well-ordered manners. The maiden raised her eyes and +suffered them to linger upon her companion with a bashful and admiring gaze. +Then, as if desirous of judging what value her own simple comeliness might have +side by side with so much brilliancy, she cast a glance towards the full-length +looking-glass in front of which they happened to be standing. It was one of the +truest plates in the world and incapable of flattery. No sooner did the images +therein reflected meet Polly’s eye than she shrieked, shrank from the +stranger’s side, gazed at him for a moment in the wildest dismay, and sank +insensible upon the floor. Feathertop likewise had looked towards the mirror, +and there beheld, not the glittering mockery of his outside show, but a picture +of the sordid patchwork of his real composition stripped of all witchcraft. +</p> + +<p> +The wretched simulacrum! We almost pity him. He threw up his arms with an +expression of despair that went further than any of his previous manifestations +towards vindicating his claims to be reckoned human, for perchance the only +time since this so often empty and deceptive life of mortals began its course, +an illusion had seen and fully recognized itself. +</p> + +<p> +Mother Rigby was seated by her kitchen hearth in the twilight of this eventful +day, and had just shaken the ashes out of a new pipe, when she heard a hurried +tramp along the road. Yet it did not seem so much the tramp of human footsteps +as the clatter of sticks or the rattling of dry bones. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” thought the old witch, “what step is that? Whose skeleton is out of its +grave now, I wonder?” +</p> + +<p> +A figure burst headlong into the cottage door. It was Feathertop! His pipe was +still alight; the star still flamed upon his breast; the embroidery still +glowed upon his garments; nor had he lost, in any degree or manner that could +be estimated, the aspect that assimilated him with our mortal brotherhood. But +yet, in some indescribable way (as is the case with all that has deluded us +when once found out), the poor reality was felt beneath the cunning artifice. +</p> + +<p> +“What has gone wrong?” demanded the witch. “Did yonder sniffling hypocrite +thrust my darling from his door? The villain! I’ll set twenty fiends to torment +him till he offer thee his daughter on his bended knees!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, mother,” said Feathertop despondingly; “it was not that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did the girl scorn my precious one?” asked Mother Rigby, her fierce eyes +glowing like two coals of Tophet. “I’ll cover her face with pimples! Her nose +shall be as red as the coal in thy pipe! Her front teeth shall drop out! In a +week hence she shall not be worth thy having!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let her alone, mother,” answered poor Feathertop; “the girl was half won; and +methinks a kiss from her sweet lips might have made me altogether human. But,” +he added, after a brief pause and then a howl of self-contempt, “I’ve seen +myself, mother! I’ve seen myself for the wretched, ragged, empty thing I am! +I’ll exist no longer!” +</p> + +<p> +Snatching the pipe from his mouth, he flung it with all his might against the +chimney, and at the same instant sank upon the floor, a medley of straw and +tattered garments, with some sticks protruding from the heap, and a shrivelled +pumpkin in the midst. The eyeholes were now lustreless; but the rudely-carved +gap, that just before had been a mouth still seemed to twist itself into a +despairing grin, and was so far human. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fellow!” quoth Mother Rigby, with a rueful glance at the relics of her +ill-fated contrivance. “My poor, dear, pretty Feathertop! There are thousands +upon thousands of coxcombs and charlatans in the world, made up of just such a +jumble of wornout, forgotten, and good-for-nothing trash as he was! Yet they +live in fair repute, and never see themselves for what they are. And why should +my poor puppet be the only one to know himself and perish for it?” +</p> + +<p> +While thus muttering, the witch had filled a fresh pipe of tobacco, and held +the stem between her fingers, as doubtful whether to thrust it into her own +mouth or Feathertop’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Feathertop!” she continued. “I could easily give him another chance and +send him forth again tomorrow. But no; his feelings are too tender, his +sensibilities too deep. He seems to have too much heart to bustle for his own +advantage in such an empty and heartless world. Well! well! I’ll make a +scarecrow of him after all. ’Tis an innocent and useful vocation, and will suit +my darling well; and, if each of his human brethren had as fit a one, ’twould +be the better for mankind; and as for this pipe of tobacco, I need it more than +he.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying Mother Rigby put the stem between her lips. “Dickon!” cried she, in +her high, sharp tone, “another coal for my pipe!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a> +THE NEW ADAM AND EVE</h2> + +<p> +We who are born into the world’s artificial system can never adequately know +how little in our present state and circumstances is natural, and how much is +merely the interpolation of the perverted mind and heart of man. Art has become +a second and stronger nature; she is a step-mother, whose crafty tenderness has +taught us to despise the bountiful and wholesome ministrations of our true +parent. It is only through the medium of the imagination that we can lessen +those iron fetters, which we call truth and reality, and make ourselves even +partially sensible what prisoners we are. For instance, let us conceive good +Father Miller’s interpretation of the prophecies to have proved true. The Day +of Doom has burst upon the globe and swept away the whole race of men. From +cities and fields, sea-shore and midland mountain region, vast continents, and +even the remotest islands of the ocean, each living thing is gone. No breath of +a created being disturbs this earthly atmosphere. But the abodes of man, and +all that he has accomplished, the footprints of his wanderings and the results +of his toil, the visible symbols of his intellectual cultivation and moral +progress,—in short, everything physical that can give evidence of his +present position,—shall remain untouched by the hand of destiny. Then, to +inherit and repeople this waste and deserted earth, we will suppose a new Adam +and a new Eve to have been created, in the full development of mind and heart, +but with no knowledge of their predecessors nor of the diseased circumstances +that had become incrusted around them. Such a pair would at once distinguish +between art and nature. Their instincts and intuitions would immediately +recognize the wisdom and simplicity of the latter; while the former, with its +elaborate perversities, would offer them a continual succession of puzzles. +</p> + +<p> +Let us attempt, in a mood half sportive and half thoughtful, to track these +imaginary heirs of our mortality, through their first day’s experience. No +longer ago than yesterday the flame of human life was extinguished; there has +been a breathless night; and now another morn approaches, expecting to find the +earth no less desolate than at eventide. +</p> + +<p> +It is dawn. The east puts on its immemorial blush, although no human eye is +gazing at it; for all the phenomena of the natural world renew themselves, in +spite of the solitude that now broods around the globe. There is still beauty +of earth, sea, and sky, for beauty’s sake. But soon there are to be spectators. +Just when the earliest sunshine gilds earth’s mountain-tops, two beings have +come into life, not in such an Eden as bloomed to welcome our first parents, +but in the heart of a modern city. They find themselves in existence, and +gazing into one another’s eyes. Their emotion is not astonishment; nor do they +perplex themselves with efforts to discover what, and whence, and why they are. +Each is satisfied to be, because the other exists likewise; and their first +consciousness is of calm and mutual enjoyment, which seems not to have been the +birth of that very moment, but prolonged from a past eternity. Thus content +with an inner sphere which they inhabit together, it is not immediately that +the outward world can obtrude itself upon their notice. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, however, they feel the invincible necessity of this earthly life, and +begin to make acquaintance with the objects and circumstances that surround +them. Perhaps no other stride so vast remains to be taken as when they first +turn from the reality of their mutual glance to the dreams and shadows that +perplex them everywhere else. +</p> + +<p> +“Sweetest Eve, where are we?” exclaims the new Adam; for speech, or some +equivalent mode of expression, is born with them, and comes just as natural as +breath. “Methinks I do not recognize this place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I, dear Man,” replies the new Eve. “And what a strange place, too! Let me +come closer to thy side and behold thee only; for all other sights trouble and +perplex my spirit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Eve,” replies Adam, who appears to have the stronger tendency towards the +material world; “it were well that we gain some insight into these matters. We +are in an odd situation here. Let us look about us.” +</p> + +<p> +Assuredly there are sights enough to throw the new inheritors of earth into a +state of hopeless perplexity. The long lines of edifices, their windows +glittering in the yellow sunrise, and the narrow street between, with its +barren pavement tracked and battered by wheels that have now rattled into an +irrevocable past! The signs, with their unintelligible hieroglyphics! The +squareness and ugliness, and regular or irregular deformity of everything that +meets the eye! The marks of wear and tear, and unrenewed decay, which +distinguish the works of man from the growth of nature! What is there in all +this, capable of the slightest significance to minds that know nothing of the +artificial system which is implied in every lamp-post and each brick of the +houses? Moreover, the utter loneliness and silence, in a scene that originally +grew out of noise and bustle, must needs impress a feeling of desolation even +upon Adam and Eve, unsuspicious as they are of the recent extinction of human +existence. In a forest, solitude would be life; in a city, it is death. +</p> + +<p> +The new Eve looks round with a sensation of doubt and distrust, such as a city +dame, the daughter of numberless generations of citizens, might experience if +suddenly transported to the garden of Eden. At length her downcast eye +discovers a small tuft of grass, just beginning to sprout among the stones of +the pavement; she eagerly grasps it, and is sensible that this little herb +awakens some response within her heart. Nature finds nothing else to offer her. +Adam, after staring up and down the street without detecting a single object +that his comprehension can lay hold of, finally turns his forehead to the sky. +There, indeed, is something which the soul within him recognizes. +</p> + +<p> +“Look up yonder, mine own Eve,” he cries; “surely we ought to dwell among those +gold-tinged clouds or in the blue depths beyond them. I know not how nor when, +but evidently we have strayed away from our home; for I see nothing hereabouts +that seems to belong to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can we not ascend thither?” inquires Eve. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” answers Adam, hopefully. “But no; something drags us down in spite +of our best efforts. Perchance we may find a path hereafter.” +</p> + +<p> +In the energy of new life it appears no such impracticable feat to climb into +the sky. But they have already received a woful lesson, which may finally go +far towards reducing them to the level of the departed race, when they +acknowledge the necessity of keeping the beaten track of earth. They now set +forth on a ramble through the city, in the hope of making their escape from +this uncongenial sphere. Already in the fresh elasticity of their spirits they +have found the idea of weariness. We will watch them as they enter some of the +shops and public or private edifices; for every door, whether of alderman or +beggar, church or hall of state, has been flung wide open by the same agency +that swept away the inmates. +</p> + +<p> +It so happens,—and not unluckily for an Adam and Eve who are still in the +costume that might better have befitted Eden,—it so happens that their +first visit is to a fashionable dry-goods store. No courteous and importunate +attendants hasten to receive their orders; no throng of ladies are tossing over +the rich Parisian fabrics. All is deserted; trade is at a stand-still; and not +even an echo of the national watchword, “Go ahead!” disturbs the quiet of the +new customers. But specimens of the latest earthly fashions, silks of every +shade, and whatever is most delicate or splendid for the decoration of the +human form, he scattered around, profusely as bright autumnal leaves in a +forest. Adam looks at a few of the articles, but throws them carelessly aside +with whatever exclamation may correspond to “Pish!” or “Pshaw!” in the new +vocabulary of nature. Eve, however,—be it said without offence to her +native modesty,—examines these treasures of her sex with somewhat +livelier interest. A pair of corsets chance to be upon the counter; she +inspects them curiously, but knows not what to make of them. Then she handles a +fashionable silk with dim yearnings, thoughts that wander hither and thither, +instincts groping in the dark. +</p> + +<p> +“On the whole, I do not like it,” she observes, laying the glossy fabric upon +the counter. “But, Adam, it is very strange. What can these things mean? Surely +I ought to know; yet they put me in a perfect maze.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poh! my dear Eve, why trouble thy little head about such nonsense?” cries +Adam, in a fit of impatience. “Let us go somewhere else. But stay; how very +beautiful! My loveliest Eve, what a charm you have imparted to that robe by +merely throwing it over your shoulders!” +</p> + +<p> +For Eve, with the taste that nature moulded into her composition, has taken a +remnant of exquisite silver gauze and drawn it around her forms, with an effect +that gives Adam his first idea of the witchery of dress. He beholds his spouse +in a new light and with renewed admiration; yet is hardly reconciled to any +other attire than her own golden locks. However, emulating Eve’s example, he +makes free with a mantle of blue velvet, and puts it on so picturesquely that +it might seem to have fallen from heaven upon his stately figure. Thus garbed +they go in search of new discoveries. +</p> + +<p> +They next wander into a Church, not to make a display of their fine clothes, +but attracted by its spire pointing upwards to the sky, whither they have +already yearned to climb. As they enter the portal, a clock, which it was the +last earthly act of the sexton to wind up, repeats the hour in deep +reverberating tones; for Time has survived his former progeny, and, with the +iron tongue that man gave him, is now speaking to his two grandchildren. They +listen, but understand him not. Nature would measure time by the succession of +thoughts and acts which constitute real life, and not by hours of emptiness. +They pass up the church-aisle, and raise their eyes to the ceiling. Had our +Adam and Eve become mortal in some European city, and strayed into the vastness +and sublimity of an old cathedral, they might have recognized the purpose for +which the deep-souled founders reared it. Like the dim awfulness of an ancient +forest, its very atmosphere would have incited them to prayer. Within the snug +walls of a metropolitan church there can be no such influence. +</p> + +<p> +Yet some odor of religion is still lingering here, the bequest of pious souls, +who had grace to enjoy a foretaste of immortal life. Perchance they breathe a +prophecy of a better world to their successors, who have become obnoxious to +all their own cares and calamities in the present one. +</p> + +<p> +“Eve, something impels me to look upward,” says Adam; “but it troubles me to +see this roof between us and the sky. Let us go forth, and perhaps we shall +discern a Great Face looking down upon us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; a Great Face, with a beam of love brightening over it, like sunshine,” +responds Eve. “Surely we have seen such a countenance somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +They go out of the church, and kneeling at its threshold give way to the +spirit’s natural instinct of adoration towards a beneficent Father. But, in +truth, their life thus far has been a continual prayer. Purity and simplicity +hold converse at every moment with their Creator. +</p> + +<p> +We now observe them entering a Court of Justice. But what remotest conception +can they attain of the purposes of such an edifice? How should the idea occur +to them that human brethren, of like nature with themselves, and originally +included in the same law of love which is their only rule of life, should ever +need an outward enforcement of the true voice within their souls? And what, +save a woful experience, the dark result of many centuries, could teach them +the sad mysteries of crime? O Judgment Seat, not by the pure in heart vast thou +established, nor in the simplicity of nature; but by hard and wrinkled men, and +upon the accumulated heap of earthly wrong. Thou art the very symbol of man’s +perverted state. +</p> + +<p> +On as fruitless an errand our wanderers next visit a Hall of Legislature, where +Adam places Eve in the Speaker’s chair, unconscious of the moral which he thus +exemplifies. Man’s intellect, moderated by Woman’s tenderness and moral sense! +Were such the legislation of the world there would be no need of State Houses, +Capitols, Halls of Parliament, nor even of those little assemblages of +patriarchs beneath the shadowy trees, by whom freedom was first interpreted to +mankind on our native shores. +</p> + +<p> +Whither go they next? A perverse destiny seems to perplex them with one after +another of the riddles which mankind put forth to the wandering universe, and +left unsolved in their own destruction. They enter an edifice of stern gray +stone standing insulated in the midst of others, and gloomy even in the +sunshine, which it barely suffers to penetrate through its iron grated windows. +It is a prison. The jailer has left his post at the summons of a stronger +authority than the sheriff’s. But the prisoners? Did the messenger of fate, +when he shook open all the doors, respect the magistrate’s warrant and the +judge’s sentence, and leave the inmates of the dungeons to be delivered by due +course of earthly law? No; a new trial has been granted in a higher court, +which may set judge, jury, and prisoner at its bar all in a row, and perhaps +find one no less guilty than another. The jail, like the whole earth, is now a +solitude, and has thereby lost something of its dismal gloom. But here are the +narrow cells, like tombs, only drearier and deadlier, because in these the +immortal spirit was buried with the body. Inscriptions appear on the walls, +scribbled with a pencil or scratched with a rusty nail; brief words of agony, +perhaps, or guilt’s desperate defiance to the world, or merely a record of a +date by which the writer strove to keep up with the march of life. There is not +a living eye that could now decipher these memorials. +</p> + +<p> +Nor is it while so fresh from their Creator’s hand that the new denizens of +earth—no, nor their descendants for a thousand years—could discover +that this edifice was a hospital for the direst disease which could afflict +their predecessors. Its patients bore the outward marks of that leprosy with +which all were more or less infected. They were sick-and so were the purest of +their brethren—with the plague of sin. A deadly sickness, indeed! Feeling +its symptoms within the breast, men concealed it with fear and shame, and were +only the more cruel to those unfortunates whose pestiferous sores were flagrant +to the common eye. Nothing save a rich garment could ever hide the plague-spot. +In the course of the world’s lifetime, every remedy was tried for its cure and +extirpation, except the single one, the flower that grew in Heaven and was +sovereign for all the miseries of earth. Man never had attempted to cure sin by +LOVE! Had he but once made the effort, it might well have happened that there +would have been no more need of the dark lazar-house into which Adam and Eve +have wandered. Hasten forth with your native innocence, lest the damps of these +still conscious walls infect you likewise, and thus another fallen race be +propagated! +</p> + +<p> +Passing from the interior of the prison into the space within its outward wall, +Adam pauses beneath a structure of the simplest contrivance, yet altogether +unaccountable to him. It consists merely of two upright posts, supporting a +transverse beam, from which dangles a cord. +</p> + +<p> +“Eve, Eve!” cries Adam, shuddering with a nameless horror. “What can this thing +be?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know not,” answers Eve; “but, Adam, my heart is sick! There seems to be no +more sky,—no more sunshine!” +</p> + +<p> +Well might Adam shudder and poor Eve be sick at heart; for this mysterious +object was the type of mankind’s whole system in regard to the great +difficulties which God had given to be solved,—a system of fear and +vengeance, never successful, yet followed to the last. Here, on the morning +when the final summons came, a criminal—one criminal, where none were +guiltless—had died upon the gallows. Had the world heard the footfall of +its own approaching doom, it would have been no inappropriate act thus to close +the record of its deeds by one so characteristic. +</p> + +<p> +The two pilgrims now hurry from the prison. Had they known how the former +inhabitants of earth were shut up in artificial error and cramped and chained +by their perversions, they might have compared the whole moral world to a +prison-house, and have deemed the removal of the race a general jail-delivery. +</p> + +<p> +They next enter, unannounced, but they might have rung at the door in vain, a +private mansion, one of the stateliest in Beacon Street. A wild and plaintive +strain of music is quivering through the house, now rising like a solemn +organ-peal, and now dying into the faintest murmur, as if some spirit that had +felt an interest in the departed family were bemoaning itself in the solitude +of hall and chamber. Perhaps a virgin, the purest of mortal race, has been left +behind to perform a requiem for the whole kindred of humanity. Not so. These +are the tones of an Eolian harp, through which Nature pours the harmony that +lies concealed in her every breath, whether of summer breeze or tempest. Adam +and Eve are lost in rapture, unmingled with surprise. The passing wind, that +stirred the harp-strings, has been hushed, before they can think of examining +the splendid furniture, the gorgeous carpets, and the architecture of the +rooms. These things amuse their unpractised eyes, but appeal to nothing within +their hearts. Even the pictures upon the walls scarcely excite a deeper +interest; for there is something radically artificial and deceptive in painting +with which minds in the primal simplicity cannot sympathize. The unbidden +guests examine a row of family portraits, but are too dull to recognize them as +men and women, beneath the disguise of a preposterous garb, and with features +and expression debased, because inherited through ages of moral and physical +decay. +</p> + +<p> +Chance, however, presents them with pictures of human beauty, fresh from the +hand of Nature. As they enter a magnificent apartment they are astonished, but +not affrighted, to perceive two figures advancing to meet them. Is it not awful +to imagine that any life, save their own, should remain in the wide world? +</p> + +<p> +“How is this?” exclaims Adam. “My beautiful Eve, are you in two places at +once?” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, Adam!” answers Eve, doubtful, yet delighted. “Surely that noble and +lovely form is yours. Yet here you are by my side. I am content with +one,—methinks there should not be two.” +</p> + +<p> +This miracle is wrought by a tall looking-glass, the mystery of which they soon +fathom, because Nature creates a mirror for the human face in every pool of +water, and for her own great features in waveless lakes. Pleased and satisfied +with gazing at themselves, they now discover the marble statue of a child in a +corner of the room so exquisitely idealized that it is almost worthy to be the +prophetic likeness of their first-born. Sculpture, in its highest excellence, +is more genuine than painting, and might seem to be evolved from a natural +germ, by the same law as a leaf or flower. The statue of the child impresses +the solitary pair as if it were a companion; it likewise hints at secrets both +of the past and future. +</p> + +<p> +“My husband!” whispers Eve. +</p> + +<p> +“What would you say, dearest Eve?” inquires Adam. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if we are alone in the world,” she continues, “with a sense of +something like fear at the thought of other inhabitants. This lovely little +form! Did it ever breathe? Or is it only the shadow of something real, like our +pictures in the mirror?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is strange!” replies Adam, pressing his hand to his brow. “There are +mysteries all around us. An idea flits continually before me,—would that +I could seize it! Eve, Eve, are we treading in the footsteps of beings that +bore a likeness to ourselves? If so, whither are they gone?—and why is +their world so unfit for our dwelling-place?” +</p> + +<p> +“Our great Father only knows,” answers Eve. “But something tells me that we +shall not always be alone. And how sweet if other beings were to visit us in +the shape of this fair image!” +</p> + +<p> +Then they wander through the house, and everywhere find tokens of human life, +which now, with the idea recently suggested, excite a deeper curiosity in their +bosoms. Woman has here left traces of her delicacy and refinement, and of her +gentle labors. Eve ransacks a work-basket and instinctively thrusts the rosy +tip of her finger into a thimble. She takes up a piece of embroidery, glowing +with mimic flowers, in one of which a fair damsel of the departed race has left +her needle. Pity that the Day of Doom should have anticipated the completion of +such a useful task! Eve feels almost conscious of the skill to finish it. A +pianoforte has been left open. She flings her hand carelessly over the keys, +and strikes out a sudden melody, no less natural than the strains of the +AEolian harp, but joyous with the dance of her yet unburdened life. Passing +through a dark entry they find a broom behind the door; and Eve, who comprises +the whole nature of womanhood, has a dim idea that it is an instrument proper +for her hand. In another apartment they behold a canopied bed, and all the +appliances of luxurious repose. A heap of forest-leaves would be more to the +purpose. They enter the nursery, and are perplexed with the sight of little +gowns and caps, tiny slices, and a cradle, amid the drapery of which is still +to be seen the impress of a baby’s form. Adam slightly notices these trifles; +but Eve becomes involved in a fit of mute reflection from which it is hardly +possible to rouse her. +</p> + +<p> +By a most unlucky arrangement there was to have been a grand dinner-party in +this mansion on the very day when the whole human family, including the invited +guests, were summoned to the unknown regions of illimitable space. At the +moment of fate, the table was actually spread, and the company on the point of +sitting down. Adam and Eve come unbidden to the banquet; it has now been some +time cold, but otherwise furnishes them with highly favorable specimens of the +gastronomy of their predecessors. But it is difficult to imagine the perplexity +of the unperverted couple, in endeavoring to find proper food for their first +meal, at a table where the cultivated appetites of a fashionable party were to +have been gratified. Will Nature teach them the mystery of a plate of +turtle-soup? Will she embolden them to attack a haunch of venison? Will she +initiate them into the merits of a Parisian pasty, imported by the last steamer +that ever crossed the Atlantic? Will she not, rather, bid them turn with +disgust from fish, fowl, and flesh, which, to their pure nostrils, steam with a +loathsome odor of death and corruption?—Food? The bill of fare contains +nothing which they recognize as such. +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately, however, the dessert is ready upon a neighboring table. Adam, +whose appetite and animal instincts are quicker than those of Eve, discovers +this fitting banquet. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, dearest Eve,” he exclaims,—“here is food.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” answered she, with the germ of a housewife stirring within her, “we +have been so busy to-day, that a picked-up dinner must serve.” +</p> + +<p> +So Eve comes to the table and receives a red-cheeked apple from her husband’s +hand in requital of her predecessor’s fatal gift to our common grandfather. She +eats it without sin, and, let us hope, with no disastrous consequences to her +future progeny. They make a plentiful, yet temperate, meal of fruit, which, +though not gathered in paradise, is legitimately derived from the seeds that +were planted there. Their primal appetite is satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we drink, Eve?” inquires Adam. +</p> + +<p> +Eve peeps among some bottles and decanters, which, as they contain fluids, she +naturally conceives must be proper to quench thirst. But never before did +claret, hock, and madeira, of rich and rare perfume, excite such disgust as +now. +</p> + +<p> +“Pah!” she exclaims, after smelling at various wines. “What stuff is here? The +beings who have gone before us could not have possessed the same nature that we +do; for neither their hunger nor thirst were like our own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray hand me yonder bottle,” says Adam. “If it be drinkable by any manner of +mortal, I must moisten my throat with it.” +</p> + +<p> +After some remonstrances, she takes up a champagne bottle, but is frightened by +the sudden explosion of the cork, and drops it upon the floor. There the +untasted liquor effervesces. Had they quaffed it they would have experienced +that brief delirium whereby, whether excited by moral or physical causes, man +sought to recompense himself for the calm, life-long joys which he had lost by +his revolt from nature. At length, in a refrigerator, Eve finds a glass pitcher +of water, pure, cold, and bright as ever gushed from a fountain among the +hills. Both drink; and such refreshment does it bestow, that they question one +another if this precious liquid be not identical with the stream of life within +them. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” observes Adam, “we must again try to discover what sort of a world +this is, and why we have been sent hither.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? to love one another,” cries Eve. “Is not that employment enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly is it,” answers Adam, kissing her; “but still—I know +not—something tells us there is labor to be done. Perhaps our allotted +task is no other than to climb into the sky, which is so much more beautiful +than earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then would we were there now,” murmurs Eve, “that no task or duty might come +between us!” +</p> + +<p> +They leave the hospitable mansion, and we next see them passing down State +Street. The clock on the old State House points to high noon, when the Exchange +should be in its glory and present the liveliest emblem of what was the sole +business of life, as regarded a multitude of the foregone worldlings. It is +over now. The Sabbath of eternity has shed its stillness along the street. Not +even a newsboy assails the two solitary passers-by with an extra penny-paper +from the office of the Times or Mail, containing a full account of yesterday’s +terrible catastrophe. Of all the dull times that merchants and speculators have +known, this is the very worst; for, so far as they were concerned, creation +itself has taken the benefit of the Bankrupt Act. After all, it is a pity. +Those mighty capitalists who had just attained the wished-for wealth! Those +shrewd men of traffic who had devoted so many years to the most intricate and +artificial of sciences, and had barely mastered it when the universal +bankruptcy was announced by peal of trumpet! Can they have been so incautious +as to provide no currency of the country whither they have gone, nor any bills +of exchange, or letters of credit from the needy on earth to the cash-keepers +of heaven? +</p> + +<p> +Adam and Eve enter a Bank. Start not, ye whose funds are treasured there! You +will never need them now. Call not for the police. The stones of the street and +the coin of the vaults are of equal value to this simple pair. Strange sight! +They take up the bright gold in handfuls and throw it sportively into the air +for the sake of seeing the glittering worthlessness descend again in a shower. +They know not that each of those small yellow circles was once a magic spell, +potent to sway men’s hearts and mystify their moral sense. Here let them pause +in the investigation of the past. They have discovered the mainspring, the +life, the very essence of the system that had wrought itself into the vitals of +mankind, and choked their original nature in its deadly gripe. Yet how +powerless over these young inheritors of earth’s hoarded wealth! And here, too, +are huge, packages of back-notes, those talismanic slips of paper which once +had the efficacy to build up enchanted palaces like exhalations, and work all +kinds of perilous wonders, yet were themselves but the ghosts of money, the +shadows of a shade. How like is this vault to a magician’s cave when the +all-powerful wand is broken, and the visionary splendor vanished, and the floor +strewn with fragments of shattered spells, and lifeless shapes, once animated +by demons! +</p> + +<p> +“Everywhere, my dear Eve,” observes Adam, “we find heaps of rubbish of one kind +or another. Somebody, I am convinced, has taken pains to collect them, but for +what purpose? Perhaps, hereafter, we shall be moved to do the like. Can that be +our business in the world?” +</p> + +<p> +“O no, no, Adam!” answers Eve. “It would be better to sit down quietly and look +upward to tine sky.” +</p> + +<p> +They leave the Bank, and in good time; for had they tarried later they would +probably have encountered some gouty old goblin of a capitalist, whose soul +could not long be anywhere save in the vault with his treasure. +</p> + +<p> +Next they drop into a jeweller’s shop. They are pleased with the glow of gems; +and Adam twines a string of beautiful pearls around the head of Eve, and +fastens his own mantle with a magnificent diamond brooch. Eve thanks him, and +views herself with delight, in the nearest looking-glass. Shortly afterward, +observing a bouquet of roses and other brilliant flowers in a vase of water, +she flings away the inestimable pearls, and adorns herself with these lovelier +gems of nature. They charm her with sentiment as well as beauty. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely they are living beings,” she remarks to Adam. +</p> + +<p> +“I think so,” replies Adam, “and they seem to be as little at home in the world +as ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +We must not attempt to follow every footstep of these investigators whom their +Creator has commissioned to pass unconscious judgment upon the works and ways +of the vanished race. By this time, being endowed with quick and accurate +perceptions, they begin to understand the purpose of the many things around +them. They conjecture, for instance, that the edifices of the city were +erected, not by the immediate hand that made the world, but by beings somewhat +similar to themselves, for shelter and convenience. But how will they explain +the magnificence of one habitation as compared with the squalid misery of +another? Through what medium can the idea of servitude enter their minds? When +will they comprehend the great and miserable fact—the evidences of which +appeal to their senses everywhere—that one portion of earth’s lost +inhabitants was rolling in luxury while the multitude was toiling for scanty +food? A wretched change, indeed, must be wrought in their own hearts ere they +can conceive the primal decree of Love to have been so completely abrogated, +that a brother should ever want what his brother had. When their intelligence +shah have reached so far, Earth’s new progeny will have little reason to exult +over her old rejected one. +</p> + +<p> +Their wanderings have now brought them into the suburbs of the city, They stand +on a grassy brow of a hill at the foot of a granite obelisk which points its +great finger upwards, as if the human family had agreed, by a visible symbol of +age-long endurance, to offer some high sacrifice of thanksgiving or +supplication. The solemn height of the monument, its deep simplicity, and the +absence of any vulgar and practical use, all strengthen its effect upon Adam +and Eve, and leave them to interpret it by a purer sentiment than the builders +thought of expressing. +</p> + +<p> +“Eve, it is a visible prayer,” observed Adam. +</p> + +<p> +“And we will pray too,” she replies. +</p> + +<p> +Let us pardon these poor children of neither father nor mother for so absurdly +mistaking the purport of the memorial which man founded and woman finished on +far-famed Bunker Hill. The idea of war is not native to their souls. Nor have +they sympathies for the brave defenders of liberty, since oppression is one of +their unconjectured mysteries. Could they guess that the green sward on which +they stand so peacefully was once strewn with human corpses and purple with +their blood, it would equally amaze them that one generation of men should +perpetrate such carnage, and that a subsequent generation should triumphantly +commemorate it. +</p> + +<p> +With a sense of delight they now stroll across green fields and along the +margin of a quiet river. Not to track them too closely, we next find the +wanderers entering a Gothic edifice of gray stone, where the bygone world has +left whatever it deemed worthy of record, in the rich library of Harvard +University. +</p> + +<p> +No student ever yet enjoyed such solitude and silence as now broods within its +deep alcoves. Little do the present visitors understand what opportunities are +thrown away upon them. Yet Adam looks anxiously at the long rows of volumes, +those storied heights of human lore, ascending one above another from floor to +ceiling. He takes up a bulky folio. It opens in his hands as if spontaneously +to impart the spirit of its author to the yet unworn and untainted intellect of +the fresh-created mortal. He stands poring over the regular columns of mystic +characters, seemingly in studious mood; for the unintelligible thought upon the +page has a mysterious relation to his mind, and makes itself felt as if it were +a burden flung upon him. He is even painfully perplexed, and grasps vainly at +he knows not what. O Adam, it is too soon, too soon by at least five thousand +years, to put on spectacles and bury yourself in the alcoves of a library! +</p> + +<p> +“What can this be?” he murmurs at last. “Eve, methinks nothing is so desirable +as to find out the mystery of this big and heavy object with its thousand thin +divisions. See! it stares me in the face as if it were about to speak!” +</p> + +<p> +Eve, by a feminine instinct, is dipping into a volume of fashionable poetry, +the production certainly the most fortunate of earthly bards, since his lay +continues in vogue when all the great masters of the lyre have passed into +oblivion. But let not, his ghost be too exultant! The world’s one lady tosses +the book upon the floor and laughs merrily at her husband’s abstracted mien. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Adam,” cries she, “you look pensive and dismal. Do fling down that +stupid thing; for even if it should speak it would not be worth attending to. +Let us talk with one another, and with the sky, and the green earth, and its +trees and flowers. They will teach us better knowledge than we can find here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Eve, perhaps you are right,” replies Adam, with a sort of sigh. “Still I +cannot help thinking that the interpretation of the riddles amid which we have +been wandering all day long might here be discovered.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be better not to seek the interpretation,” persists Eve. “For my part, +the air of this place does not suit me. If you love me, come away!” +</p> + +<p> +She prevails, and rescues him from the mysterious perils of the library. Happy +influence of woman! Had he lingered there long enough to obtain a clew to its +treasures,—as was not impossible, his intellect being of human structure, +indeed, but with an untransmitted vigor and acuteness,—had he then and +there become a student, the annalist of our poor world would soon have recorded +the downfall of a second Adam. The fatal apple of another Tree of knowledge +would have been eaten. All the perversions, and sophistries, and false wisdom +so aptly mimicking the true,—all the narrow truth, so partial that it +becomes more deceptive than falsehood,—all the wrong principles and worse +practice, the pernicious examples and mistaken rules of life,—all the +specious theories which turn earth into cloudland and men into +shadows,—all the sad experience which it took mankind so many ages to +accumulate, and from which they never drew a moral for their future guidance, +the whole heap of this disastrous lore would have tumbled at once upon Adam’s +head. There would have been nothing left for him but to take up the already +abortive experiment of life where he had dropped it, and toil onward with it a +little farther. +</p> + +<p> +But, blessed in his ignorance, he may still enjoy a new world in our worn-out +one. Should he fall short of good, even as far as we did, he has at least the +freedom—no worthless one—to make errors for himself. And his +literature, when the progress of centuries shall create it, will be no +interminably repeated echo of our own poetry and reproduction of the images +that were moulded by our great fathers of song and fiction, but a melody never +yet heard on earth, and intellectual forms unbreathed upon by our conceptions. +Therefore let the dust of ages gather upon the volumes of the library, and in +due season the roof of the edifice crumble down upon the whole. When the second +Adam’s descendants shall have collected as much rubbish of their own, it will +be time enough to dig into our ruins and compare the literary advancement of +two independent races. +</p> + +<p> +But we are looking forward too far. It seems to be the vice of those who have a +long past behind them. We will return to the new Adam and Eve, who, having no +reminiscences save dim and fleeting visions of a pre-existence, are content to +live and be happy in the present. +</p> + +<p> +The day is near its close when these pilgrims, who derive their being from no +dead progenitors, reach the cemetery of Mount Auburn. With light +hearts—for earth and sky now gladden each other with beauty—they +tread along the winding paths, among marble pillars, mimic temples, urns, +obelisks, and sarcophagi, sometimes pausing to contemplate these fantasies of +human growth, and sometimes to admire the flowers wherewith nature converts +decay to loveliness. Can Death, in the midst of his old triumphs, make them +sensible that they have taken up the heavy burden of mortality which a whole +species had thrown down? Dust kindred to their own has never lain in the grave. +Will they then recognize, and so soon, that Time and the elements have an +indefeasible claim upon their bodies? Not improbably they may. There must have +been shadows enough, even amid the primal sunshine of their existence, to +suggest the thought of the soul’s incongruity with its circumstances. They have +already learned that something is to be thrown aside. The idea of Death is in +them, or not far off. But, were they to choose a symbol for him, it would be +the butterfly soaring upward, or the bright angel beckoning them aloft, or the +child asleep, with soft dreams visible through her transparent purity. +</p> + +<p> +Such a Child, in whitest marble, they have found among the monuments of Mount +Auburn. +</p> + +<p> +“Sweetest Eve,” observes Adam, while hand in hand they contemplate this +beautiful object, “yonder sun has left us, and the whole world is fading from +our sight. Let us sleep as this lovely little figure is sleeping. Our Father +only knows whether what outward things we have possessed to-day are to be +snatched from us forever. But should our earthly life be leaving us with the +departing light, we need not doubt that another morn will find us somewhere +beneath the smile of God. I feel that he has imparted the boon of existence +never to be resumed.” +</p> + +<p> +“And no matter where we exist,” replies Eve, “for we shall always be together.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a> +EGOTISM; OR, THE BOSOM SERPENT</h2> + +<p> +“Here he comes!” shouted the boys along the street. “Here comes the man with a +snake in his bosom!” +</p> + +<p> +This outcry, saluting Herkimer’s ears as he was about to enter the iron gate of +the Elliston mansion, made him pause. It was not without a shudder that he +found himself on the point of meeting his former acquaintance, whom he had +known in the glory of youth, and whom now after an interval of five years, he +was to find the victim either of a diseased fancy or a horrible physical +misfortune. +</p> + +<p> +“A snake in his bosom!” repeated the young sculptor to himself. “It must be he. +No second man on earth has such a bosom friend. And now, my poor Rosina, Heaven +grant me wisdom to discharge my errand aright! Woman’s faith must be strong +indeed since thine has not yet failed.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus musing, he took his stand at the entrance of the gate and waited until the +personage so singularly announced should make his appearance. After an instant +or two he beheld the figure of a lean man, of unwholesome look, with glittering +eyes and long black hair, who seemed to imitate the motion of a snake; for, +instead of walking straight forward with open front, he undulated along the +pavement in a curved line. It may be too fanciful to say that something, either +in his moral or material aspect, suggested the idea that a miracle had been +wrought by transforming a serpent into a man, but so imperfectly that the snaky +nature was yet hidden, and scarcely hidden, under the mere outward guise of +humanity. Herkimer remarked that his complexion had a greenish tinge over its +sickly white, reminding him of a species of marble out of which he had once +wrought a head of Envy, with her snaky locks. +</p> + +<p> +The wretched being approached the gate, but, instead of entering, stopped short +and fixed the glitter of his eye full upon the compassionate yet steady +countenance of the sculptor. +</p> + +<p> +“It gnaws me! It gnaws me!” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +And then there was an audible hiss, but whether it came from the apparent +lunatic’s own lips, or was the real hiss of a serpent, might admit of a +discussion. At all events, it made Herkimer shudder to his heart’s core. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know me, George Herkimer?” asked the snake-possessed. +</p> + +<p> +Herkimer did know him; but it demanded all the intimate and practical +acquaintance with the human face, acquired by modelling actual likenesses in +clay, to recognize the features of Roderick Elliston in the visage that now met +the sculptor’s gaze. Yet it was he. It added nothing to the wonder to reflect +that the once brilliant young man had undergone this odious and fearful change +during the no more than five brief years of Herkimer’s abode at Florence. The +possibility of such a transformation being granted, it was as easy to conceive +it effected in a moment as in an age. Inexpressibly shocked and startled, it +was still the keenest pang when Herkimer remembered that the fate of his cousin +Rosina, the ideal of gentle womanhood, was indissolubly interwoven with that of +a being whom Providence seemed to have unhumanized. +</p> + +<p> +“Elliston! Roderick!” cried he, “I had heard of this; but my conception came +far short of the truth. What has befallen you? Why do I find you thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ’tis a mere nothing! A snake! A snake! The commonest thing in the world. A +snake in the bosom—that’s all,” answered Roderick Elliston. “But how is +your own breast?” continued he, looking the sculptor in the eye with the most +acute and penetrating glance that it had ever been his fortune to encounter. +“All pure and wholesome? No reptile there? By my faith and conscience, and by +the devil within me, here is a wonder! A man without a serpent in his bosom!” +</p> + +<p> +“Be calm, Elliston,” whispered George Herkimer, laying his hand upon the +shoulder of the snake-possessed. “I have crossed the ocean to meet you. Listen! +Let us be private. I bring a message from Rosina—from your wife!” +</p> + +<p> +“It gnaws me! It gnaws me!” muttered Roderick. +</p> + +<p> +With this exclamation, the most frequent in his mouth, the unfortunate man +clutched both hands upon his breast as if an intolerable sting or torture +impelled him to rend it open and let out the living mischief, even should it be +intertwined with his own life. He then freed himself from Herkimer’s grasp by a +subtle motion, and, gliding through the gate, took refuge in his antiquated +family residence. The sculptor did not pursue him. He saw that no available +intercourse could be expected at such a moment, and was desirous, before +another meeting, to inquire closely into the nature of Roderick’s disease and +the circumstances that had reduced him to so lamentable a condition. He +succeeded in obtaining the necessary information from an eminent medical +gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly after Elliston’s separation from his wife—now nearly four years +ago—his associates had observed a singular gloom spreading over his daily +life, like those chill, gray mists that sometimes steal away the sunshine from +a summer’s morning. The symptoms caused them endless perplexity. They knew not +whether ill health were robbing his spirits of elasticity, or whether a canker +of the mind was gradually eating, as such cankers do, from his moral system +into the physical frame, which is but the shadow of the former. They looked for +the root of this trouble in his shattered schemes of domestic +bliss,—wilfully shattered by himself,—but could not be satisfied of +its existence there. Some thought that their once brilliant friend was in an +incipient stage of insanity, of which his passionate impulses had perhaps been +the forerunners; others prognosticated a general blight and gradual decline. +From Roderick’s own lips they could learn nothing. More than once, it is true, +he had been heard to say, clutching his hands convulsively upon his +breast,—“It gnaws me! It gnaws me!”—but, by different auditors, a +great diversity of explanation was assigned to this ominous expression. What +could it be that gnawed the breast of Roderick Elliston? Was it sorrow? Was it +merely the tooth of physical disease? Or, in his reckless course, often verging +upon profligacy, if not plunging into its depths, had he been guilty of some +deed which made his bosom a prey to the deadlier fangs of remorse? There was +plausible ground for each of these conjectures; but it must not be concealed +that more than one elderly gentleman, the victim of good cheer and slothful +habits, magisterially pronounced the secret of the whole matter to be +Dyspepsia! +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Roderick seemed aware how generally he had become the subject of +curiosity and conjecture, and, with a morbid repugnance to such notice, or to +any notice whatsoever, estranged himself from all companionship. Not merely the +eye of man was a horror to him; not merely the light of a friend’s countenance; +but even the blessed sunshine, likewise, which in its universal beneficence +typifies the radiance of the Creator’s face, expressing his love for all the +creatures of his hand. The dusky twilight was now too transparent for Roderick +Elliston; the blackest midnight was his chosen hour to steal abroad; and if +ever he were seen, it was when the watchman’s lantern gleamed upon his figure, +gliding along the street, with his hands clutched upon his bosom, still +muttering, “It gnaws me! It gnaws me!” What could it be that gnawed him? +</p> + +<p> +After a time, it became known that Elliston was in the habit of resorting to +all the noted quacks that infested the city, or whom money would tempt to +journey thither from a distance. By one of these persons, in the exultation of +a supposed cure, it was proclaimed far and wide, by dint of handbills and +little pamphlets on dingy paper, that a distinguished gentleman, Roderick +Elliston, Esq., had been relieved of a SNAKE in his stomach! So here was the +monstrous secret, ejected from its lurking place into public view, in all its +horrible deformity. The mystery was out; but not so the bosom serpent. He, if +it were anything but a delusion, still lay coiled in his living den. The +empiric’s cure had been a sham, the effect, it was supposed, of some stupefying +drug which more nearly caused the death of the patient than of the odious +reptile that possessed him. When Roderick Elliston regained entire sensibility, +it was to find his misfortune the town talk—the more than nine days’ +wonder and horror—while, at his bosom, he felt the sickening motion of a +thing alive, and the gnawing of that restless fang which seemed to gratify at +once a physical appetite and a fiendish spite. +</p> + +<p> +He summoned the old black servant, who had been bred up in his father’s house, +and was a middle-aged man while Roderick lay in his cradle. +</p> + +<p> +“Scipio!” he began; and then paused, with his arms folded over his heart. “What +do people say of me, Scipio.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir! my poor master! that you had a serpent in your bosom,” answered the +servant with hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“And what else?” asked Roderick, with a ghastly look at the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing else, dear master,” replied Scipio, “only that the doctor gave you a +powder, and that the snake leaped out upon the floor.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” muttered Roderick to himself, as he shook his head, and pressed his +hands with a more convulsive force upon his breast, “I feel him still. It gnaws +me! It gnaws me!” +</p> + +<p> +From this time the miserable sufferer ceased to shun the world, but rather +solicited and forced himself upon the notice of acquaintances and strangers. It +was partly the result of desperation on finding that the cavern of his own +bosom had not proved deep and dark enough to hide the secret, even while it was +so secure a fortress for the loathsome fiend that had crept into it. But still +more, this craving for notoriety was a symptom of the intense morbidness which +now pervaded his nature. All persons chronically diseased are egotists, whether +the disease be of the mind or body; whether it be sin, sorrow, or merely the +more tolerable calamity of some endless pain, or mischief among the cords of +mortal life. Such individuals are made acutely conscious of a self, by the +torture in which it dwells. Self, therefore, grows to be so prominent an object +with them that they cannot but present it to the face of every casual +passer-by. There is a pleasure—perhaps the greatest of which the sufferer +is susceptible—in displaying the wasted or ulcerated limb, or the cancer +in the breast; and the fouler the crime, with so much the more difficulty does +the perpetrator prevent it from thrusting up its snake-like head to frighten +the world; for it is that cancer, or that crime, which constitutes their +respective individuality. Roderick Elliston, who, a little while before, had +held himself so scornfully above the common lot of men, now paid full +allegiance to this humiliating law. The snake in his bosom seemed the symbol of +a monstrous egotism to which everything was referred, and which he pampered, +night and day, with a continual and exclusive sacrifice of devil worship. +</p> + +<p> +He soon exhibited what most people considered indubitable tokens of insanity. +In some of his moods, strange to say, he prided and gloried himself on being +marked out from the ordinary experience of mankind, by the possession of a +double nature, and a life within a life. He appeared to imagine that the snake +was a divinity,—not celestial, it is true, but darkly infernal,—and +that he thence derived an eminence and a sanctity, horrid, indeed, yet more +desirable than whatever ambition aims at. Thus he drew his misery around him +like a regal mantle, and looked down triumphantly upon those whose vitals +nourished no deadly monster. Oftener, however, his human nature asserted its +empire over him in the shape of a yearning for fellowship. It grew to be his +custom to spend the whole day in wandering about the streets, aimlessly, unless +it might be called an aim to establish a species of brotherhood between himself +and the world. With cankered ingenuity, he sought out his own disease in every +breast. Whether insane or not, he showed so keen a perception of frailty, +error, and vice, that many persons gave him credit for being possessed not +merely with a serpent, but with an actual fiend, who imparted this evil faculty +of recognizing whatever was ugliest in man’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +For instance, he met an individual, who, for thirty years, had cherished a +hatred against his own brother. Roderick, amidst the throng of the street, laid +his hand on this man’s chest, and looking full into his forbidding face, “How +is the snake to-day?” he inquired, with a mock expression of sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“The snake!” exclaimed the brother hater—“what do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“The snake! The snake! Does it gnaw you?” persisted Roderick. “Did you take +counsel with him this morning when you should have been saying your prayers? +Did he sting, when you thought of your brother’s health, wealth, and good +repute? Did he caper for joy, when you remembered the profligacy of his only +son? And whether he stung, or whether he frolicked, did you feel his poison +throughout your body and soul, converting everything to sourness and +bitterness? That is the way of such serpents. I have learned the whole nature +of them from my own!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the police?” roared the object of Roderick’s persecution, at the same +time giving an instinctive clutch to his breast. “Why is this lunatic allowed +to go at large?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!” chuckled Roderick, releasing his grasp of the man.— “His bosom +serpent has stung him then!” +</p> + +<p> +Often it pleased the unfortunate young man to vex people with a lighter satire, +yet still characterized by somewhat of snake-like virulence. One day he +encountered an ambitious statesman, and gravely inquired after the welfare of +his boa constrictor; for of that species, Roderick affirmed, this gentleman’s +serpent must needs be, since its appetite was enormous enough to devour the +whole country and constitution. At another time, he stopped a close-fisted old +fellow, of great wealth, but who skulked about the city in the guise of a +scarecrow, with a patched blue surtout, brown hat, and mouldy boots, scraping +pence together, and picking up rusty nails. Pretending to look earnestly at +this respectable person’s stomach, Roderick assured him that his snake was a +copper-head and had been generated by the immense quantities of that base metal +with which he daily defiled his fingers. Again, he assaulted a man of rubicund +visage, and told him that few bosom serpents had more of the devil in them than +those that breed in the vats of a distillery. The next whom Roderick honored +with his attention was a distinguished clergyman, who happened just then to be +engaged in a theological controversy, where human wrath was more perceptible +than divine inspiration. +</p> + +<p> +“You have swallowed a snake in a cup of sacramental wine,” quoth he. +</p> + +<p> +“Profane wretch!” exclaimed the divine; but, nevertheless, his hand stole to +his breast. +</p> + +<p> +He met a person of sickly sensibility, who, on some early disappointment, had +retired from the world, and thereafter held no intercourse with his fellow-men, +but brooded sullenly or passionately over the irrevocable past. This man’s very +heart, if Roderick might be believed, had been changed into a serpent, which +would finally torment both him and itself to death. Observing a married couple, +whose domestic troubles were matter of notoriety, he condoled with both on +having mutually taken a house adder to their bosoms. To an envious author, who +depreciated works which he could never equal, he said that his snake was the +slimiest and filthiest of all the reptile tribe, but was fortunately without a +sting. A man of impure life, and a brazen face, asking Roderick if there were +any serpent in his breast, he told him that there was, and of the same species +that once tortured Don Rodrigo, the Goth. He took a fair young girl by the +hand, and gazing sadly into her eyes, warned her that she cherished a serpent +of the deadliest kind within her gentle breast; and the world found the truth +of those ominous words, when, a few months afterwards, the poor girl died of +love and shame. Two ladies, rivals in fashionable life who tormented one +another with a thousand little stings of womanish spite, were given to +understand that each of their hearts was a nest of diminutive snakes, which did +quite as much mischief as one great one. +</p> + +<p> +But nothing seemed to please Roderick better than to lay hold of a person +infected with jealousy, which he represented as an enormous green reptile, with +an ice-cold length of body, and the sharpest sting of any snake save one. +</p> + +<p> +“And what one is that?” asked a by-stander, overhearing him. +</p> + +<p> +It was a dark-browed man who put the question; he had an evasive eye, which in +the course of a dozen years had looked no mortal directly in the face. There +was an ambiguity about this person’s character,—a stain upon his +reputation,—yet none could tell precisely of what nature, although the +city gossips, male and female, whispered the most atrocious surmises. Until a +recent period he had followed the sea, and was, in fact, the very shipmaster +whom George Herkimer had encountered, under such singular circumstances, in the +Grecian Archipelago. +</p> + +<p> +“What bosom serpent has the sharpest sting?” repeated this man; but he put the +question as if by a reluctant necessity, and grew pale while he was uttering +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Why need you ask?” replied Roderick, with a look of dark intelligence. “Look +into your own breast. Hark! my serpent bestirs himself! He acknowledges the +presence of a master fiend!” +</p> + +<p> +And then, as the by-standers afterwards affirmed, a hissing sound was heard, +apparently in Roderick Elliston’s breast. It was said, too, that an answering +hiss came from the vitals of the shipmaster, as if a snake were actually +lurking there and had been aroused by the call of its brother reptile. If there +were in fact any such sound, it might have been caused by a malicious exercise +of ventriloquism on the part of Roderick. +</p> + +<p> +Thus making his own actual serpent—if a serpent there actually was in his +bosom—the type of each man’s fatal error, or hoarded sin, or unquiet +conscience, and striking his sting so unremorsefully into the sorest spot, we +may well imagine that Roderick became the pest of the city. Nobody could elude +him—none could withstand him. He grappled with the ugliest truth that he +could lay his hand on, and compelled his adversary to do the same. Strange +spectacle in human life where it is the instinctive effort of one and all to +hide those sad realities, and leave them undisturbed beneath a heap of +superficial topics which constitute the materials of intercourse between man +and man! It was not to be tolerated that Roderick Elliston should break through +the tacit compact by which the world has done its best to secure repose without +relinquishing evil. The victims of his malicious remarks, it is true, had +brothers enough to keep them in countenance; for, by Roderick’s theory, every +mortal bosom harbored either a brood of small serpents or one overgrown monster +that had devoured all the rest. Still the city could not bear this new apostle. +It was demanded by nearly all, and particularly by the most respectable +inhabitants, that Roderick should no longer be permitted to violate the +received rules of decorum by obtruding his own bosom serpent to the public +gaze, and dragging those of decent people from their lurking places. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, his relatives interfered and placed him in a private asylum for +the insane. When the news was noised abroad, it was observed that many persons +walked the streets with freer countenances and covered their breasts less +carefully with their hands. +</p> + +<p> +His confinement, however, although it contributed not a little to the peace of +the town, operated unfavorably upon Roderick himself. In solitude his +melancholy grew more black and sullen. He spent whole days—indeed, it was +his sole occupation—in communing with the serpent. A conversation was +sustained, in which, as it seemed, the hidden monster bore a part, though +unintelligibly to the listeners, and inaudible except in a hiss. Singular as it +may appear, the sufferer had now contracted a sort of affection for his +tormentor, mingled, however, with the intensest loathing and horror. Nor were +such discordant emotions incompatible. Each, on the contrary, imparted strength +and poignancy to its opposite. Horrible love—horrible +antipathy—embracing one another in his bosom, and both concentrating +themselves upon a being that had crept into his vitals or been engendered +there, and which was nourished with his food, and lived upon his life, and was +as intimate with him as his own heart, and yet was the foulest of all created +things! But not the less was it the true type of a morbid nature. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, in his moments of rage and bitter hatred against the snake and +himself, Roderick determined to be the death of him, even at the expense of his +own life. Once he attempted it by starvation; but, while the wretched man was +on the point of famishing, the monster seemed to feed upon his heart, and to +thrive and wax gamesome, as if it were his sweetest and most congenial diet. +Then he privily took a dose of active poison, imagining that it would not fail +to kill either himself or the devil that possessed him, or both together. +Another mistake; for if Roderick had not yet been destroyed by his own poisoned +heart nor the snake by gnawing it, they had little to fear from arsenic or +corrosive sublimate. Indeed, the venomous pest appeared to operate as an +antidote against all other poisons. The physicians tried to suffocate the fiend +with tobacco smoke. He breathed it as freely as if it were his native +atmosphere. Again, they drugged their patient with opium and drenched him with +intoxicating liquors, hoping that the snake might thus be reduced to stupor and +perhaps be ejected from the stomach. They succeeded in rendering Roderick +insensible; but, placing their hands upon his breast, they were inexpressibly +horror stricken to feel the monster wriggling, twining, and darting to and fro +within his narrow limits, evidently enlivened by the opium or alcohol, and +incited to unusual feats of activity. Thenceforth they gave up all attempts at +cure or palliation. The doomed sufferer submitted to his fate, resumed his +former loathsome affection for the bosom fiend, and spent whole miserable days +before a looking-glass, with his mouth wide open, watching, in hope and horror, +to catch a glimpse of the snake’s head far down within his throat. It is +supposed that he succeeded; for the attendants once heard a frenzied shout, +and, rushing into the room, found Roderick lifeless upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +He was kept but little longer under restraint. After minute investigation, the +medical directors of the asylum decided that his mental disease did not amount +to insanity, nor would warrant his confinement, especially as its influence +upon his spirits was unfavorable, and might produce the evil which it was meant +to remedy. His eccentricities were doubtless great; he had habitually violated +many of the customs and prejudices of society; but the world was not, without +surer ground, entitled to treat him as a madman. On this decision of such +competent authority Roderick was released, and had returned to his native city +the very day before his encounter with George Herkimer. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as possible after learning these particulars the sculptor, together +with a sad and tremulous companion, sought Elliston at his own house. It was a +large, sombre edifice of wood, with pilasters and a balcony, and was divided +from one of the principal streets by a terrace of three elevations, which was +ascended by successive flights of stone steps. Some immense old elms almost +concealed the front of the mansion. This spacious and once magnificent family +residence was built by a grandee of the race early in the past century, at +which epoch, land being of small comparative value, the garden and other +grounds had formed quite an extensive domain. Although a portion of the +ancestral heritage had been alienated, there was still a shadowy enclosure in +the rear of the mansion where a student, or a dreamer, or a man of stricken +heart might lie all day upon the grass, amid the solitude of murmuring boughs, +and forget that a city had grown up around him. +</p> + +<p> +Into this retirement the sculptor and his companion were ushered by Scipio, the +old black servant, whose wrinkled visage grew almost sunny with intelligence +and joy as he paid his humble greetings to one of the two visitors. +</p> + +<p> +“Remain in the arbor,” whispered the sculptor to the figure that leaned upon +his arm. “You will know whether, and when, to make your appearance.” +</p> + +<p> +“God will teach me,” was the reply. “May He support me too!” +</p> + +<p> +Roderick was reclining on the margin of a fountain which gushed into the +fleckered sunshine with the same clear sparkle and the same voice of airy +quietude as when trees of primeval growth flung their shadows cross its bosom. +How strange is the life of a fountain!—born at every moment, yet of an +age coeval with the rocks, and far surpassing the venerable antiquity of a +forest. +</p> + +<p> +“You are come! I have expected you,” said Elliston, when he became aware of the +sculptor’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +His manner was very different from that of the preceding day—quiet, +courteous, and, as Herkimer thought, watchful both over his guest and himself. +This unnatural restraint was almost the only trait that betokened anything +amiss. He had just thrown a book upon the grass, where it lay half opened, thus +disclosing itself to be a natural history of the serpent tribe, illustrated by +lifelike plates. Near it lay that bulky volume, the Ductor Dubitantium of +Jeremy Taylor, full of cases of conscience, and in which most men, possessed of +a conscience, may find something applicable to their purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” observed Elliston, pointing to the book of serpents, while a smile +gleamed upon his lips, “I am making an effort to become better acquainted with +my bosom friend; but I find nothing satisfactory in this volume. If I mistake +not, he will prove to be sui generis, and akin to no other reptile in +creation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whence came this strange calamity?” inquired the sculptor. +</p> + +<p> +“My sable friend Scipio has a story,” replied Roderick, “of a snake that had +lurked in this fountain—pure and innocent as it looks—ever since it +was known to the first settlers. This insinuating personage once crept into the +vitals of my great grandfather and dwelt there many years, tormenting the old +gentleman beyond mortal endurance. In short it is a family peculiarity. But, to +tell you the truth, I have no faith in this idea of the snake’s being an +heirloom. He is my own snake, and no man’s else.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what was his origin?” demanded Herkimer. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there is poisonous stuff in any man’s heart sufficient to generate a brood +of serpents,” said Elliston with a hollow laugh. “You should have heard my +homilies to the good town’s-people. Positively, I deem myself fortunate in +having bred but a single serpent. You, however, have none in your bosom, and +therefore cannot sympathize with the rest of the world. It gnaws me! It gnaws +me!” +</p> + +<p> +With this exclamation Roderick lost his self-control and threw himself upon the +grass, testifying his agony by intricate writhings, in which Herkimer could not +but fancy a resemblance to the motions of a snake. Then, likewise, was heard +that frightful hiss, which often ran through the sufferer’s speech, and crept +between the words and syllables without interrupting their succession. +</p> + +<p> +“This is awful indeed!” exclaimed the sculptor—“an awful infliction, +whether it be actual or imaginary. Tell me, Roderick Elliston, is there any +remedy for this loathsome evil?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but an impossible one,” muttered Roderick, as he lay wallowing with his +face in the grass. “Could I for one moment forget myself, the serpent might not +abide within me. It is my diseased self-contemplation that has engendered and +nourished him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then forget yourself, my husband,” said a gentle voice above him; “forget +yourself in the idea of another!” +</p> + +<p> +Rosina had emerged from the arbor, and was bending over him with the shadow of +his anguish reflected in her countenance, yet so mingled with hope and +unselfish love that all anguish seemed but an earthly shadow and a dream. She +touched Roderick with her hand. A tremor shivered through his frame. At that +moment, if report be trustworthy, the sculptor beheld a waving motion through +the grass, and heard a tinkling sound, as if something had plunged into the +fountain. Be the truth as it might, it is certain that Roderick Elliston sat up +like a man renewed, restored to his right mind, and rescued from the fiend +which had so miserably overcome him in the battle-field of his own breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Rosina!” cried he, in broken and passionate tones, but with nothing of the +wild wail that had haunted his voice so long, “forgive! forgive!” +</p> + +<p> +Her happy tears bedewed his face. +</p> + +<p> +“The punishment has been severe,” observed the sculptor. “Even Justice might +now forgive; how much more a woman’s tenderness! Roderick Elliston, whether the +serpent was a physical reptile, or whether the morbidness of your nature +suggested that symbol to your fancy, the moral of the story is not the less +true and strong. A tremendous Egotism, manifesting itself in your case in the +form of jealousy, is as fearful a fiend as ever stole into the human heart. Can +a breast, where it has dwelt so long, be purified?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” said Rosina with a heavenly smile. “The serpent was but a dark +fantasy, and what it typified was as shadowy as itself. The past, dismal as it +seems, shall fling no gloom upon the future. To give it its due importance we +must think of it but as an anecdote in our Eternity.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a> +THE CHRISTMAS BANQUET</h2> + +<h4>FROM THE UNPUBLISHED “ALLEGORIES OF THE HEART.”</h4> + +<p> +“I have here attempted,” said Roderick, unfolding a few sheets of manuscript, +as he sat with Rosina and the sculptor in the summer-house,—“I have +attempted to seize hold of a personage who glides past me, occasionally, in my +walk through life. My former sad experience, as you know, has gifted me with +some degree of insight into the gloomy mysteries of the human heart, through +which I have wandered like one astray in a dark cavern, with his torch fast +flickering to extinction. But this man, this class of men, is a hopeless +puzzle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but propound him,” said the sculptor. “Let us have an idea of hint, to +begin with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, indeed,” replied Roderick, “he is such a being as I could conceive you to +carve out of marble, and some yet unrealized perfection of human science to +endow with an exquisite mockery of intellect; but still there lacks the last +inestimable touch of a divine Creator. He looks like a man; and, perchance, +like a better specimen of man than you ordinarily meet. You might esteem him +wise; he is capable of cultivation and refinement, and has at least an external +conscience; but the demands that spirit makes upon spirit are precisely those +to which he cannot respond. When at last you come close to him you find him +chill and unsubstantial,—a mere vapor.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” said Rosina, “I have a glimmering idea of what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then be thankful,” answered her husband, smiling; “but do not anticipate any +further illumination from what I am about to read. I have here imagined such a +man to be—what, probably, he never is—conscious of the deficiency +in his spiritual organization. Methinks the result would be a sense of cold +unreality wherewith he would go shivering through the world, longing to +exchange his load of ice for any burden of real grief that fate could fling +upon a human being.” +</p> + +<p> +Contenting himself with this preface, Roderick began to read. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> + +In a certain old gentleman’s last will and testament there appeared a bequest, +which, as his final thought and deed, was singularly in keeping with a long +life of melancholy eccentricity. He devised a considerable sum for establishing +a fund, the interest of which was to be expended, annually forever, in +preparing a Christmas Banquet for ten of the most miserable persons that could +be found. It seemed not to be the testator’s purpose to make these half a score +of sad hearts merry, but to provide that the stern or fierce expression of +human discontent should not be drowned, even for that one holy and joyful day, +amid the acclamations of festal gratitude which all Christendom sends up. And +he desired, likewise, to perpetuate his own remonstrance against the earthly +course of Providence, and his sad and sour dissent from those systems of +religion or philosophy which either find sunshine in the world or draw it down +from heaven. +</p> + +<p> +The task of inviting the guests, or of selecting among such as might advance +their claims to partake of this dismal hospitality, was confided to the two +trustees or stewards of the fund. These gentlemen, like their deceased friend, +were sombre humorists, who made it their principal occupation to number the +sable threads in the web of human life, and drop all the golden ones out of the +reckoning. They performed their present office with integrity and judgment. The +aspect of the assembled company, on the day of the first festival, might not, +it is true, have satisfied every beholder that these were especially the +individuals, chosen forth from all the world, whose griefs were worthy to stand +as indicators of the mass of human suffering. Yet, after due consideration, it +could not be disputed that here was a variety of hopeless discomfort, which, if +it sometimes arose from causes apparently inadequate, was thereby only the +shrewder imputation against the nature and mechanism of life. +</p> + +<p> +The arrangements and decorations of the banquet were probably intended to +signify that death in life which had been the testator’s definition of +existence. The hall, illuminated by torches, was hung round with curtains of +deep and dusky purple, and adorned with branches of cypress and wreaths of +artificial flowers, imitative of such as used to be strewn over the dead. A +sprig of parsley was laid by every plate. The main reservoir of wine, was a +sepulchral urn of silver, whence the liquor was distributed around the table in +small vases, accurately copied from those that held the tears of ancient +mourners. Neither had the stewards—if it were their taste that arranged +these details—forgotten the fantasy of the old Egyptians, who seated a +skeleton at every festive board, and mocked their own merriment with the +imperturbable grin of a death’s-head. Such a fearful guest, shrouded in a black +mantle, sat now at the head of the table. It was whispered, I know not with +what truth, that the testator himself had once walked the visible world with +the machinery of that sane skeleton, and that it was one of the stipulations of +his will, that he should thus be permitted to sit, from year to year, at the +banquet which he had instituted. If so, it was perhaps covertly implied that he +had cherished no hopes of bliss beyond the grave to compensate for the evils +which he felt or imagined here. And if, in their bewildered conjectures as to +the purpose of earthly existence, the banqueters should throw aside the veil, +and cast an inquiring glance at this figure of death, as seeking thence the +solution otherwise unattainable, the only reply would be a stare of the vacant +eye-caverns and a grin of the skeleton jaws. Such was the response that the +dead man had fancied himself to receive when he asked of Death to solve the +riddle of his life; and it was his desire to repeat it when the guests of his +dismal hospitality should find themselves perplexed with the same question. +</p> + +<p> +“What means that wreath?” asked several of the company, while viewing the +decorations of the table. +</p> + +<p> +They alluded to a wreath of cypress, which was held on high by a skeleton arm, +protruding from within the black mantle. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a crown,” said one of the stewards, “not for the worthiest, but for the +wofulest, when he shall prove his claim to it.” +</p> + +<p> +The guest earliest bidden to the festival was a man of soft and gentle +character, who had not energy to struggle against the heavy despondency to +which his temperament rendered him liable; and therefore with nothing outwardly +to excuse him from happiness, he had spent a life of quiet misery that made his +blood torpid, and weighed upon his breath, and sat like a ponderous night-fiend +upon every throb of his unresisting heart. His wretchedness seemed as deep as +his original nature, if not identical with it. It was the misfortune of a +second guest to cherish within his bosom a diseased heart, which had become so +wretchedly sore that the continual and unavoidable rubs of the world, the blow +of an enemy, the careless jostle of a stranger, and even the faithful and +loving touch of a friend, alike made ulcers in it. As is the habit of people +thus afflicted, he found his chief employment in exhibiting these miserable +sores to any who would give themselves the pain of viewing them. A third guest +was a hypochondriac, whose imagination wrought necromancy in his outward and +inward world, and caused him to see monstrous faces in the household fire, and +dragons in the clouds of sunset, and fiends in the guise of beautiful women, +and something ugly or wicked beneath all the pleasant surfaces of nature. His +neighbor at table was one who, in his early youth, had trusted mankind too +much, and hoped too highly in their behalf, and, in meeting with many +disappointments, had become desperately soured. For several years back this +misanthrope bad employed himself in accumulating motives for hating and +despising his race,—such as murder, lust, treachery, ingratitude, +faithlessness of trusted friends, instinctive vices of children, impurity of +women, hidden guilt in men of saint-like aspect,—and, in short, all +manner of black realities that sought to decorate themselves with outward grace +or glory. But at every atrocious fact that was added to his catalogue, at every +increase of the sad knowledge which he spent his life to collect, the native +impulses of the poor man’s loving and confiding heart made him groan with +anguish. Next, with his heavy brow bent downward, there stole into the hall a +man naturally earnest and impassioned, who, from his immemorial infancy, had +felt the consciousness of a high message to the world; but, essaying to deliver +it, had found either no voice or form of speech, or else no ears to listen. +Therefore his whole life was a bitter questioning of himself: “Why have not men +acknowledged my mission? Am I not a self-deluding fool? What business have I on +earth? Where is my grave?” Throughout the festival, he quaffed frequent +draughts from the sepulchral urn of wine, hoping thus to quench the celestial +fire that tortured his own breast and could not benefit his race. +</p> + +<p> +Then there entered, having flung away a ticket for a ball, a gay gallant of +yesterday, who had found four or five wrinkles in his brow, and more gray hairs +than he could well number on his head. Endowed with sense and feeling, he had +nevertheless spent his youth in folly, but had reached at last that dreary +point in life where Folly quits us of her own accord, leaving us to make +friends with Wisdom if we can. Thus, cold and desolate, he had come to seek +Wisdom at the banquet, and wondered if the skeleton were she. To eke out the +company, the stewards had invited a distressed poet from his home in the +almshouse, and a melancholy idiot from the street-corner. The latter had just +the glimmering of sense that was sufficient to make him conscious of a vacancy, +which the poor fellow, all his life long, had mistily sought to fill up with +intelligence, wandering up and down the streets, and groaning miserably because +his attempts were ineffectual. The only lady in the hall was one who had fallen +short of absolute and perfect beauty, merely by the trifling defect of a slight +cast in her left eye. But this blemish, minute as it was, so shocked the pure +ideal of her soul, rather than her vanity, that she passed her life in +solitude, and veiled her countenance even from her own gaze. So the skeleton +sat shrouded at one end of the table, and this poor lady at the other. +</p> + +<p> +One other guest remains to be described. He was a young man of smooth brow, +fair cheek, and fashionable mien. So far as his exterior developed him, he +might much more suitably have found a place at some merry Christmas table, than +have been numbered among the blighted, fate-stricken, fancy-tortured set of +ill-starred banqueters. Murmurs arose among the guests as they noted, the +glance of general scrutiny which the intruder threw over his companions. What +had he to do among them? Why did not the skeleton of the dead founder of the +feast unbend its rattling joints, arise, and motion the unwelcome stranger from +the board? +</p> + +<p> +“Shameful!” said the morbid man, while a new ulcer broke out in his heart. “He +comes to mock us! we shall be the jest of his tavern friends I—he will +make a farce of our miseries, and bring it out upon the stage!” +</p> + +<p> +“O, never mind him!” said the hypochondriac, smiling sourly. “He shall feast +from yonder tureen of viper-soup; and if there is a fricassee of scorpions on +the table, pray let him have his share of it. For the dessert, he shall taste +the apples of Sodom, then, if he like our Christmas fare, let him return again +next year!” +</p> + +<p> +“Trouble him not,” murmured the melancholy man, with gentleness. “What matters +it whether the consciousness of misery come a few years sooner or later? If +this youth deem himself happy now, yet let him sit with us for the sake of the +wretchedness to come.” +</p> + +<p> +The poor idiot approached the young man with that mournful aspect of vacant +inquiry which his face continually wore, and which caused people to say that he +was always in search of his missing wits. After no little examination he +touched the stranger’s hand, but immediately drew back his own, shaking his +head and shivering. +</p> + +<p> +“Cold, cold, cold!” muttered the idiot. +</p> + +<p> +The young man shivered too, and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, and you, madam,” said one of the stewards of the festival, “do not +conceive so ill either of our caution or judgment, as to imagine that we have +admitted this young stranger—Gervayse Hastings by name—without a +full investigation and thoughtful balance of his claims. Trust me, not a guest +at the table is better entitled to his seat.” +</p> + +<p> +The steward’s guaranty was perforce satisfactory. The company, therefore, took +their places, and addressed themselves to the serious business of the feast, +but were soon disturbed by the hypochondriac, who thrust back his chair, +complaining that a dish of stewed toads and vipers was set before him, and that +there was green ditchwater in his cup of wine. This mistake being amended, he +quietly resumed his seat. The wine, as it flowed freely from the sepulchral +urn, seemed to come imbued with all gloomy inspirations; so that its influence +was not to cheer, but either to sink the revellers into a deeper melancholy, or +elevate their spirits to an enthusiasm of wretchedness. The conversation was +various. They told sad stories about people who might have been Worthy guests +at such a festival as the present. They talked of grisly incidents in human +history; of strange crimes, which, if truly considered, were but convulsions of +agony; of some lives that had been altogether wretched, and of others, which, +wearing a general semblance of happiness, had yet been deformed, sooner or +later, by misfortune, as by the intrusion of a grim face at a banquet; of +death-bed scenes, and what dark intimations might be gathered from the words of +dying men; of suicide, and whether the more eligible mode were by halter, +knife, poison, drowning, gradual starvation, or the fumes of charcoal. The +majority of the guests, as is the custom with people thoroughly and profoundly +sick at heart, were anxious to make their own woes the theme of discussion, and +prove themselves most excellent in anguish. The misanthropist went deep into +the philosophy of evil, and wandered about in the darkness, with now and then a +gleam of discolored light hovering on ghastly shapes and horrid scenery. Many a +miserable thought, such as men have stumbled upon from age to age, did he now +rake up again, and gloat over it as an inestimable gem, a diamond, a treasure +far preferable to those bright, spiritual revelations of a better world, which +are like precious stones from heaven’s pavement. And then, amid his lore of +wretchedness he hid his face and wept. +</p> + +<p> +It was a festival at which the woful man of Uz might suitably have been a +guest, together with all, in each succeeding age, who have tasted deepest of +the bitterness of life. And be it said, too, that every son or daughter of +woman, however favored with happy fortune, might, at one sad moment or another, +have claimed the privilege of a stricken heart, to sit down at this table. But, +throughout the feast, it was remarked that the young stranger, Gervayse +Hastings, was unsuccessful in his attempts to catch its pervading spirit. At +any deep, strong thought that found utterance, and which was torn out, as it +were, from the saddest recesses of human consciousness, he looked mystified and +bewildered; even more than the poor idiot, who seemed to grasp at such things +with his earnest heart, and thus occasionally to comprehend them. The young +man’s conversation was of a colder and lighter kind, often brilliant, but +lacking the powerful characteristics of a nature that had been developed by +suffering. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said the misanthropist, bluntly, in reply to some observation by +Gervayse Hastings, “pray do not address me again. We have no right to talk +together. Our minds have nothing in common. By what claim you appear at this +banquet I cannot guess; but methinks, to a man who could say what you have just +now said, my companions and myself must seem no more than shadows flickering on +the wall. And precisely such a shadow are you to us.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man smiled and bowed, but, drawing himself back in his chair, he +buttoned his coat over his breast, as if the banqueting-ball were growing +chill. Again the idiot fixed his melancholy stare upon the youth, and murmured, +“Cold! cold! cold!” +</p> + +<p> +The banquet drew to its conclusion, and the guests departed. Scarcely had they +stepped across the threshold of the hall, when the scene that had there passed +seemed like the vision of a sick fancy, or an exhalation from a stagnant heart. +Now and then, however, during the year that ensued, these melancholy people +caught glimpses of one another, transient, indeed, but enough to prove that +they walked the earth with the ordinary allotment of reality. Sometimes a pair +of them came face to face, while stealing through the evening twilight, +enveloped in their sable cloaks. Sometimes they casually met in churchyards. +Once, also, it happened that two of the dismal banqueters mutually started at +recognizing each other in the noonday sunshine of a crowded street, stalking +there like ghosts astray. Doubtless they wondered why the skeleton did not come +abroad at noonday too. +</p> + +<p> +But whenever the necessity of their affairs compelled these Christmas guests +into the bustling world, they were sure to encounter the young man who had so +unaccountably been admitted to the festival. They saw him among the gay and +fortunate; they caught the sunny sparkle of his eye; they heard the light and +careless tones of his voice, and muttered to themselves with such indignation +as only the aristocracy of wretchedness could kindle, “The traitor! The vile +impostor! Providence, in its own good time, may give him a right to feast among +us!” But the young man’s unabashed eye dwelt upon their gloomy figures as they +passed him, seeming to say, perchance with somewhat of a sneer, “First, know my +secret then, measure your claims with mine!” +</p> + +<p> +The step of Time stole onward, and soon brought merry Christmas round again, +with glad and solemn worship in the churches, and sports, games, festivals, and +everywhere the bright face of Joy beside the household fire. Again likewise the +hall, with its curtains of dusky purple, was illuminated by the death-torches +gleaming on the sepulchral decorations of the banquet. The veiled, skeleton sat +in state, lifting the cypress-wreath above its head, as the guerdon of some +guest illustrious in the qualifications which there claimed precedence. As the +stewards deemed the world inexhaustible in misery, and were desirous of +recognizing it in all its forms, they had not seen fit to reassemble the +company of the former year. New faces now threw their gloom across the table. +</p> + +<p> +There was a man of nice conscience, who bore a blood-stain in his +heart—the death of a fellow-creature—which, for his more exquisite +torture, had chanced with such a peculiarity of circumstances, that he could +not absolutely determine whether his will had entered into the deed or not. +Therefore, his whole life was spent in the agony of an inward trial for murder, +with a continual sifting of the details of his terrible calamity, until his +mind had no longer any thought, nor his soul any emotion, disconnected with it, +There was a mother, too,—a mother once, but a desolation now,—who, +many years before, had gone out on a pleasure-party, and, returning, found her +infant smothered in its little bed. And ever since she has been tortured with +the fantasy that her buried baby lay smothering in its coffin. Then there was +an aged lady, who had lived from time immemorial with a constant tremor +quivering through her-frame. It was terrible to discern her dark shadow +tremulous upon the wall; her lips, likewise, were tremulous; and the expression +of her eye seemed to indicate that her soul was trembling too. Owing to the +bewilderment and confusion which made almost a chaos of her intellect, it was +impossible to discover what dire misfortune had thus shaken her nature to its +depths; so that the stewards had admitted her to the table, not from any +acquaintance with her history, but on the safe testimony of her miserable +aspect. Some surprise was expressed at the presence of a bluff, red-faced +gentleman, a certain Mr. Smith, who had evidently the fat of many a rich feast +within him, and the habitual twinkle of whose eye betrayed a disposition to +break forth into uproarious laughter for little cause or none. It turned out, +however, that, with the best possible flow of spirits, our poor friend was +afflicted with a physical disease of the heart, which threatened instant death +on the slightest cachinnatory indulgence, or even that titillation of the +bodily frame produced by merry thoughts. In this dilemma he had sought +admittance to the banquet, on the ostensible plea of his irksome and miserable +state, but, in reality, with the hope of imbibing a life-preserving melancholy. +</p> + +<p> +A married couple had been invited from a motive of bitter humor, it being well +understood that they rendered each other unutterably miserable whenever they +chanced to meet, and therefore must necessarily be fit associates at the +festival. In contrast with these was another couple still unmarried, who had +interchanged their hearts in early life, but had been divided by circumstances +as impalpable as morning mist, and kept apart so long that their spirits now +found it impossible to meet, Therefore, yearning for communion, yet shrinking +from one another and choosing none beside, they felt themselves companionless +in life, and looked upon eternity as a boundless desert. Next to the skeleton +sat a mere son of earth,—a hunter of the Exchange,—a gatherer of +shining dust,—a man whose life’s record was in his ledger, and whose +soul’s prison-house the vaults of the bank where he kept his deposits. This +person had been greatly perplexed at his invitation, deeming himself one of the +most fortunate men in the city; but the stewards persisted in demanding his +presence, assuring him that he had no conception how miserable he was. +</p> + +<p> +And now appeared a figure which we must acknowledge as our acquaintance of the +former festival. It was Gervayse Hastings, whose presence had then caused so +much question and criticism, and who now took his place with the composure of +one whose claims were satisfactory to himself and must needs be allowed by +others. Yet his easy and unruffled face betrayed no sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +The well-skilled beholders gazed a moment into his eyes and shook their heads, +to miss the unuttered sympathy—the countersign never to be +falsified—of those whose hearts are cavern-mouths through which they +descend into a region of illimitable woe and recognize other wanderers there. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this youth?” asked the man with a bloodstain on his conscience. “Surely +he has never gone down into the depths! I know all the aspects of those who +have passed through the dark valley. By what right is he among us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, it is a sinful thing to come hither without a sorrow,” murmured the aged +lady, in accents that partook of the eternal tremor which pervaded her whole +being “Depart, young man! Your soul has never been shaken, and, therefore, I +tremble so much the more to look at you.” +</p> + +<p> +“His soul shaken! No; I’ll answer for it,” said bluff Mr. Smith, pressing his +hand upon his heart and making himself as melancholy as he could, for fear of a +fatal explosion of laughter. “I know the lad well; he has as fair prospects as +any young man about town, and has no more right among us miserable creatures +than the child unborn. He never was miserable and probably never will be!” +</p> + +<p> +“Our honored guests,” interposed the stewards, “pray have patience with us, and +believe, at least, that our deep veneration for the sacredness of this +solemnity would preclude any wilful violation of it. Receive this young man to +your table. It may not be too much to say, that no guest here would exchange +his own heart for the one that beats within that youthful bosom!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d call it a bargain, and gladly, too,” muttered Mr. Smith, with a perplexing +mixture of sadness and mirthful conceit. “A plague upon their nonsense! My own +heart is the only really miserable one in the company; it will certainly be the +death of me at last!” +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, as on the former occasion, the judgment of the stewards being +without appeal, the company sat down. The obnoxious guest made no more attempt +to obtrude his conversation on those about him, but appeared to listen to the +table-talk with peculiar assiduity, as if some inestimable secret, otherwise +beyond his reach, might be conveyed in a casual word. And in truth, to those +who could understand and value it, there was rich matter in the upgushings and +outpourings of these initiated souls to whom sorrow had been a talisman, +admitting them into spiritual depths which no other spell can open. Sometimes +out of the midst of densest gloom there flashed a momentary radiance, pure as +crystal, bright as the flame of stars, and shedding such a glow upon the +mysteries of life, that the guests were ready to exclaim, “Surely the riddle is +on the point of being solved!” At such illuminated intervals the saddest +mourners felt it to be revealed that mortal griefs are but shadowy and +external; no more than the sable robes voluminously shrouding a certain divine +reality, and thus indicating what might otherwise be altogether invisible to +mortal eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Just now,” remarked the trembling old woman, “I seemed to see beyond the +outside. And then my everlasting tremor passed away!” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that I could dwell always in these momentary gleams of light!” said the +man of stricken conscience. “Then the blood-stain in my heart would be washed +clean away.” +</p> + +<p> +This strain of conversation appeared so unintelligibly absurd to good Mr. +Smith, that he burst into precisely the fit of laughter which his physicians +had warned him against, as likely to prove instantaneously fatal. In effect, he +fell back in his chair a corpse, with a broad grin upon his face, while his +ghost, perchance, remained beside it bewildered at its unpremeditated exit. +This catastrophe of course broke up the festival. +</p> + +<p> +“How is this? You do not tremble!” observed the tremulous old woman to Gervayse +Hastings, who was gazing at the dead man with singular intentness. “Is it not +awful to see him so suddenly vanish out of the midst of life,—this man of +flesh and blood, whose earthly nature was so warm and strong? There is a +never-ending tremor in my soul, but it trembles afresh at, this! And you are +calm!” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that he could teach me somewhat!” said Gervayse Hastings, drawing a long +breath. “Men pass before me like shadows on the wall; their actions, passions, +feelings, are flickerings of the light, and then they vanish! Neither the +corpse, nor yonder skeleton, nor this old woman’s everlasting tremor, can give +me what I seek.” +</p> + +<p> +And then the company departed. +</p> + +<p> +We cannot linger to narrate, in such detail, more circumstances of these +singular festivals, which, in accordance with the founder’s will, continued to +be kept with the regularity of an established institution. In process of time +the stewards adopted the custom of inviting, from far and near, those +individuals whose misfortunes were prominent above other men’s, and whose +mental and moral development might, therefore, be supposed to possess a +corresponding interest. The exiled noble of the French Revolution, and the +broken soldier of the Empire, were alike represented at the table. Fallen +monarchs, wandering about the earth, have found places at that forlorn and +miserable feast. The statesman, when his party flung him off, might, if he +chose it, be once more a great man for the space of a single banquet. Aaron +Burr’s name appears on the record at a period when his ruin—the +profoundest and most striking, with more of moral circumstance in it than that +of almost any other man—was complete in his lonely age. Stephen Guard, +when his wealth weighed upon him like a mountain, once sought admittance of his +own accord. It is not probable, however, that these men had any lesson to teach +in the lore of discontent and misery which might not equally well have been +studied in the common walks of life. Illustrious unfortunates attract a wider +sympathy, not because their griefs are more intense, but because, being set on +lofty pedestals, they the better serve mankind as instances and bywords of +calamity. +</p> + +<p> +It concerns our present purpose to say that, at each successive festival, +Gervayse Hastings showed his face, gradually changing from the smooth beauty of +his youth to the thoughtful comeliness of manhood, and thence to the bald, +impressive dignity of age. He was the only individual invariably present. Yet +on every occasion there were murmurs, both from those who knew his character +and position, and from them whose hearts shrank back as denying his +companionship in their mystic fraternity. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this impassive man?” had been asked a hundred times. “Has he suffered? +Has he sinned? There are no traces of either. Then wherefore is he here?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must inquire of the stewards or of himself,” was the constant reply. “We +seem to know him well here in our city, and know nothing of him but what is +creditable and fortunate. Yet hither he comes, year after year, to this gloomy +banquet, and sits among the guests like a marble statue. Ask yonder skeleton, +perhaps that may solve the riddle!” +</p> + +<p> +It was in truth a wonder. The life of Gervayse Hastings was not merely a +prosperous, but a brilliant one. Everything had gone well with him. He was +wealthy, far beyond the expenditure that was required by habits of +magnificence, a taste of rare purity and cultivation, a love of travel, a +scholar’s instinct to collect a splendid library, and, moreover, what seemed a +magnificent liberality to the distressed. He had sought happiness, and not +vainly, if a lovely and tender wife, and children of fair promise, could insure +it. He had, besides, ascended above the limit which separates the obscure from +the distinguished, and had won a stainless reputation in affairs of the widest +public importance. Not that he was a popular character, or had within him the +mysterious attributes which are essential to that species of success. To the +public he was a cold abstraction, wholly destitute of those rich lines of +personality, that living warmth, and the peculiar faculty of stamping his own +heart’s impression on a multitude of hearts, by which the people recognize +their favorites. And it must be owned that, after his most intimate associates +had done their best to know him thoroughly, and love him warmly, they were +startled to find how little hold he had upon their affections. They approved, +they admired, but still in those moments when the human spirit most craves +reality, they shrank back from Gervayse Hastings, as powerless to give them +what they sought. It was the feeling of distrustful regret with which we should +draw back the hand after extending it, in an illusive twilight, to grasp the +hand of a shadow upon the wall. +</p> + +<p> +As the superficial fervency of youth decayed, this peculiar effect of Gervayse +Hastings’s character grew more perceptible. His children, when he extended his +arms, came coldly to his knees, but never climbed them of their own accord. His +wife wept secretly, and almost adjudged herself a criminal because she shivered +in the chill of his bosom. He, too, occasionally appeared not unconscious of +the chillness of his moral atmosphere, and willing, if it might be so, to warm +himself at a kindly fire. But age stole onward and benumbed him snore and more. +As the hoar-frost began to gather on him his wife went to her grave, and was +doubtless warmer there; his children either died or were scattered to different +homes of their own; and old Gervayse Hastings, unscathed by grief,—alone, +but needing no companionship,—continued his steady walk through life, and +still one very Christmas day attended at the dismal banquet. His privilege as a +guest had become prescriptive now. Had he claimed the head of the table, even +the skeleton would have been ejected from its seat. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, at the merry Christmas-tide, when he had numbered fourscore years +complete, this pale, highbrowed, marble-featured old man once more entered the +long-frequented hall, with the same impassive aspect that had called forth so +much dissatisfied remark at his first attendance. Time, except in matters +merely external, had done nothing for him, either of good or evil. As he took +his place he threw a calm, inquiring glance around the table, as if to +ascertain whether any guest had yet appeared, after so many unsuccessful +banquets, who might impart to him the mystery—the deep, warm +secret—the life within the life—which, whether manifested in joy or +sorrow, is what gives substance to a world of shadows. +</p> + +<p> +“My friends,” said Gervayse Hastings, assuming a position which his long +conversance with the festival caused to appear natural, “you are welcome! I +drink to you all in this cup of sepulchral wine.” +</p> + +<p> +The guests replied courteously, but still in a manner that proved them unable +to receive the old man as a member of their sad fraternity. It may be well to +give the reader an idea of the present company at the banquet. +</p> + +<p> +One was formerly a clergyman, enthusiastic in his profession, and apparently of +the genuine dynasty of those old Puritan divines whose faith in their calling, +and stern exercise of it, had placed them among the mighty of the earth. But +yielding to the speculative tendency of the age, he had gone astray from the +firm foundation of an ancient faith, and wandered into a cloud-region, where +everything was misty and deceptive, ever mocking him with a semblance of +reality, but still dissolving when he flung himself upon it for support and +rest. His instinct and early training demanded something steadfast; but, +looking forward, he beheld vapors piled on vapors, and behind him an impassable +gulf between the man of yesterday and to-day, on the borders of which he paced +to and fro, sometimes wringing his hands in agony, and often making his own woe +a theme of scornful merriment. This surely was a miserable man. Next, there was +a theorist,—one of a numerous tribe, although he deemed himself unique +since the creation,—a theorist, who had conceived a plan by which all the +wretchedness of earth, moral and physical, might be done away, and the bliss of +the millennium at once accomplished. But, the incredulity of mankind debarring +him from action, he was smitten with as much grief as if the whole mass of woe +which he was denied the opportunity to remedy were crowded into his own bosom. +A plain old man in black attracted much of the company’s notice, on the +supposition that he was no other than Father Miller, who, it seemed, had given +himself up to despair at the tedious delay of the final conflagration. Then +there was a man distinguished for native pride and obstinacy, who, a little +while before, had possessed immense wealth, and held the control of a vast +moneyed interest which he had wielded in the same spirit as a despotic monarch +would wield the power of his empire, carrying on a tremendous moral warfare, +the roar and tremor of which was felt at every fireside in the land. At length +came a crushing ruin,—a total overthrow of fortune, power, and +character,—the effect of which on his imperious and, in many respects, +noble and lofty nature might have entitled him to a place, not merely at our +festival, but among the peers of Pandemonium. +</p> + +<p> +There was a modern philanthropist, who had become so deeply sensible of the +calamities of thousands and millions of his fellow-creatures, and of the +impracticableness of any general measures for their relief, that he had no +heart to do what little good lay immediately within his power, but contented +himself with being miserable for sympathy. Near him sat a gentleman in a +predicament hitherto unprecedented, but of which the present epoch probably +affords numerous examples. Ever since he was of capacity to read a newspaper, +this person had prided himself on his consistent adherence to one political +party, but, in the confusion of these latter days, had got bewildered and knew +not whereabouts his party was. This wretched condition, so morally desolate and +disheartening to a man who has long accustomed himself to merge his +individuality in the mass of a great body, can only be conceived by such as +have experienced it. His next companion was a popular orator who had lost his +voice, and—as it was pretty much all that he had to lose—had fallen +into a state of hopeless melancholy. The table was likewise graced by two of +the gentler sex,—one, a half-starved, consumptive seamstress, the +representative of thousands just as wretched; the other, a woman of unemployed +energy, who found herself in the world with nothing to achieve, nothing to +enjoy, and nothing even to suffer. She had, therefore, driven herself to the +verge of madness by dark broodings over the wrongs of her sex, and its +exclusion from a proper field of action. The roll of guests being thus +complete, a side-table had been set for three or four disappointed +office-seekers, with hearts as sick as death, whom the stewards had admitted +partly because their calamities really entitled them to entrance here, and +partly that they were in especial need of a good dinner. There was likewise a +homeless dog, with his tail between his legs, licking up the crumbs and gnawing +the fragments of the feast,—such a melancholy cur as one sometimes sees +about the streets without a master, and willing to follow the first that will +accept his service. +</p> + +<p> +In their own way, these were as wretched a set of people as ever had assembled +at the festival. There they sat, with the veiled skeleton of the founder +holding aloft the cypress-wreath, at one end of the table, and at the other, +wrapped in furs, the withered figure of Gervayse Hastings, stately, calm, and +cold, impressing the company with awe, yet so little interesting their sympathy +that he might have vanished into thin air without their once exclaiming, +“Whither is he gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said the philanthropist, addressing the old man, “you have been so long +a guest at this annual festival, and have thus been conversant with so many +varieties of human affliction, that, not improbably, you have thence derived +some great and important lessons. How blessed were your lot could you reveal a +secret by which all this mass of woe might be removed!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know of but one misfortune,” answered Gervayse Hastings, quietly, “and that +is my own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your own!” rejoined the philanthropist. “And looking back on your serene and +prosperous life, how can you claim to be the sole unfortunate of the human +race?” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not understand it,” replied Gervayse Hastings, feebly, and with a +singular inefficiency of pronunciation, and sometimes putting one word for +another. “None have understood it, not even those who experience the like. It +is a chillness, a want of earnestness, a feeling as if what should be my heart +were a thing of vapor, a haunting perception of unreality! Thus seeming to +possess all that other men have, all that men aim at, I have really possessed +nothing, neither joy nor griefs. All things, all persons,—as was truly +said to me at this table long and long ago,—have been like shadows +flickering on the wall. It was so with my wife and children, with those who +seemed my friends: it is so with yourselves, whom I see now before one. Neither +have I myself any real existence, but am a shadow like the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how is it with your views of a future life?” inquired the speculative +clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +“Worse than with you,” said the old man, in a hollow and feeble tone; “for I +cannot conceive it earnestly enough to feel either hope or fear. +Mine,—mine is the wretchedness! This cold heart,—this unreal life! +Ah! it grows colder still.” +</p> + +<p> +It so chanced that at this juncture the decayed ligaments of the skeleton gave +way, and the dry hones fell together in a heap, thus causing the dusty wreath +of cypress to drop upon the table. The attention of the company being thus +diverted for a single instant from Gervayse Hastings, they perceived, on +turning again towards him, that the old man had undergone a change. His shadow +had ceased to flicker on the wall. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> + +“Well, Rosina, what is your criticism?” asked Roderick, as he rolled up the +manuscript. +</p> + +<p> +“Frankly, your success is by no means complete,” replied she. “It is true, I +have an idea of the character you endeavor to describe; but it is rather by +dint of my own thought than your expression.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is unavoidable,” observed the sculptor, “because the characteristics are +all negative. If Gervayse Hastings could have imbibed one human grief at the +gloomy banquet, the task of describing him would have been infinitely easier. +Of such persons—and we do meet with these moral monsters now and +then—it is difficult to conceive how they came to exist here, or what +there is in them capable of existence hereafter. They seem to be on the outside +of everything; and nothing wearies the soul more than an attempt to comprehend +them within its grasp.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a> +DROWNE’S WOODEN IMAGE</h2> + +<p> +One sunshiny morning, in the good old times of the town of Boston, a young +carver in wood, well known by the name of Drowne, stood contemplating a large +oaken log, which it was his purpose to convert into the figure-head of a +vessel. And while he discussed within his own mind what sort of shape or +similitude it were well to bestow upon this excellent piece of timber, there +came into Drowne’s workshop a certain Captain Hunnewell, owner and commander of +the good brig called the Cynosure, which had just returned from her first +voyage to Fayal. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! that will do, Drowne, that will do!” cried the jolly captain, tapping the +log with his rattan. “I bespeak this very piece of oak for the figure-head of +the Cynosure. She has shown herself the sweetest craft that ever floated, and I +mean to decorate her prow with the handsomest image that the skill of man can +cut out of timber. And, Drowne, you are the fellow to execute it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You give me more credit than I deserve, Captain Hunnewell,” said the carver, +modestly, yet as one conscious of eminence in his art. “But, for the sake of +the good brig, I stand ready to do my best. And which of these designs do you +prefer? Here,”—pointing to a staring, half-length figure, in a white wig +and scarlet coat,—“here is an excellent model, the likeness of our +gracious king. Here is the valiant Admiral Vernon. Or, if you prefer a female +figure, what say you to Britannia with the trident?” +</p> + +<p> +“All very fine, Drowne; all very fine,” answered the mariner. “But as nothing +like the brig ever swam the ocean, so I am determined she shall have such a +figure-head as old Neptune never saw in his life. And what is more, as there is +a secret in the matter, you must pledge your credit not to betray it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Drowne, marvelling, however, what possible mystery there +could be in reference to an affair so open, of necessity, to the inspection of +all the world as the figure-head of a vessel. “You may depend, captain, on my +being as secret as the nature of the case will permit.” +</p> + +<p> +Captain Hunnewell then took Drowne by the button, and communicated his wishes +in so low a tone that it would be unmannerly to repeat what was evidently +intended for the carver’s private ear. We shall, therefore, take the +opportunity to give the reader a few desirable particulars about Drowne +himself. +</p> + +<p> +He was the first American who is known to have attempted—in a very humble +line, it is true—that art in which we can now reckon so many names +already distinguished, or rising to distinction. From his earliest boyhood he +had exhibited a knack—for it would be too proud a word to call it +genius—a knack, therefore, for the imitation of the human figure in +whatever material came most readily to hand. The snows of a New England winter +had often supplied him with a species of marble as dazzingly white, at least, +as the Parian or the Carrara, and if less durable, yet sufficiently so to +correspond with any claims to permanent existence possessed by the boy’s frozen +statues. Yet they won admiration from maturer judges than his school-fellows, +and were indeed, remarkably clever, though destitute of the native warmth that +might have made the snow melt beneath his hand. As he advanced in life, the +young man adopted pine and oak as eligible materials for the display of his +skill, which now began to bring him a return of solid silver as well as the +empty praise that had been an apt reward enough for his productions of +evanescent snow. He became noted for carving ornamental pump heads, and wooden +urns for gate posts, and decorations, more grotesque than fanciful, for +mantelpieces. No apothecary would have deemed himself in the way of obtaining +custom without setting up a gilded mortar, if not a head of Galen or +Hippocrates, from the skilful hand of Drowne. +</p> + +<p> +But the great scope of his business lay in the manufacture of figure-heads for +vessels. Whether it were the monarch himself, or some famous British admiral or +general, or the governor of the province, or perchance the favorite daughter of +the ship-owner, there the image stood above the prow, decked out in gorgeous +colors, magnificently gilded, and staring the whole world out of countenance, +as if from an innate consciousness of its own superiority. These specimens of +native sculpture had crossed the sea in all directions, and been not ignobly +noticed among the crowded shipping of the Thames and wherever else the hardy +mariners of New England had pushed their adventures. It must be confessed that +a family likeness pervaded these respectable progeny of Drowne’s skill; that +the benign countenance of the king resembled those of his subjects, and that +Miss Peggy Hobart, the merchant’s daughter, bore a remarkable similitude to +Britannia, Victory, and other ladies of the allegoric sisterhood; and, finally, +that they all had a kind of wooden aspect which proved an intimate relationship +with the unshaped blocks of timber in the carver’s workshop. But at least there +was no inconsiderable skill of hand, nor a deficiency of any attribute to +render them really works of art, except that deep quality, be it of soul or +intellect, which bestows life upon the lifeless and warmth upon the cold, and +which, had it been present, would have made Drowne’s wooden image instinct with +spirit. +</p> + +<p> +The captain of the Cynosure had now finished his instructions. +</p> + +<p> +“And Drowne,” said he, impressively, “you must lay aside all other business and +set about this forthwith. And as to the price, only do the job in first-rate +style, and you shall settle that point yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, captain,” answered the carver, who looked grave and somewhat +perplexed, yet had a sort of smile upon his visage; “depend upon it, I’ll do my +utmost to satisfy you.” +</p> + +<p> +From that moment the men of taste about Long Wharf and the Town Dock who were +wont to show their love for the arts by frequent visits to Drowne’s workshop, +and admiration of his wooden images, began to be sensible of a mystery in the +carver’s conduct. Often he was absent in the daytime. Sometimes, as might be +judged by gleams of light from the shop windows, he was at work until a late +hour of the evening; although neither knock nor voice, on such occasions, could +gain admittance for a visitor, or elicit any word of response. Nothing +remarkable, however, was observed in the shop at those late hours when it was +thrown open. A fine piece of timber, indeed, which Drowne was known to have +reserved for some work of especial dignity, was seen to be gradually assuming +shape. What shape it was destined ultimately to take was a problem to his +friends and a point on which the carver himself preserved a rigid silence. But +day after day, though Drowne was seldom noticed in the act of working upon it, +this rude form began to be developed until it became evident to all observers +that a female figure was growing into mimic life. At each new visit they beheld +a larger pile of wooden chips and a nearer approximation to something +beautiful. It seemed as if the hamadryad of the oak had sheltered herself from +the unimaginative world within the heart of her native tree, and that it was +only necessary to remove the strange shapelessness that had incrusted her, and +reveal the grace and loveliness of a divinity. Imperfect as the design, the +attitude, the costume, and especially the face of the image still remained, +there was already an effect that drew the eye from the wooden cleverness of +Drowne’s earlier productions and fixed it upon the tantalizing mystery of this +new project. +</p> + +<p> +Copley, the celebrated painter, then a young man and a resident of Boston, came +one day to visit Drowne; for he had recognized so much of moderate ability in +the carver as to induce him, in the dearth of professional sympathy, to +cultivate his acquaintance. On entering the shop, the artist glanced at the +inflexible image of king, commander, dame, and allegory, that stood around, on +the best of which might have been bestowed the questionable praise that it +looked as if a living man had here been changed to wood, and that not only the +physical, but the intellectual and spiritual part, partook of the stolid +transformation. But in not a single instance did it seem as if the wood were +imbibing the ethereal essence of humanity. What a wide distinction is here! and +how far the slightest portion of the latter merit have outvalued the utmost +degree of the former! +</p> + +<p> +“My friend Drowne;” said Copley, smiling to himself, but alluding to the +mechanical and wooden cleverness that so invariably distinguished the images, +“you are really a remarkable person! I have seldom met with a man in your line +of business that could do so much; for one other touch might make this figure +of General Wolfe, for instance, a breathing and intelligent human creature.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would have me think that you are praising me highly, Mr. Copley,” answered +Drowne, turning his back upon Wolfe’s image in apparent disgust. “But there has +come a light into my mind. I know what you know as well, that the one touch +which you speak of as deficient is the only one that would be truly valuable, +and that without it these works of mine are no better than worthless abortions. +There is the same difference between them and the works of an inspired artist +as between a sign-post daub and one of your best pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is strange,” cried Copley, looking him in the face, which now, as the +painter fancied, had a singular depth of intelligence, though hitherto it had +not given him greatly the advantage over his own family of wooden images. “What +has come over you? How is it that, possessing the idea which you have now +uttered, you should produce only such works as these?” +</p> + +<p> +The carver smiled, but made no reply. Copley turned again to the images, +conceiving that the sense of deficiency which Drowne had just expressed, and +which is so rare in a merely mechanical character, must surely imply a genius, +the tokens of which had heretofore been overlooked. But no; there was not a +trace of it. He was about to withdraw when his eyes chanced to fall upon a +half-developed figure which lay in a corner of the workshop, surrounded by +scattered chips of oak. It arrested him at once. +</p> + +<p> +“What is here? Who has done this?” he broke out, after contemplating it in +speechless astonishment for an instant. “Here is the divine, the lifegiving +touch. What inspired hand is beckoning this wood to arise and live? Whose work +is this?” +</p> + +<p> +“No man’s work,” replied Drowne. “The figure lies within that block of oak, and +it is my business to find it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drowne,” said the true artist, grasping the carver fervently by the hand, “you +are a man of genius!” +</p> + +<p> +As Copley departed, happening to glance backward from the threshold, he beheld +Drowne bending over the half-created shape, and stretching forth his arms as if +he would have embraced and drawn it to his heart; while, had such a miracle +been possible, his countenance expressed passion enough to communicate warmth +and sensibility to the lifeless oak. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange enough!” said the artist to himself. “Who would have looked for a +modern Pygmalion in the person of a Yankee mechanic!” +</p> + +<p> +As yet, the image was but vague in its outward presentment; so that, as in the +cloud shapes around the western sun, the observer rather felt, or was led to +imagine, than really saw what was intended by it. Day by day, however, the work +assumed greater precision, and settled its irregular and misty outline into +distincter grace and beauty. The general design was now obvious to the common +eye. It was a female figure, in what appeared to be a foreign dress; the gown +being laced over the bosom, and opening in front so as to disclose a skirt or +petticoat, the folds and inequalities of which were admirably represented in +the oaken substance. She wore a hat of singular gracefulness, and abundantly +laden with flowers, such as never grew in the rude soil of New England, but +which, with all their fanciful luxuriance, had a natural truth that it seemed +impossible for the most fertile imagination to have attained without copying +from real prototypes. There were several little appendages to this dress, such +as a fan, a pair of earrings, a chain about the neck, a watch in the bosom, and +a ring upon the finger, all of which would have been deemed beneath the dignity +of sculpture. They were put on, however, with as much taste as a lovely woman +might have shown in her attire, and could therefore have shocked none but a +judgment spoiled by artistic rules. +</p> + +<p> +The face was still imperfect; but gradually, by a magic touch, intelligence and +sensibility brightened through the features, with all the effect of light +gleaming forth from within the solid oak. The face became alive. It was a +beautiful, though not precisely regular and somewhat haughty aspect, but with a +certain piquancy about the eyes and mouth, which, of all expressions, would +have seemed the most impossible to throw over a wooden countenance. And now, so +far as carving went, this wonderful production was complete. +</p> + +<p> +“Drowne,” said Copley, who had hardly missed a single day in his visits to the +carver’s workshop, “if this work were in marble it would make you famous at +once; nay, I would almost affirm that it would make an era in the art. It is as +ideal as an antique statue, and yet as real as any lovely woman whom one meets +at a fireside or in the street. But I trust you do not mean to desecrate this +exquisite creature with paint, like those staring kings and admirals yonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not paint her!” exclaimed Captain Hunnewell, who stood by; “not paint the +figure-head of the Cynosure! And what sort of a figure should I cut in a +foreign port with such an unpainted oaken stick as this over my prow! She must, +and she shall, be painted to the life, from the topmost flower in her hat down +to the silver spangles on her slippers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Copley,” said Drowne, quietly, “I know nothing of marble statuary, and +nothing of the sculptor’s rules of art; but of this wooden image, this work of +my hands, this creature of my heart,”—and here his voice faltered and +choked in a very singular manner,—“of this—of her—I may say +that I know something. A well-spring of inward wisdom gushed within me as I +wrought upon the oak with my whole strength, and soul, and faith. Let others do +what they may with marble, and adopt what rules they choose. If I can produce +my desired effect by painted wood, those rules are not for me, and I have a +right to disregard them.” +</p> + +<p> +“The very spirit of genius,” muttered Copley to himself. “How otherwise should +this carver feel himself entitled to transcend all rules, and make me ashamed +of quoting them?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked earnestly at Drowne, and again saw that expression of human love +which, in a spiritual sense, as the artist could not help imagining, was the +secret of the life that had been breathed into this block of wood. +</p> + +<p> +The carver, still in the same secrecy that marked all his operations upon this +mysterious image, proceeded to paint the habiliments in their proper colors, +and the countenance with Nature’s red and white. When all was finished he threw +open his workshop, and admitted the towns people to behold what he had done. +Most persons, at their first entrance, felt impelled to remove their hats, and +pay such reverence as was due to the richly-dressed and beautiful young lady +who seemed to stand in a corner of the room, with oaken chips and shavings +scattered at her feet. Then came a sensation of fear; as if, not being actually +human, yet so like humanity, she must therefore be something preternatural. +There was, in truth, an indefinable air and expression that might reasonably +induce the query, Who and from what sphere this daughter of the oak should be? +The strange, rich flowers of Eden on her head; the complexion, so much deeper +and more brilliant than those of our native beauties; the foreign, as it +seemed, and fantastic garb, yet not too fantastic to be worn decorously in the +street; the delicately-wrought embroidery of the skirt; the broad gold chain +about her neck; the curious ring upon her finger; the fan, so exquisitely +sculptured in open work, and painted to resemble pearl and ebony;—where +could Drowne, in his sober walk of life, have beheld the vision here so +matchlessly embodied! And then her face! In the dark eyes, and around the +voluptuous mouth, there played a look made up of pride, coquetry, and a gleam +of mirthfulness, which impressed Copley with the idea that the image was +secretly enjoying the perplexing admiration of himself and other beholders. +</p> + +<p> +“And will you,” said he to the carver, “permit this masterpiece to become the +figure-head of a vessel? Give the honest captain yonder figure of +Britannia—it will answer his purpose far better—and send this fairy +queen to England, where, for aught I know, it may bring you a thousand pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not wrought it for money,” said Drowne. +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of a fellow is this!” thought Copley. “A Yankee, and throw away the +chance of making his fortune! He has gone mad; and thence has come this gleam +of genius.” +</p> + +<p> +There was still further proof of Drowne’s lunacy, if credit were due to the +rumor that he had been seen kneeling at the feet of the oaken lady, and gazing +with a lover’s passionate ardor into the face that his own hands had created. +The bigots of the day hinted that it would be no matter of surprise if an evil +spirit were allowed to enter this beautiful form, and seduce the carver to +destruction. +</p> + +<p> +The fame of the image spread far and wide. The inhabitants visited it so +universally, that after a few days of exhibition there was hardly an old man or +a child who had not become minutely familiar with its aspect. Even had the +story of Drowne’s wooden image ended here, its celebrity might have been +prolonged for many years by the reminiscences of those who looked upon it in +their childhood, and saw nothing else so beautiful in after life. But the town +was now astounded by an event, the narrative of which has formed itself into +one of the most singular legends that are yet to be met with in the +traditionary chimney corners of the New England metropolis, where old men and +women sit dreaming of the past, and wag their heads at the dreamers of the +present and the future. +</p> + +<p> +One fine morning, just before the departure of the Cynosure on her second +voyage to Fayal, the commander of that gallant vessel was seen to issue from +his residence in Hanover Street. He was stylishly dressed in a blue broadcloth +coat, with gold lace at the seams and button-holes, an embroidered scarlet +waistcoat, a triangular hat, with a loop and broad binding of gold, and wore a +silver-hilted hanger at his side. But the good captain might have been arrayed +in the robes of a prince or the rags of a beggar, without in either case +attracting notice, while obscured by such a companion as now leaned on his arm. +The people in the street started, rubbed their eyes, and either leaped aside +from their path, or stood as if transfixed to wood or marble in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see it?—do you see it?” cried one, with tremulous eagerness. “It +is the very same!” +</p> + +<p> +“The same?” answered another, who had arrived in town only the night before. +“Who do you mean? I see only a sea-captain in his shoregoing clothes, and a +young lady in a foreign habit, with a bunch of beautiful flowers in her hat. On +my word, she is as fair and bright a damsel as my eyes have looked on this many +a day!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; the same!—the very same!” repeated the other. “Drowne’s wooden +image has come to life!” +</p> + +<p> +Here was a miracle indeed! Yet, illuminated by the sunshine, or darkened by the +alternate shade of the houses, and with its garments fluttering lightly in the +morning breeze, there passed the image along the street. It was exactly and +minutely the shape, the garb, and the face which the towns-people had so +recently thronged to see and admire. Not a rich flower upon her head, not a +single leaf, but had had its prototype in Drowne’s wooden workmanship, although +now their fragile grace had become flexible, and was shaken by every footstep +that the wearer made. The broad gold chain upon the neck was identical with the +one represented on the image, and glistened with the motion imparted by the +rise and fall of the bosom which it decorated. A real diamond sparkled on her +finger. In her right hand she bore a pearl and ebony fan, which she flourished +with a fantastic and bewitching coquetry, that was likewise expressed in all +her movements as well as in the style of her beauty and the attire that so well +harmonized with it. The face with its brilliant depth of complexion had the +same piquancy of mirthful mischief that was fixed upon the countenance of the +image, but which was here varied and continually shifting, yet always +essentially the same, like the sunny gleam upon a bubbling fountain. On the +whole, there was something so airy and yet so real in the figure, and withal so +perfectly did it represent Drowne’s image, that people knew not whether to +suppose the magic wood etherealized into a spirit or warmed and softened into +an actual woman. +</p> + +<p> +“One thing is certain,” muttered a Puritan of the old stamp, “Drowne has sold +himself to the devil; and doubtless this gay Captain Hunnewell is a party to +the bargain.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I,” said a young man who overheard him, “would almost consent to be the +third victim, for the liberty of saluting those lovely lips.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so would I,” said Copley, the painter, “for the privilege of taking her +picture.” +</p> + +<p> +The image, or the apparition, whichever it might be, still escorted by the bold +captain, proceeded from Hanover Street through some of the cross lanes that +make this portion of the town so intricate, to Ann Street, thence into Dock +Square, and so downward to Drowne’s shop, which stood just on the water’s edge. +The crowd still followed, gathering volume as it rolled along. Never had a +modern miracle occurred in such broad daylight, nor in the presence of such a +multitude of witnesses. The airy image, as if conscious that she was the object +of the murmurs and disturbance that swelled behind her, appeared slightly vexed +and flustered, yet still in a manner consistent with the light vivacity and +sportive mischief that were written in her countenance. She was observed to +flutter her fan with such vehement rapidity that the elaborate delicacy of its +workmanship gave way, and it remained broken in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Arriving at Drowne’s door, while the captain threw it open, the marvellous +apparition paused an instant on the threshold, assuming the very attitude of +the image, and casting over the crowd that glance of sunny coquetry which all +remembered on the face of the oaken lady. She and her cavalier then +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” murmured the crowd, drawing a deep breath, as with one vast pair of +lungs. +</p> + +<p> +“The world looks darker now that she has vanished,” said some of the young men. +</p> + +<p> +But the aged, whose recollections dated as far back as witch times, shook their +heads, and hinted that our forefathers would have thought it a pious deed to +burn the daughter of the oak with fire. +</p> + +<p> +“If she be other than a bubble of the elements,” exclaimed Copley, “I must look +upon her face again.” +</p> + +<p> +He accordingly entered the shop; and there, in her usual corner, stood the +image, gazing at him, as it might seem, with the very same expression of +mirthful mischief that had been the farewell look of the apparition when, but a +moment before, she turned her face towards the crowd. The carver stood beside +his creation mending the beautiful fan, which by some accident was broken in +her hand. But there was no longer any motion in the lifelike image, nor any +real woman in the workshop, nor even the witchcraft of a sunny shadow, that +might have deluded people’s eyes as it flitted along the street. Captain +Hunnewell, too, had vanished. His hoarse sea-breezy tones, however, were +audible on the other side of a door that opened upon the water. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down in the stern sheets, my lady,” said the gallant captain. “Come, bear +a hand, you lubbers, and set us on board in the turning of a minute-glass.” +</p> + +<p> +And then was heard the stroke of oars. +</p> + +<p> +“Drowne,” said Copley with a smile of intelligence, “you have been a truly +fortunate man. What painter or statuary ever had such a subject! No wonder that +she inspired a genius into you, and first created the artist who afterwards +created her image.” +</p> + +<p> +Drowne looked at him with a visage that bore the traces of tears, but from +which the light of imagination and sensibility, so recently illuminating it, +had departed. He was again the mechanical carver that he had been known to be +all his lifetime. +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly understand what you mean, Mr. Copley,” said he, putting his hand to +his brow. “This image! Can it have been my work? Well, I have wrought it in a +kind of dream; and now that I am broad awake I must set about finishing yonder +figure of Admiral Vernon.” +</p> + +<p> +And forthwith he employed himself on the stolid countenance of one of his +wooden progeny, and completed it in his own mechanical style, from which he was +never known afterwards to deviate. He followed his business industriously for +many years, acquired a competence, and in the latter part of his life attained +to a dignified station in the church, being remembered in records and +traditions as Deacon Drowne, the carver. One of his productions, an Indian +chief, gilded all over, stood during the better part of a century on the cupola +of the Province House, bedazzling the eyes of those who looked upward, like an +angel of the sun. Another work of the good deacon’s hand—a reduced +likeness of his friend Captain Hunnewell, holding a telescope and +quadrant—may be seen to this day, at the corner of Broad and State +streets, serving in the useful capacity of sign to the shop of a nautical +instrument maker. We know not how to account for the inferiority of this quaint +old figure, as compared with the recorded excellence of the Oaken Lady, unless +on the supposition that in every human spirit there is imagination, +sensibility, creative power, genius, which, according to circumstances, may +either be developed in this world, or shrouded in a mask of dulness until +another state of being. To our friend Drowne there came a brief season of +excitement, kindled by love. It rendered him a genius for that one occasion, +but, quenched in disappointment, left him again the mechanical carver in wood, +without the power even of appreciating the work that his own hands had wrought. +Yet who can doubt that the very highest state to which a human spirit can +attain, in its loftiest aspirations, is its truest and most natural state, and +that Drowne was more consistent with himself when he wrought the admirable +figure of the mysterious lady, than when he perpetrated a whole progeny of +blockheads? +</p> + +<p> +There was a rumor in Boston, about this period, that a young Portuguese lady of +rank, on some occasion of political or domestic disquietude, had fled from her +home in Fayal and put herself under the protection of Captain Hunnewell, on +board of whose vessel, and at whose residence, she was sheltered until a change +of affairs. This fair stranger must have been the original of Drowne’s Wooden +Image. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a> +THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICE</h2> + +<p> +Grave figure, with a pair of mysterious spectacles on his nose and a pen behind +his ear, was seated at a desk in the corner of a metropolitan office. The +apartment was fitted up with a counter, and furnished with an oaken cabinet and +a Chair or two, in simple and business-like style. Around the walls were stuck +advertisements of articles lost, or articles wanted, or articles to be disposed +of; in one or another of which classes were comprehended nearly all the +Conveniences, or otherwise, that the imagination of man has contrived. The +interior of the room was thrown into shadow, partly by the tall edifices that +rose on the opposite side of the street, and partly by the immense show-bills +of blue and crimson paper that were expanded over each of the three windows. +Undisturbed by the tramp of feet, the rattle of wheels, the hump of voices, the +shout of the city crier, the scream of the newsboys, and other tokens of the +multitudinous life that surged along in front of the office, the figure at the +desk pored diligently over a folio volume, of ledger-like size and aspect, He +looked like the spirit of a record—the soul of his own great volume made +visible in mortal shape. +</p> + +<p> +But scarcely an instant elapsed without the appearance at the door of some +individual from the busy population whose vicinity was manifested by so much +buzz, and clatter, and outcry. Now, it was a thriving mechanic in quest of a +tenement that should come within his moderate means of rent; now, a ruddy Irish +girl from the banks of Killarney, wandering from kitchen to kitchen of our +land, while her heart still hung in the peat-smoke of her native cottage; now, +a single gentleman looking out for economical board; and now—for this +establishment offered an epitome of worldly pursuits—it was a faded +beauty inquiring for her lost bloom; or Peter Schlemihl, for his lost shadow; +or an author of ten years’ standing, for his vanished reputation; or a moody +man, for yesterday’s sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +At the next lifting of the latch there entered a person with his hat awry upon +his head, his clothes perversely ill-suited to his form, his eyes staring in +directions opposite to their intelligence, and a certain odd unsuitableness +pervading his whole figure. Wherever he might chance to be, whether in palace +or cottage, church or market, on land or sea, or even at his own fireside, he +must have worn the characteristic expression of a man out of his right place. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” inquired he, putting his question in the form of an +assertion,—“this is the Central Intelligence Office?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” answered the figure at the desk, turning another leaf of his volume; +he then looked the applicant in the face and said briefly, “Your business?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want,” said the latter, with tremulous earnestness, “a place!” +</p> + +<p> +“A place! and of what nature?” asked the Intelligencer. “There are many vacant, +or soon to be so, some of which will probably suit, since they range from that +of a footman up to a seat at the council-board, or in the cabinet, or a throne, +or a presidential chair.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger stood pondering before the desk with an unquiet, dissatisfied +air,—a dull, vague pain of heart, expressed by a slight contortion of the +brow,—an earnestness of glance, that asked and expected, yet continually +wavered, as if distrusting. In short, he evidently wanted, not in a physical or +intellectual sense, but with an urgent moral necessity that is the hardest of +all things to satisfy, since it knows not its own object. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you mistake me!” said he at length, with a gesture of nervous impatience. +“Either of the places you mention, indeed, might answer my purpose; or, more +probably, none of them. I want my place! my own place! my true place in the +world! my proper sphere! my thing to do, which Nature intended me to perform +when she fashioned me thus awry, and which I have vainly sought all my +lifetime! Whether it be a footman’s duty or a king’s is of little consequence, +so it be naturally mine. Can you help me here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will enter your application,” answered the Intelligencer, at the same time +writing a few lines in his volume. “But to undertake such a business, I tell +you frankly, is quite apart from the ground covered by my official duties. Ask +for something specific, and it may doubtless be negotiated for you, on your +compliance with the conditions. But were I to go further, I should have the +whole population of the city upon my shoulders; since far the greater +proportion of them are, more or less, in your predicament.” +</p> + +<p> +The applicant sank into a fit of despondency, and passed out of the door +without again lifting his eyes; and, if he died of the disappointment, he was +probably buried in the wrong tomb, inasmuch as the fatality of such people +never deserts them, and, whether alive or dead, they are invariably out of +place. +</p> + +<p> +Almost immediately another foot was heard on the threshold. A youth entered +hastily, and threw a glance around the office to ascertain whether the man of +intelligence was alone. He then approached close to the desk, blushed like a +maiden, and seemed at a loss how to broach his business. +</p> + +<p> +“You come upon an affair of the heart,” said the official personage, looking +into him through his mysterious spectacles. “State it in as few words as may +be.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right,” replied the youth. “I have a heart to dispose of.” +</p> + +<p> +“You seek an exchange?” said the Intelligencer. “Foolish youth, why not be +contented with your own?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” exclaimed the young man, losing his embarrassment in a passionate +glow,—“because my heart burns me with an intolerable fire; it tortures me +all day long with yearnings for I know not what, and feverish throbbings, and +the pangs of a vague sorrow; and it awakens me in the night-time with a quake, +when there is nothing to be feared. I cannot endure it any longer. It were +wiser to throw away such a heart, even if it brings me nothing in return.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, very well,” said the man of office, making an entry in his volume. “Your +affair will be easily transacted. This species of brokerage makes no +inconsiderable part of my business; and there is always a large assortment of +the article to select from. Here, if I mistake not, comes a pretty fair +sample.” +</p> + +<p> +Even as he spoke the door was gently and slowly thrust ajar, affording a +glimpse of the slender figure of a young girl, who, as she timidly entered, +seemed to bring the light and cheerfulness of the outer atmosphere into the +somewhat gloomy apartment. We know not her errand there, nor can we reveal +whether the young man gave up his heart into her custody. If so, the +arrangement was neither better nor worse than in ninety-nine cases out of a +hundred, where the parallel sensibilities of a similar age, importunate +affections, and the easy satisfaction of characters not deeply conscious of +themselves, supply the place of any profounder sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +Not always, however, was the agency of the passions and affections an office of +so little trouble. It happened, rarely, indeed, in proportion to the cases that +came under an ordinary rule, but still it did happen, that a heart was +occasionally brought hither of such exquisite material, so delicately +attempered, and so curiously wrought, that no other heart could be found to +match it. It might almost be considered a misfortune, in a worldly point of +view, to be the possessor of such a diamond of the purest water; since in any +reasonable probability it could only be exchanged for an ordinary pebble, or a +bit of cunningly manufactured glass, or, at least, for a jewel of native +richness, but ill-set, or with some fatal flaw, or an earthy vein running +through its central lustre. To choose another figure, it is sad that hearts +which have their wellspring in the infinite, and contain inexhaustible +sympathies, should ever be doomed to pour themselves into shallow vessels, and +thus lavish their rich affections on the ground. Strange that the finer and +deeper nature, whether in man or woman, while possessed of every other delicate +instinct, should so often lack that most invaluable one of preserving itself +front contamination with what is of a baser kind! Sometimes, it is true, the +spiritual fountain is kept pure by a wisdom within itself, and sparkles into +the light of heaven without a stain from the earthy strata through which it had +gushed upward. And sometimes, even here on earth, the pure mingles with the +pure, and the inexhaustible is recompensed with the infinite. But these +miracles, though he should claim the credit of them, are far beyond the scope +of such a superficial agent in human affairs as the figure in the mysterious +spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +Again the door was opened, admitting the bustle of the city with a fresher +reverberation into the Intelligence Office. Now entered a man of woe-begone and +downcast look; it was such an aspect as if he had lost the very soul out of his +body, and had traversed all the world over, searching in the dust of the +highways, and along the shady footpaths, and beneath the leaves of the forest, +and among the sands of the sea-shore, in hopes to recover it again. He had bent +an anxious glance along the pavement of the street as he came hitherward; he +looked also in the angle of the doorstep, and upon the floor of the room; and, +finally, coming up to the Man of Intelligence, he gazed through the inscrutable +spectacles which the latter wore, as if the lost treasure might be hidden +within his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I have lost—” he began; and then he paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Intelligencer, “I see that you have lost,—but what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have lost a precious jewel!” replied the unfortunate person, “the like of +which is not to be found among any prince’s treasures. While I possessed it, +the contemplation of it was my sole and sufficient happiness. No price should +have purchased it of me; but it has fallen from my bosom where I wore it in my +careless wanderings about the city.” +</p> + +<p> +After causing the stranger to describe the marks of his lost jewel, the +Intelligencer opened a drawer of the oaken cabinet which has been mentioned as +forming a part of the furniture of the room. Here were deposited whatever +articles had been picked up in the streets, until the right owners should claim +them. It was a strange and heterogeneous collection. Not the least remarkable +part of it was a great number of wedding-rings, each one of which had been +riveted upon the finger with holy vows, and all the mystic potency that the +most solemn rites could attain, but had, nevertheless, proved too slippery for +the wearer’s vigilance. The gold of some was worn thin, betokening the +attrition of years of wedlock; others, glittering from the jeweller’s shop, +must have been lost within the honeymoon. There were ivory tablets, the leaves +scribbled over with sentiments that had been the deepest truths of the writer’s +earlier years, but which were now quite obliterated from his memory. So +scrupulously were articles preserved in this depository, that not even withered +flowers were rejected; white roses, and blush-roses, and moss-roses, fit +emblems of virgin purity and shamefacedness, which bad been lost or flung away, +and trampled into the pollution of the streets; locks of hair,—the golden +and the glossy dark,—the long tresses of woman and the crisp curls of +man, signified that lovers were now and then so heedless of the faith intrusted +to them as to drop its symbol from the treasure-place of the bosom. Many of +these things were imbued with perfumes, and perhaps a sweet scent had departed +from the lives of their former possessors ever since they had so wilfully or +negligently lost them. Here were gold pencil-cases, little ruby hearts with +golden arrows through them, bosom-pins, pieces of coin, and small articles of +every description, comprising nearly all that have been lost since a long time +ago. Most of them, doubtless, had a history and a meaning, if there were time +to search it out and room to tell it. Whoever has missed anything valuable, +whether out of his heart, mind, or pocket, would do well to make inquiry at the +Central Intelligence Office. +</p> + +<p> +And in the corner of one of the drawers of the oaken cabinet, after +considerable research, was found a great pearl, looking like the soul of +celestial purity, congealed and polished. +</p> + +<p> +“There is my jewel! my very pearl!” cried the stranger, almost beside himself +with rapture. “It is mine! Give it me this moment! or I shall perish!” +</p> + +<p> +“I perceive,” said the Man of Intelligence, examining it more closely, “that +this is the Pearl of Great Price!” +</p> + +<p> +“The very same,” answered the stranger. “Judge, then, of my misery at losing it +out of my bosom! Restore it to me! I must not live without it an instant to +longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me,” rejoined the Intelligencer, calmly, “you ask what is beyond my +duty. This pearl, as you well know, is held upon a peculiar tenure; and having +once let it escape from your keeping, you have no greater claim to +it—nay, not so great—as any other person. I cannot give it back.” +</p> + +<p> +Nor could the entreaties of the miserable man—who saw before his eyes the +jewel of his life without the power to reclaim it—soften the heart of +this stern being, impassive to human sympathy, though exercising such an +apparent influence over human fortunes. Finally the loser of the inestimable +pearl clutched his hands among his hair, and ran madly forth into the world, +which was affrighted at his desperate looks. There passed him on the doorstep a +fashionable young gentleman, whose business was to inquire for a damask +rosebud, the gift of his lady-love, which he had lost out of his buttonhole +within a hour after receiving it. So various were the errands of those who +visited this Central Office, where all human wishes seemed to be made known, +and, so far as destiny would allow, negotiated to their fulfilment. +</p> + +<p> +The next that entered was a man beyond the middle age, bearing the look of one +who knew the world and his own course in it. He had just alighted from a +handsome private carriage, which had orders to wait in the street while its +owner transacted his business. This person came up to the desk with a quick, +determined step, and looked the Intelligencer in the face with a resolute eye; +though, at the same time, some secret trouble gleamed from it in red and dusky +light. +</p> + +<p> +“I have an estate to dispose of,” said he, with a brevity that seemed +characteristic. +</p> + +<p> +“Describe it,” said the Intelligencer. +</p> + +<p> +The applicant proceeded to give the boundaries of his property, its nature, +comprising tillage, pasture, woodland, and pleasure-grounds, in ample circuit; +together with a mansion-house, in the construction of which it had been his +object to realize a castle in the air, hardening its shadowy walls into +granite, and rendering its visionary splendor perceptible to the awakened eye. +Judging from his description, it was beautiful enough to vanish like a dream, +yet substantial enough to endure for centuries. He spoke, too, of the gorgeous +furniture, the refinements of upholstery, and all the luxurious artifices that +combined to render this a residence where life might flow onward in a stream of +golden days, undisturbed by the ruggedness which fate loves to fling into it. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a man of strong will,” said he, in conclusion; “and at my first setting +out in life, as a poor, unfriended youth, I resolved to make myself the +possessor of such a mansion and estate as this, together with the abundant +revenue necessary to uphold it. I have succeeded to the extent of my utmost +wish. And this is the estate which I have now concluded to dispose of.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your terms?” asked the Intelligencer, after taking down the particulars +with which the stranger had supplied him. +</p> + +<p> +“Easy, abundantly easy!” answered the successful man, smiling, but with a stern +and almost frightful contraction of the brow, as if to quell an inward pang. “I +have been engaged in various sorts of business,—a distiller, a trader to +Africa, an East India merchant, a speculator in the stocks,—and, in the +course of these affairs, have contracted an encumbrance of a certain nature. +The purchaser of the estate shall merely be required to assume this burden to +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand you,” said the Man of Intelligence, putting his pen behind his +ear. “I fear that no bargain can be negotiated on these conditions. Very +probably the next possessor may acquire the estate with a similar encumbrance, +but it will be of his own contracting, and will not lighten your burden in the +least.” +</p> + +<p> +“And am I to live on,” fiercely exclaimed the stranger, “with the dirt of these +accursed acres and the granite of this infernal mansion crushing down my soul? +How, if I should turn the edifice into an almshouse or a hospital, or tear it +down and build a church?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can at least make the experiment,” said the Intelligencer; “but the whole +matter is one which you must settle for yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +The man of deplorable success withdrew, and got into his coach, which rattled +off lightly over the wooden pavements, though laden with the weight of much +land, a stately house, and ponderous heaps of gold, all compressed into an evil +conscience. +</p> + +<p> +There now appeared many applicants for places; among the most noteworthy of +whom was a small, smoke-dried figure, who gave himself out to be one of the bad +spirits that had waited upon Dr. Faustus in his laboratory. He pretended to +show a certificate of character, which, he averred, had been given him by that +famous necromancer, and countersigned by several masters whom he had +subsequently served. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid, my good friend,” observed the Intelligencer, “that your chance of +getting a service is but poor. Nowadays, men act the evil spirit for themselves +and their neighbors, and play the part more effectually than ninety-nine out of +a hundred of your fraternity.” +</p> + +<p> +But, just as the poor fiend was assuming a vaporous consistency, being about to +vanish through the floor in sad disappointment and chagrin, the editor of a +political newspaper chanced to enter the office in quest of a scribbler of +party paragraphs. The former servant of Dr. Faustus, with some misgivings as to +his sufficiency of venom, was allowed to try his hand in this capacity. Next +appeared, likewise seeking a service, the mysterious man in Red, who had aided +Bonaparte in his ascent to imperial power. He was examined as to his +qualifications by an aspiring politician, but finally rejected, as lacking +familiarity with the cunning tactics of the present day. +</p> + +<p> +People continued to succeed each other with as much briskness as if everybody +turned aside, out of the roar and tumult of the city, to record here some want, +or superfluity, or desire. Some had goods or possessions, of which they wished +to negotiate the sale. A China merchant had lost his health by a long residence +in that wasting climate. He very liberally offered his disease, and his wealth +along with it, to any physician who would rid him of both together. A soldier +offered his wreath of laurels for as good a leg as that which it had cost him +on the battle-field. One poor weary wretch desired nothing but to be +accommodated with any creditable method of laying down his life; for misfortune +and pecuniary troubles had so subdued his spirits that he could no longer +conceive the possibility of happiness, nor had the heart to try for it. +Nevertheless, happening to, overhear some conversation in the Intelligence +Office respecting wealth to be rapidly accumulated by a certain mode of +speculation, he resolved to live out this one other experiment of better +fortune. Many persons desired to exchange their youthful vices for others +better suited to the gravity of advancing age; a few, we are glad to say, made +earnest, efforts to exchange vice for virtue, and, hard as the bargain was, +succeeded in effecting it. But it was remarkable that what all were the least +willing to give up, even on the most advantageous terms, were the habits, the +oddities, the characteristic traits, the little ridiculous indulgences, +somewhere between faults and follies, of which nobody but themselves could +understand the fascination. +</p> + +<p> +The great folio, in which the Man of Intelligence recorded all these freaks of +idle hearts, and aspirations of deep hearts, and desperate longings of +miserable hearts, and evil prayers of perverted hearts, would be curious +reading were it possible to obtain it for publication. Human character in its +individual developments-human nature in the mass—may best be studied in +its wishes; and this was the record of them all. There was an endless diversity +of mode and circumstance, yet withal such a similarity in the real groundwork, +that any one page of the volume-whether written in the days before the Flood, +or the yesterday that is just gone by, or to be written on the morrow that is +close at hand, or a thousand ages hence—might serve as a specimen of the +whole. Not but that there were wild sallies of fantasy that could scarcely +occur to more than one man’s brain, whether reasonable or lunatic. The +strangest wishes—yet most incident to men who had gone deep into +scientific pursuits, and attained a high intellectual stage, though not the +loftiest—were, to contend with Nature, and wrest from her some secret, or +some power, which she had seen fit to withhold from mortal grasp. She loves to +delude her aspiring students, and mock them with mysteries that seem but just +beyond their utmost reach. To concoct new minerals, to produce new forms of +vegetable life, to create an insect, if nothing higher in the living scale, is +a sort of wish that has often revelled in the breast of a man of science. An +astronomer, who lived far more among the distant worlds of space than in this +lower sphere, recorded a wish to behold the opposite side of the moon, which, +unless the system of the firmament be reversed, she can never turn towards the +earth. On the same page of the volume was written the wish of a little child to +have the stars for playthings. +</p> + +<p> +The most ordinary wish, that was written down with wearisome recurrence, was, +of course, for wealth, wealth, wealth, in sums from a few shillings up to +unreckonable thousands. But in reality this often-repeated expression covered +as many different desires. Wealth is the golden essence of the outward world, +embodying almost everything that exists beyond the limits of the soul; and +therefore it is the natural yearning for the life in the midst of which we find +ourselves, and of which gold is the condition of enjoyment, that men abridge +into this general wish. Here and there, it is true, the volume testified to +some heart so perverted as to desire gold for its own sake. Many wished for +power; a strange desire indeed, since it is but another form of slavery. Old +people wished for the delights of youth; a fop for a fashionable coat; an idle +reader, for a new novel; a versifier, for a rhyme to some stubborn word; a +painter, for Titian’s secret of coloring; a prince, for a cottage; a +republican, for a kingdom and a palace; a libertine, for his neighbor’s wife; a +man of palate, for green peas; and a poor man, for a crust of bread. The +ambitious desires of public men, elsewhere so craftily concealed, were here +expressed openly and boldly, side by side with the unselfish wishes of the +philanthropist for the welfare of the race, so beautiful, so comforting, in +contrast with the egotism that continually weighed self against the world. Into +the darker secrets of the Book of Wishes we will not penetrate. +</p> + +<p> +It would be an instructive employment for a student of mankind, perusing this +volume carefully and comparing its records with men’s perfected designs, as +expressed in their deeds and daily life, to ascertain how far the one accorded +with the other. Undoubtedly, in most cases, the correspondence would be found +remote. The holy and generous wish, that rises like incense from a pure heart +towards heaven, often lavishes its sweet perfume on the blast of evil times. +The foul, selfish, murderous wish, that steams forth from a corrupted heart, +often passes into the spiritual atmosphere without being concreted into an +earthly deed. Yet this volume is probably truer, as a representation of the +human heart, than is the living drama of action as it evolves around us. There +is more of good and more of evil in it; more redeeming points of the bad and +more errors of the virtuous; higher upsoarings, and baser degradation of the +soul; in short, a more perplexing amalgamation of vice and virtue than we +witness in the outward world. Decency and external conscience often produce a +far fairer outside than is warranted by the stains within. And be it owned, oil +the other hand, that a man seldom repeats to his nearest friend, any more than +he realizes in act, the purest wishes, which, at some blessed time or other, +have arisen from the depths of his nature and witnessed for him in this volume. +Yet there is enough on every leaf to make the good man shudder for his own wild +and idle wishes, as well as for the sinner, whose whole life is the incarnation +of a wicked desire. +</p> + +<p> +But again the door is opened, and we hear the tumultuous stir of the +world,—a deep and awful sound, expressing in another form some portion of +what is written in the volume that lies before the Man of Intelligence. A +grandfatherly personage tottered hastily into the office, with such an +earnestness in his infirm alacrity that his white hair floated backward as he +hurried up to the desk, while his dim eyes caught a momentary lustre from his +vehemence of purpose. This venerable figure explained that he was in search of +To-morrow. +</p> + +<p> +“I have spent all my life in pursuit of it,” added the sage old gentleman, +“being assured that To-morrow has some vast benefit or other in store for me. +But I am now getting a little in years, and must make haste; for, unless I +overtake To-morrow soon, I begin to be afraid it will finally escape me.” +</p> + +<p> +“This fugitive To-morrow, my venerable friend,” said the Man of Intelligence, +“is a stray child of Time, and is flying from his father into the region of the +infinite. Continue your pursuit, and you will doubtless come up with him; but +as to the earthly gifts which you expect, he has scattered them all among a +throng of Yesterdays.” +</p> + +<p> +Obliged to content himself with this enigmatical response, the grandsire +hastened forth with a quick clatter of his staff upon the floor; and, as he +disappeared, a little boy scampered through the door in chase of a butterfly +which had got astray amid the barren sunshine of the city. Had the old +gentleman been shrewder, he might have detected To-morrow under the semblance +of that gaudy insect. The golden butterfly glistened through the shadowy +apartment, and brushed its wings against the Book of Wishes, and fluttered +forth again with the child still in pursuit. +</p> + +<p> +A man now entered, in neglected attire, with the aspect of a thinker, but +somewhat too rough-hewn and brawny for a scholar. His face was full of sturdy +vigor, with some finer and keener attribute beneath. Though harsh at first, it +was tempered with the glow of a large, warm heart, which had force enough to +heat his powerful intellect through and through. He advanced to the +Intelligencer and looked at him with a glance of such stern sincerity that +perhaps few secrets were beyond its scope. +</p> + +<p> +“I seek for Truth,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“It is precisely the most rare pursuit that has ever come under my cognizance,” +replied the Intelligencer, as he made the new inscription in his volume. “Most +men seek to impose some cunning falsehood upon themselves for truth. But I can +lend no help to your researches. You must achieve the miracle for yourself. At +some fortunate moment you may find Truth at your side, or perhaps she may be +mistily discerned far in advance, or possibly behind you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not behind me,” said the seeker; “for I have left nothing on my track without +a thorough investigation. She flits before me, passing now through a naked +solitude, and now mingling with the throng of a popular assembly, and now +writing with the pen of a French philosopher, and now standing at the altar of +an old cathedral, in the guise of a Catholic priest, performing the high mass. +O weary search! But I must not falter; and surely my heart-deep quest of Truth +shall avail at last.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and fixed his eyes upon the Intelligencer with a depth of +investigation that seemed to hold commerce with the inner nature of this being, +wholly regardless of his external development. +</p> + +<p> +“And what are you?” said he. “It will not satisfy me to point to this fantastic +show of an Intelligence Office and this mockery of business. Tell me what is +beneath it, and what your real agency in life and your influence upon mankind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yours is a mind,” answered the Man of Intelligence, “before which the forms +and fantasies that conceal the inner idea from the multitude vanish at once and +leave the naked reality beneath. Know, then, the secret. My agency in worldly +action, my connection with the press, and tumult, and intermingling, and +development of human affairs, is merely delusive. The desire of man’s heart +does for him whatever I seem to do. I am no minister of action, but the +Recording Spirit.” +</p> + +<p> +What further secrets were then spoken remains a mystery, inasmuch as the roar +of the city, the bustle of human business, the outcry of the jostling masses, +the rush and tumult of man’s life, in its noisy and brief career, arose so high +that it drowned the words of these two talkers; and whether they stood talking +in the moon, or in Vanity Fair, or in a city of this actual world, is more than +I can say. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a> +ROGER MALVIN’S BURIAL</h2> + +<p> +One of the few incidents of Indian warfare naturally susceptible of the +moonlight of romance was that expedition undertaken for the defence of the +frontiers in the year 1725, which resulted in the well-remembered “Lovell’s +Fight.” Imagination, by casting certain circumstances judicially into the +shade, may see much to admire in the heroism of a little band who gave battle +to twice their number in the heart of the enemy’s country. The open bravery +displayed by both parties was in accordance with civilized ideas of valor; and +chivalry itself might not blush to record the deeds of one or two individuals. +The battle, though so fatal to those who fought, was not unfortunate in its +consequences to the country; for it broke the strength of a tribe and conduced +to the peace which subsisted during several ensuing years. History and +tradition are unusually minute in their memorials of their affair; and the +captain of a scouting party of frontier men has acquired as actual a military +renown as many a victorious leader of thousands. Some of the incidents +contained in the following pages will be recognized, notwithstanding the +substitution of fictitious names, by such as have heard, from old men’s lips, +the fate of the few combatants who were in a condition to retreat after +“Lovell’s Fight.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The early sunbeams hovered cheerfully upon the tree-tops, beneath which two +weary and wounded men had stretched their limbs the night before. Their bed of +withered oak leaves was strewn upon the small level space, at the foot of a +rock, situated near the summit of one of the gentle swells by which the face of +the country is there diversified. The mass of granite, rearing its smooth, flat +surface fifteen or twenty feet above their heads, was not unlike a gigantic +gravestone, upon which the veins seemed to form an inscription in forgotten +characters. On a tract of several acres around this rock, oaks and other +hard-wood trees had supplied the place of the pines, which were the usual +growth of the land; and a young and vigorous sapling stood close beside the +travellers. +</p> + +<p> +The severe wound of the elder man had probably deprived him of sleep; for, so +soon as the first ray of sunshine rested on the top of the highest tree, he +reared himself painfully from his recumbent posture and sat erect. The deep +lines of his countenance and the scattered gray of his hair marked him as past +the middle age; but his muscular frame would, but for the effect of his wound, +have been as capable of sustaining fatigue as in the early vigor of life. +Languor and exhaustion now sat upon his haggard features; and the despairing +glance which he sent forward through the depths of the forest proved his own +conviction that his pilgrimage was at an end. He next turned his eyes to the +companion who reclined by his side. The youth—for he had scarcely +attained the years of manhood—lay, with his head upon his arm, in the +embrace of an unquiet sleep, which a thrill of pain from his wounds seemed each +moment on the point of breaking. His right hand grasped a musket; and, to judge +from the violent action of his features, his slumbers were bringing back a +vision of the conflict of which he was one of the few survivors. A shout deep +and loud in his dreaming fancy—found its way in an imperfect murmur to +his lips; and, starting even at the slight sound of his own voice, he suddenly +awoke. The first act of reviving recollection was to make anxious inquiries +respecting the condition of his wounded fellow-traveller. The latter shook his +head. +</p> + +<p> +“Reuben, my boy,” said he, “this rock beneath which we sit will serve for an +old hunter’s gravestone. There is many and many a long mile of howling +wilderness before us yet; nor would it avail me anything if the smoke of my own +chimney were but on the other side of that swell of land. The Indian bullet was +deadlier than I thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are weary with our three days’ travel,” replied the youth, “and a little +longer rest will recruit you. Sit you here while I search the woods for the +herbs and roots that must be our sustenance; and, having eaten, you shall lean +on me, and we will turn our faces homeward. I doubt not that, with my help, you +can attain to some one of the frontier garrisons.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is not two days’ life in me, Reuben,” said the other, calmly, “and I +will no longer burden you with my useless body, when you can scarcely support +your own. Your wounds are deep and your strength is failing fast; yet, if you +hasten onward alone, you may be preserved. For me there is no hope, and I will +await death here.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it must be so, I will remain and watch by you,” said Reuben, resolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“No, my son, no,” rejoined his companion. “Let the wish of a dying man have +weight with you; give me one grasp of your hand, and get you hence. Think you +that my last moments will be eased by the thought that I leave you to die a +more lingering death? I have loved you like a father, Reuben; and at a time +like this I should have something of a father’s authority. I charge you to be +gone that I may die in peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“And because you have been a father to me, should I therefore leave you to +perish and to lie unburied in the wilderness?” exclaimed the youth. “No; if +your end be in truth approaching, I will watch by you and receive your parting +words. I will dig a grave here by the rock, in which, if my weakness overcome +me, we will rest together; or, if Heaven gives me strength, I will seek my way +home.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the cities and wherever men dwell,” replied the other, “they bury their +dead in the earth; they hide them from the sight of the living; but here, where +no step may pass perhaps for a hundred years, wherefore should I not rest +beneath the open sky, covered only by the oak leaves when the autumn winds +shall strew them? And for a monument, here is this gray rock, on which my dying +hand shall carve the name of Roger Malvin, and the traveller in days to come +will know that here sleeps a hunter and a warrior. Tarry not, then, for a folly +like this, but hasten away, if not for your own sake, for hers who will else be +desolate.” +</p> + +<p> +Malvin spoke the last few words in a faltering voice, and their effect upon his +companion was strongly visible. They reminded him that there were other and +less questionable duties than that of sharing the fate of a man whom his death +could not benefit. Nor can it be affirmed that no selfish feeling strove to +enter Reuben’s heart, though the consciousness made him more earnestly resist +his companion’s entreaties. +</p> + +<p> +“How terrible to wait the slow approach of death in this solitude!” exclaimed +he. “A brave man does not shrink in the battle; and, when friends stand round +the bed, even women may die composedly; but here—” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not shrink even here, Reuben Bourne,” interrupted Malvin. “I am a man +of no weak heart, and, if I were, there is a surer support than that of earthly +friends. You are young, and life is dear to you. Your last moments will need +comfort far more than mine; and when you have laid me in the earth, and are +alone, and night is settling on the forest, you will feel all the bitterness of +the death that may now be escaped. But I will urge no selfish motive to your +generous nature. Leave me for my sake, that, having said a prayer for your +safety, I may have space to settle my account undisturbed by worldly sorrows.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your daughter,—how shall I dare to meet her eye?” exclaimed Reuben. +“She will ask the fate of her father, whose life I vowed to defend with my own. +Must I tell her that he travelled three days’ march with me from the field of +battle and that then I left him to perish in the wilderness? Were it not better +to lie down and die by your side than to return safe and say this to Dorcas?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell my daughter,” said Roger Malvin, “that, though yourself sore wounded, and +weak, and weary, you led my tottering footsteps many a mile, and left me only +at my earnest entreaty, because I would not have your blood upon my soul. Tell +her that through pain and danger you were faithful, and that, if your lifeblood +could have saved me, it would have flowed to its last drop; and tell her that +you will be something dearer than a father, and that my blessing is with you +both, and that my dying eyes can see a long and pleasant path in which you will +journey together.” +</p> + +<p> +As Malvin spoke he almost raised himself from the ground, and the energy of his +concluding words seemed to fill the wild and lonely forest with a vision of +happiness; but, when he sank exhausted upon his bed of oak leaves, the light +which had kindled in Reuben’s eye was quenched. He felt as if it were both sin +and folly to think of happiness at such a moment. His companion watched his +changing countenance, and sought with generous art to wile him to his own good. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I deceive myself in regard to the time I have to live,” he resumed. +“It may be that, with speedy assistance, I might recover of my wound. The +foremost fugitives must, ere this, have carried tidings of our fatal battle to +the frontiers, and parties will be out to succor those in like condition with +ourselves. Should you meet one of these and guide them hither, who can tell but +that I may sit by my own fireside again?” +</p> + +<p> +A mournful smile strayed across the features of the dying man as he insinuated +that unfounded hope,—which, however, was not without its effect on +Reuben. No merely selfish motive, nor even the desolate condition of Dorcas, +could have induced him to desert his companion at such a moment—but his +wishes seized on the thought that Malvin’s life might be preserved, and his +sanguine nature heightened almost to certainty the remote possibility of +procuring human aid. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely there is reason, weighty reason, to hope that friends are not far +distant,” he said, half aloud. “There fled one coward, unwounded, in the +beginning of the fight, and most probably he made good speed. Every true man on +the frontier would shoulder his musket at the news; and, though no party may +range so far into the woods as this, I shall perhaps encounter them in one +day’s march. Counsel me faithfully,” he added, turning to Malvin, in distrust +of his own motives. “Were your situation mine, would you desert me while life +remained?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is now twenty years,” replied Roger Malvin,—sighing, however, as he +secretly acknowledged the wide dissimilarity between the two cases,—“it +is now twenty years since I escaped with one dear friend from Indian captivity +near Montreal. We journeyed many days through the woods, till at length +overcome with hunger and weariness, my friend lay down and besought me to leave +him; for he knew that, if I remained, we both must perish; and, with but little +hope of obtaining succor, I heaped a pillow of dry leaves beneath his head and +hastened on.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did you return in time to save him?” asked Reuben, hanging on Malvin’s +words as if they were to be prophetic of his own success. +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” answered the other. “I came upon the camp of a hunting party before +sunset of the same day. I guided them to the spot where my comrade was +expecting death; and he is now a hale and hearty man upon his own farm, far +within the frontiers, while I lie wounded here in the depths of the +wilderness.” +</p> + +<p> +This example, powerful in affecting Reuben’s decision, was aided, unconsciously +to himself, by the hidden strength of many another motive. Roger Malvin +perceived that the victory was nearly won. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, go, my son, and Heaven prosper you!” he said. “Turn not back with your +friends when you meet them, lest your wounds and weariness overcome you; but +send hitherward two or three, that may be spared, to search for me; and believe +me, Reuben, my heart will be lighter with every step you take towards home.” +Yet there was, perhaps, a change both in his countenance and voice as he spoke +thus; for, after all, it was a ghastly fate to be left expiring in the +wilderness. +</p> + +<p> +Reuben Bourne, but half convinced that he was acting rightly, at length raised +himself from the ground and prepared himself for his departure. And first, +though contrary to Malvin’s wishes, he collected a stock of roots and herbs, +which had been their only food during the last two days. This useless supply he +placed within reach of the dying man, for whom, also, he swept together a bed +of dry oak leaves. Then climbing to the summit of the rock, which on one side +was rough and broken, he bent the oak sapling downward, and bound his +handkerchief to the topmost branch. This precaution was not unnecessary to +direct any who might come in search of Malvin; for every part of the rock, +except its broad, smooth front, was concealed at a little distance by the dense +undergrowth of the forest. The handkerchief had been the bandage of a wound +upon Reuben’s arm; and, as he bound it to the tree, he vowed by the blood that +stained it that he would return, either to save his companion’s life or to lay +his body in the grave. He then descended, and stood, with downcast eyes, to +receive Roger Malvin’s parting words. +</p> + +<p> +The experience of the latter suggested much and minute advice respecting the +youth’s journey through the trackless forest. Upon this subject he spoke with +calm earnestness, as if he were sending Reuben to the battle or the chase while +he himself remained secure at home, and not as if the human countenance that +was about to leave him were the last he would ever behold. But his firmness was +shaken before he concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“Carry my blessing to Dorcas, and say that my last prayer shall be for her and +you. Bid her to have no hard thoughts because you left me here,”—Reuben’s +heart smote him,—“for that your life would not have weighed with you if +its sacrifice could have done me good. She will marry you after she has mourned +a little while for her father; and Heaven grant you long and happy days, and +may your children’s children stand round your death bed! And, Reuben,” added +he, as the weakness of mortality made its way at last, “return, when your +wounds are healed and your weariness refreshed,—return to this wild rock, +and lay my bones in the grave, and say a prayer over them.” +</p> + +<p> +An almost superstitious regard, arising perhaps from the customs of the +Indians, whose war was with the dead as well as the living, was paid by the +frontier inhabitants to the rites of sepulture; and there are many instances of +the sacrifice of life in the attempt to bury those who had fallen by the “sword +of the wilderness.” Reuben, therefore, felt the full importance of the promise +which he most solemnly made to return and perform Roger Malvin’s obsequies. It +was remarkable that the latter, speaking his whole heart in his parting words, +no longer endeavored to persuade the youth that even the speediest succor might +avail to the preservation of his life. Reuben was internally convinced that he +should see Malvin’s living face no more. His generous nature would fain have +delayed him, at whatever risk, till the dying scene were past; but the desire +of existence and the hope of happiness had strengthened in his heart, and he +was unable to resist them. +</p> + +<p> +“It is enough,” said Roger Malvin, having listened to Reuben’s promise. “Go, +and God speed you!” +</p> + +<p> +The youth pressed his hand in silence, turned, and was departing. His slow and +faltering steps, however, had borne him but a little way before Malvin’s voice +recalled him. +</p> + +<p> +“Reuben, Reuben,” said he, faintly; and Reuben returned and knelt down by the +dying man. +</p> + +<p> +“Raise me, and let me lean against the rock,” was his last request. “My face +will be turned towards home, and I shall see you a moment longer as you pass +among the trees.” +</p> + +<p> +Reuben, having made the desired alteration in his companion’s posture, again +began his solitary pilgrimage. He walked more hastily at first than was +consistent with his strength; for a sort of guilty feeling, which sometimes +torments men in their most justifiable acts, caused him to seek concealment +from Malvin’s eyes; but after he had trodden far upon the rustling forest +leaves he crept back, impelled by a wild and painful curiosity, and, sheltered +by the earthy roots of an uptorn tree, gazed earnestly at the desolate man. The +morning sun was unclouded, and the trees and shrubs imbibed the sweet air of +the month of May; yet there seemed a gloom on Nature’s face, as if she +sympathized with mortal pain and sorrow. Roger Malvin’s hands were uplifted in +a fervent prayer, some of the words of which stole through the stillness of the +woods and entered Reuben’s heart, torturing it with an unutterable pang. They +were the broken accents of a petition for his own happiness and that of Dorcas; +and, as the youth listened, conscience, or something in its similitude, pleaded +strongly with him to return and lie down again by the rock. He felt how hard +was the doom of the kind and generous being whom he had deserted in his +extremity. Death would come like the slow approach of a corpse, stealing +gradually towards him through the forest, and showing its ghastly and +motionless features from behind a nearer and yet a nearer tree. But such must +have been Reuben’s own fate had he tarried another sunset; and who shall impute +blame to him if he shrink from so useless a sacrifice? As he gave a parting +look, a breeze waved the little banner upon the sapling oak and reminded Reuben +of his vow. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Many circumstances combined to retard the wounded traveller in his way to the +frontiers. On the second day the clouds, gathering densely over the sky, +precluded the possibility of regulating his course by the position of the sun; +and he knew not but that every effort of his almost exhausted strength was +removing him farther from the home he sought. His scanty sustenance was +supplied by the berries and other spontaneous products of the forest. Herds of +deer, it is true, sometimes bounded past him, and partridges frequently whirred +up before his footsteps; but his ammunition had been expended in the fight, and +he had no means of slaying them. His wounds, irritated by the constant exertion +in which lay the only hope of life, wore away his strength and at intervals +confused his reason. But, even in the wanderings of intellect, Reuben’s young +heart clung strongly to existence; and it was only through absolute incapacity +of motion that he at last sank down beneath a tree, compelled there to await +death. +</p> + +<p> +In this situation he was discovered by a party who, upon the first intelligence +of the fight, had been despatched to the relief of the survivors. They conveyed +him to the nearest settlement, which chanced to be that of his own residence. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas, in the simplicity of the olden time, watched by the bedside of her +wounded lover, and administered all those comforts that are in the sole gift of +woman’s heart and hand. During several days Reuben’s recollection strayed +drowsily among the perils and hardships through which he had passed, and he was +incapable of returning definite answers to the inquiries with which many were +eager to harass him. No authentic particulars of the battle had yet been +circulated; nor could mothers, wives, and children tell whether their loved +ones were detained by captivity or by the stronger chain of death. Dorcas +nourished her apprehensions in silence till one afternoon when Reuben awoke +from an unquiet sleep, and seemed to recognize her more perfectly than at any +previous time. She saw that his intellect had become composed, and she could no +longer restrain her filial anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“My father, Reuben?” she began; but the change in her lover’s countenance made +her pause. +</p> + +<p> +The youth shrank as if with a bitter pain, and the blood gushed vividly into +his wan and hollow cheeks. His first impulse was to cover his face; but, +apparently with a desperate effort, he half raised himself and spoke +vehemently, defending himself against an imaginary accusation. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father was sore wounded in the battle, Dorcas; and he bade me not burden +myself with him, but only to lead him to the lakeside, that he might quench his +thirst and die. But I would not desert the old man in his extremity, and, +though bleeding myself, I supported him; I gave him half my strength, and led +him away with me. For three days we journeyed on together, and your father was +sustained beyond my hopes, but, awaking at sunrise on the fourth day, I found +him faint and exhausted; he was unable to proceed; his life had ebbed away +fast; and—” +</p> + +<p> +“He died!” exclaimed Dorcas, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +Reuben felt it impossible to acknowledge that his selfish love of life had +hurried him away before her father’s fate was decided. He spoke not; he only +bowed his head; and, between shame and exhaustion, sank back and hid his face +in the pillow. Dorcas wept when her fears were thus confirmed; but the shock, +as it had been long anticipated, was on that account the less violent. +</p> + +<p> +“You dug a grave for my poor father in the wilderness, Reuben?” was the +question by which her filial piety manifested itself. +</p> + +<p> +“My hands were weak; but I did what I could,” replied the youth in a smothered +tone. “There stands a noble tombstone above his head; and I would to Heaven I +slept as soundly as he!” +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas, perceiving the wildness of his latter words, inquired no further at the +time; but her heart found ease in the thought that Roger Malvin had not lacked +such funeral rites as it was possible to bestow. The tale of Reuben’s courage +and fidelity lost nothing when she communicated it to her friends; and the poor +youth, tottering from his sick chamber to breathe the sunny air, experienced +from every tongue the miserable and humiliating torture of unmerited praise. +All acknowledged that he might worthily demand the hand of the fair maiden to +whose father he had been “faithful unto death;” and, as my tale is not of love, +it shall suffice to say that in the space of a few months Reuben became the +husband of Dorcas Malvin. During the marriage ceremony the bride was covered +with blushes, but the bridegroom’s face was pale. +</p> + +<p> +There was now in the breast of Reuben Bourne an incommunicable +thought—something which he was to conceal most heedfully from her whom he +most loved and trusted. He regretted, deeply and bitterly, the moral cowardice +that had restrained his words when he was about to disclose the truth to +Dorcas; but pride, the fear of losing her affection, the dread of universal +scorn, forbade him to rectify this falsehood. He felt that for leaving Roger +Malvin he deserved no censure. His presence, the gratuitous sacrifice of his +own life, would have added only another and a needless agony to the last +moments of the dying man; but concealment had imparted to a justifiable act +much of the secret effect of guilt; and Reuben, while reason told him that he +had done right, experienced in no small degree the mental horrors which punish +the perpetrator of undiscovered crime. By a certain association of ideas, he at +times almost imagined himself a murderer. For years, also, a thought would +occasionally recur, which, though he perceived all its folly and extravagance, +he had not power to banish from his mind. It was a haunting and torturing fancy +that his father-in-law was yet sitting at the foot of the rock, on the withered +forest leaves, alive, and awaiting his pledged assistance. These mental +deceptions, however, came and went, nor did he ever mistake them for realities: +but in the calmest and clearest moods of his mind he was conscious that he had +a deep vow unredeemed, and that an unburied corpse was calling to him out of +the wilderness. Yet such was the consequence of his prevarication that he could +not obey the call. It was now too late to require the assistance of Roger +Malvin’s friends in performing his long-deferred sepulture; and superstitious +fears, of which none were more susceptible than the people of the outward +settlements, forbade Reuben to go alone. Neither did he know where in the +pathless and illimitable forest to seek that smooth and lettered rock at the +base of which the body lay: his remembrance of every portion of his travel +thence was indistinct, and the latter part had left no impression upon his +mind. There was, however, a continual impulse, a voice audible only to himself, +commanding him to go forth and redeem his vow; and he had a strange impression +that, were he to make the trial, he would be led straight to Malvin’s bones. +But year after year that summons, unheard but felt, was disobeyed. His one +secret thought became like a chain binding down his spirit and like a serpent +gnawing into his heart; and he was transformed into a sad and downcast yet +irritable man. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of a few years after their marriage changes began to be visible +in the external prosperity of Reuben and Dorcas. The only riches of the former +had been his stout heart and strong arm; but the latter, her father’s sole +heiress, had made her husband master of a farm, under older cultivation, +larger, and better stocked than most of the frontier establishments. Reuben +Bourne, however, was a neglectful husbandman; and, while the lands of the other +settlers became annually more fruitful, his deteriorated in the same +proportion. The discouragements to agriculture were greatly lessened by the +cessation of Indian war, during which men held the plough in one hand and the +musket in the other, and were fortunate if the products of their dangerous +labor were not destroyed, either in the field or in the barn, by the savage +enemy. But Reuben did not profit by the altered condition of the country; nor +can it be denied that his intervals of industrious attention to his affairs +were but scantily rewarded with success. The irritability by which he had +recently become distinguished was another cause of his declining prosperity, as +it occasioned frequent quarrels in his unavoidable intercourse with the +neighboring settlers. The results of these were innumerable lawsuits; for the +people of New England, in the earliest stages and wildest circumstances of the +country, adopted, whenever attainable, the legal mode of deciding their +differences. To be brief, the world did not go well with Reuben Bourne; and, +though not till many years after his marriage, he was finally a ruined man, +with but one remaining expedient against the evil fate that had pursued him. He +was to throw sunlight into some deep recess of the forest, and seek subsistence +from the virgin bosom of the wilderness. +</p> + +<p> +The only child of Reuben and Dorcas was a son, now arrived at the age of +fifteen years, beautiful in youth, and giving promise of a glorious manhood. He +was peculiarly qualified for, and already began to excel in, the wild +accomplishments of frontier life. His foot was fleet, his aim true, his +apprehension quick, his heart glad and high; and all who anticipated the return +of Indian war spoke of Cyrus Bourne as a future leader in the land. The boy was +loved by his father with a deep and silent strength, as if whatever was good +and happy in his own nature had been transferred to his child, carrying his +affections with it. Even Dorcas, though loving and beloved, was far less dear +to him; for Reuben’s secret thoughts and insulated emotions had gradually made +him a selfish man, and he could no longer love deeply except where he saw or +imagined some reflection or likeness of his own mind. In Cyrus he recognized +what he had himself been in other days; and at intervals he seemed to partake +of the boy’s spirit, and to be revived with a fresh and happy life. Reuben was +accompanied by his son in the expedition, for the purpose of selecting a tract +of land and felling and burning the timber, which necessarily preceded the +removal of the household gods. Two months of autumn were thus occupied, after +which Reuben Bourne and his young hunter returned to spend their last winter in +the settlements. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +It was early in the month of May that the little family snapped asunder +whatever tendrils of affections had clung to inanimate objects, and bade +farewell to the few who, in the blight of fortune, called themselves their +friends. The sadness of the parting moment had, to each of the pilgrims, its +peculiar alleviations. Reuben, a moody man, and misanthropic because unhappy, +strode onward with his usual stern brow and downcast eye, feeling few regrets +and disdaining to acknowledge any. Dorcas, while she wept abundantly over the +broken ties by which her simple and affectionate nature had bound itself to +everything, felt that the inhabitants of her inmost heart moved on with her, +and that all else would be supplied wherever she might go. And the boy dashed +one tear-drop from his eye, and thought of the adventurous pleasures of the +untrodden forest. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, who, in the enthusiasm of a daydream, has not wished that he were a +wanderer in a world of summer wilderness, with one fair and gentle being +hanging lightly on his arm? In youth his free and exulting step would know no +barrier but the rolling ocean or the snow-topped mountains; calmer manhood +would choose a home where Nature had strewn a double wealth in the vale of some +transparent stream; and when hoary age, after long, long years of that pure +life, stole on and found him there, it would find him the father of a race, the +patriarch of a people, the founder of a mighty nation yet to be. When death, +like the sweet sleep which we welcome after a day of happiness, came over him, +his far descendants would mourn over the venerated dust. Enveloped by tradition +in mysterious attributes, the men of future generations would call him godlike; +and remote posterity would see him standing, dimly glorious, far up the valley +of a hundred centuries. +</p> + +<p> +The tangled and gloomy forest through which the personages of my tale were +wandering differed widely from the dreamer’s land of fantasy; yet there was +something in their way of life that Nature asserted as her own, and the gnawing +cares which went with them from the world were all that now obstructed their +happiness. One stout and shaggy steed, the bearer of all their wealth, did not +shrink from the added weight of Dorcas; although her hardy breeding sustained +her, during the latter part of each day’s journey, by her husband’s side. +Reuben and his son, their muskets on their shoulders and their axes slung +behind them, kept an unwearied pace, each watching with a hunter’s eye for the +game that supplied their food. When hunger bade, they halted and prepared their +meal on the bank of some unpolluted forest brook, which, as they knelt down +with thirsty lips to drink, murmured a sweet unwillingness, like a maiden at +love’s first kiss. They slept beneath a hut of branches, and awoke at peep of +light refreshed for the toils of another day. Dorcas and the boy went on +joyously, and even Reuben’s spirit shone at intervals with an outward gladness; +but inwardly there was a cold cold sorrow, which he compared to the snowdrifts +lying deep in the glens and hollows of the rivulets while the leaves were +brightly green above. +</p> + +<p> +Cyrus Bourne was sufficiently skilled in the travel of the woods to observe +that his father did not adhere to the course they had pursued in their +expedition of the preceding autumn. They were now keeping farther to the north, +striking out more directly from the settlements, and into a region of which +savage beasts and savage men were as yet the sole possessors. The boy sometimes +hinted his opinions upon the subject, and Reuben listened attentively, and once +or twice altered the direction of their march in accordance with his son’s +counsel; but, having so done, he seemed ill at ease. His quick and wandering +glances were sent forward apparently in search of enemies lurking behind the +tree trunks, and, seeing nothing there, he would cast his eyes backwards as if +in fear of some pursuer. Cyrus, perceiving that his father gradually resumed +the old direction, forbore to interfere; nor, though something began to weigh +upon his heart, did his adventurous nature permit him to regret the increased +length and the mystery of their way. +</p> + +<p> +On the afternoon of the fifth day they halted, and made their simple encampment +nearly an hour before sunset. The face of the country, for the last few miles, +had been diversified by swells of land resembling huge waves of a petrified +sea; and in one of the corresponding hollows, a wild and romantic spot, had the +family reared their hut and kindled their fire. There is something chilling, +and yet heart-warming, in the thought of these three, united by strong bands of +love and insulated from all that breathe beside. The dark and gloomy pines +looked down upon them, and, as the wind swept through their tops, a pitying +sound was heard in the forest; or did those old trees groan in fear that men +were come to lay the axe to their roots at last? Reuben and his son, while +Dorcas made ready their meal, proposed to wander out in search of game, of +which that day’s march had afforded no supply. The boy, promising not to quit +the vicinity of the encampment, bounded off with a step as light and elastic as +that of the deer he hoped to slay; while his father, feeling a transient +happiness as he gazed after him, was about to pursue an opposite direction. +Dorcas in the meanwhile, had seated herself near their fire of fallen branches +upon the mossgrown and mouldering trunk of a tree uprooted years before. Her +employment, diversified by an occasional glance at the pot, now beginning to +simmer over the blaze, was the perusal of the current year’s Massachusetts +Almanac, which, with the exception of an old black-letter Bible, comprised all +the literary wealth of the family. None pay a greater regard to arbitrary +divisions of time than those who are excluded from society; and Dorcas +mentioned, as if the information were of importance, that it was now the +twelfth of May. Her husband started. +</p> + +<p> +“The twelfth of May! I should remember it well,” muttered he, while many +thoughts occasioned a momentary confusion in his mind. “Where am I? Whither am +I wandering? Where did I leave him?” +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas, too well accustomed to her husband’s wayward moods to note any +peculiarity of demeanor, now laid aside the almanac and addressed him in that +mournful tone which the tender hearted appropriate to griefs long cold and +dead. +</p> + +<p> +“It was near this time of the month, eighteen years ago, that my poor father +left this world for a better. He had a kind arm to hold his head and a kind +voice to cheer him, Reuben, in his last moments; and the thought of the +faithful care you took of him has comforted me many a time since. Oh, death +would have been awful to a solitary man in a wild place like this!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray Heaven, Dorcas,” said Reuben, in a broken voice,—“pray Heaven that +neither of us three dies solitary and lies unburied in this howling +wilderness!” And he hastened away, leaving her to watch the fire beneath the +gloomy pines. +</p> + +<p> +Reuben Bourne’s rapid pace gradually slackened as the pang, unintentionally +inflicted by the words of Dorcas, became less acute. Many strange reflections, +however, thronged upon him; and, straying onward rather like a sleep walker +than a hunter, it was attributable to no care of his own that his devious +course kept him in the vicinity of the encampment. His steps were imperceptibly +led almost in a circle; nor did he observe that he was on the verge of a tract +of land heavily timbered, but not with pine-trees. The place of the latter was +here supplied by oaks and other of the harder woods; and around their roots +clustered a dense and bushy under-growth, leaving, however, barren spaces +between the trees, thick strewn with withered leaves. Whenever the rustling of +the branches or the creaking of the trunks made a sound, as if the forest were +waking from slumber, Reuben instinctively raised the musket that rested on his +arm, and cast a quick, sharp glance on every side; but, convinced by a partial +observation that no animal was near, he would again give himself up to his +thoughts. He was musing on the strange influence that had led him away from his +premeditated course, and so far into the depths of the wilderness. Unable to +penetrate to the secret place of his soul where his motives lay hidden, he +believed that a supernatural voice had called him onward, and that a +supernatural power had obstructed his retreat. He trusted that it was Heaven’s +intent to afford him an opportunity of expiating his sin; he hoped that he +might find the bones so long unburied; and that, having laid the earth over +them, peace would throw its sunlight into the sepulchre of his heart. From +these thoughts he was aroused by a rustling in the forest at some distance from +the spot to which he had wandered. Perceiving the motion of some object behind +a thick veil of undergrowth, he fired, with the instinct of a hunter and the +aim of a practised marksman. A low moan, which told his success, and by which +even animals cars express their dying agony, was unheeded by Reuben Bourne. +What were the recollections now breaking upon him? +</p> + +<p> +The thicket into which Reuben had fired was near the summit of a swell of land, +and was clustered around the base of a rock, which, in the shape and smoothness +of one of its surfaces, was not unlike a gigantic gravestone. As if reflected +in a mirror, its likeness was in Reuben’s memory. He even recognized the veins +which seemed to form an inscription in forgotten characters: everything +remained the same, except that a thick covert of bushes shrouded the lowerpart +of the rock, and would have hidden Roger Malvin had he still been sitting +there. Yet in the next moment Reuben’s eye was caught by another change that +time had effected since he last stood where he was now standing again behind +the earthy roots of the uptorn tree. The sapling to which he had bound the +bloodstained symbol of his vow had increased and strengthened into an oak, far +indeed from its maturity, but with no mean spread of shadowy branches. There +was one singularity observable in this tree which made Reuben tremble. The +middle and lower branches were in luxuriant life, and an excess of vegetation +had fringed the trunk almost to the ground; but a blight had apparently +stricken the upper part of the oak, and the very topmost bough was withered, +sapless, and utterly dead. Reuben remembered how the little banner had +fluttered on that topmost bough, when it was green and lovely, eighteen years +before. Whose guilt had blasted it? +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Dorcas, after the departure of the two hunters, continued her preparations for +their evening repast. Her sylvan table was the moss-covered trunk of a large +fallen tree, on the broadest part of which she had spread a snow-white cloth +and arranged what were left of the bright pewter vessels that had been her +pride in the settlements. It had a strange aspect that one little spot of +homely comfort in the desolate heart of Nature. The sunshine yet lingered upon +the higher branches of the trees that grew on rising ground; but the shadows of +evening had deepened into the hollow where the encampment was made, and the +firelight began to redden as it gleamed up the tall trunks of the pines or +hovered on the dense and obscure mass of foliage that circled round the spot. +The heart of Dorcas was not sad; for she felt that it was better to journey in +the wilderness with two whom she loved than to be a lonely woman in a crowd +that cared not for her. As she busied herself in arranging seats of mouldering +wood, covered with leaves, for Reuben and her son, her voice danced through the +gloomy forest in the measure of a song that she had learned in youth. The rude +melody, the production of a bard who won no name, was descriptive of a winter +evening in a frontier cottage, when, secured from savage inroad by the +high-piled snow-drifts, the family rejoiced by their own fireside. The whole +song possessed the nameless charm peculiar to unborrowed thought, but four +continually-recurring lines shone out from the rest like the blaze of the +hearth whose joys they celebrated. Into them, working magic with a few simple +words, the poet had instilled the very essence of domestic love and household +happiness, and they were poetry and picture joined in one. As Dorcas sang, the +walls of her forsaken home seemed to encircle her; she no longer saw the gloomy +pines, nor heard the wind which still, as she began each verse, sent a heavy +breath through the branches, and died away in a hollow moan from the burden of +the song. She was aroused by the report of a gun in the vicinity of the +encampment; and either the sudden sound, or her loneliness by the glowing fire, +caused her to tremble violently. The next moment she laughed in the pride of a +mother’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +“My beautiful young hunter! My boy has slain a deer!” she exclaimed, +recollecting that in the direction whence the shot proceeded Cyrus had gone to +the chase. +</p> + +<p> +She waited a reasonable time to hear her son’s light step bounding over the +rustling leaves to tell of his success. But he did not immediately appear; and +she sent her cheerful voice among the trees in search of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Cyrus! Cyrus!” +</p> + +<p> +His coming was still delayed; and she determined, as the report had apparently +been very near, to seek for him in person. Her assistance, also, might be +necessary in bringing home the venison which she flattered herself he had +obtained. She therefore set forward, directing her steps by the long-past +sound, and singing as she went, in order that the boy might be aware of her +approach and run to meet her. From behind the trunk of every tree, and from +every hiding-place in the thick foliage of the undergrowth, she hoped to +discover the countenance of her son, laughing with the sportive mischief that +is born of affection. The sun was now beneath the horizon, and the light that +came down among the leaves was sufficiently dim to create many illusions in her +expecting fancy. Several times she seemed indistinctly to see his face gazing +out from among the leaves; and once she imagined that he stood beckoning to her +at the base of a craggy rock. Keeping her eyes on this object, however, it +proved to be no more than the trunk of an oak fringed to the very ground with +little branches, one of which, thrust out farther than the rest, was shaken by +the breeze. Making her way round the foot of the rock, she suddenly found +herself close to her husband, who had approached in another direction. Leaning +upon the butt of his gun, the muzzle of which rested upon the withered leaves, +he was apparently absorbed in the contemplation of some object at his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“How is this, Reuben? Have you slain the deer and fallen asleep over him?” +exclaimed Dorcas, laughing cheerfully, on her first slight observation of his +posture and appearance. +</p> + +<p> +He stirred not, neither did he turn his eyes towards her; and a cold, +shuddering fear, indefinite in its source and object, began to creep into her +blood. She now perceived that her husband’s face was ghastly pale, and his +features were rigid, as if incapable of assuming any other expression than the +strong despair which had hardened upon them. He gave not the slightest evidence +that he was aware of her approach. +</p> + +<p> +“For the love of Heaven, Reuben, speak to me!” cried Dorcas; and the strange +sound of her own voice affrighted her even more than the dead silence. +</p> + +<p> +Her husband started, stared into her face, drew her to the front of the rock, +and pointed with his finger. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, there lay the boy, asleep, but dreamless, upon the fallen forest leaves! +His cheek rested upon his arm—his curled locks were thrown back from his +brow—his limbs were slightly relaxed. Had a sudden weariness overcome the +youthful hunter? Would his mother’s voice arouse him? She knew that it was +death. +</p> + +<p> +“This broad rock is the gravestone of your near kindred, Dorcas,” said her +husband. “Your tears will fall at once over your father and your son.” +</p> + +<p> +She heard him not. With one wild shriek, that seemed to force its way from the +sufferer’s inmost soul, she sank insensible by the side of her dead boy. At +that moment the withered topmost bough of the oak loosened itself in the stilly +air, and fell in soft, light fragments upon the rock, upon the leaves, upon +Reuben, upon his wife and child, and upon Roger Malvin’s bones. Then Reuben’s +heart was stricken, and the tears gushed out like water from a rock. The vow +that the wounded youth had made the blighted man had come to redeem. His sin +was expiated,—the curse was gone from him; and in the hour when he had +shed blood dearer to him than his own, a prayer, the first for years, went up +to Heaven from the lips of Reuben Bourne. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a> +P.’S CORRESPONDENCE</h2> + +<p> +My unfortunate friend P. has lost the thread of his life by the interposition +of long intervals of partially disordered reason. The past and present are +jumbled together in his mind in a manner often productive of curious results, +and which will be better understood after the perusal of the following letter +than from any description that I could give. The poor fellow, without once +stirring from the little whitewashed, iron-grated room to which he alludes in +his first paragraph, is nevertheless a great traveller, and meets in his +wanderings a variety of personages who have long ceased to be visible to any +eye save his own. In my opinion, all this is not so much a delusion as a partly +wilful and partly involuntary sport of the imagination, to which his disease +has imparted such morbid energy that he beholds these spectral scenes and +characters with no less distinctness than a play upon the stage, and with +somewhat more of illusive credence. Many of his letters are in my possession, +some based upon the same vagary as the present one, and others upon hypotheses +not a whit short of it in absurdity. The whole form a series of correspondence, +which, should fate seasonably remove my poor friend from what is to him a world +of moonshine, I promise myself a pious pleasure in editing for the public eye. +P. had always a hankering after literary reputation, and has made more than one +unsuccessful effort to achieve it. It would not be a little odd, if, after +missing his object while seeking it by the light of reason, he should prove to +have stumbled upon it in his misty excursions beyond the limits of sanity. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +LONDON, February 29, 1845. +</p> + +<p> +MY DEAR FRIEND: Old associations cling to the mind with astonishing tenacity. +Daily custom grows up about us like a stone wall, and consolidates itself into +almost as material an entity as mankind’s strongest architecture. It is +sometimes a serious question with me whether ideas be not really visible and +tangible, and endowed with all the other qualities of matter. Sitting as I do +at this moment in my hired apartment, writing beside the hearth, over which +hangs a print of Queen Victoria, listening to the muffled roar of the world’s +metropolis, and with a window at but five paces distant, through which, +whenever I please, I can gaze out on actual London,—with all this +positive certainty as to my whereabouts, what kind of notion, do you think, is +just now perplexing my brain? Why,—would you believe it?—that all +this time I am still an inhabitant of that wearisome little chamber,—that +whitewashed little chamber,—that little chamber with its one small +window, across which, from some inscrutable reason of taste or convenience, my +landlord had placed a row of iron bars,—that same little chamber, in +short, whither your kindness has so often brought you to visit me! Will no +length of time or breadth of space enfranchise me from that unlovely abode? I +travel; but it seems to be like the snail, with my house upon my head. Ah, +well! I am verging, I suppose, on that period of life when present scenes and +events make but feeble impressions in comparison with those of yore; so that I +must reconcile myself to be more and more the prisoner of Memory, who merely +lets me hop about a little with her chain around my leg. +</p> + +<p> +My letters of introduction have been of the utmost service, enabling me to make +the acquaintance of several distinguished characters who, until now, have +seemed as remote from the sphere of my personal intercourse as the wits of +Queen Anne’s time or Ben Jenson’s compotators at the Mermaid. One of the first +of which I availed myself was the letter to Lord Byron. I found his lordship +looking much older than I had anticipated, although, considering his former +irregularities of life and the various wear and tear of his constitution, not +older than a man on the verge of sixty reasonably may look. But I had invested +his earthly frame, in my imagination, with the poet’s spiritual immortality. He +wears a brown wig, very luxuriantly curled, and extending down over his +forehead. The expression of his eyes is concealed by spectacles. His early +tendency to obesity having increased, Lord Byron is now enormously +fat,—so fat as to give the impression of a person quite overladen with +his own flesh, and without sufficient vigor to diffuse his personal life +through the great mass of corporeal substance which weighs upon him so cruelly. +You gaze at the mortal heap; and, while it fills your eye with what purports to +be Byron, you murmur within yourself, “For Heaven’s sake, where is he?” Were I +disposed to be caustic, I might consider this mass of earthly matter as the +symbol, in a material shape, of those evil habits and carnal vices which +unspiritualize man’s nature and clog up his avenues of communication with the +better life. But this would be too harsh; and, besides, Lord Byron’s morals +have been improving while his outward man has swollen to such unconscionable +circumference. Would that he were leaner; for, though he did me the honor to +present his hand, yet it was so puffed out with alien substance that I could +not feel as if I had touched the hand that wrote Childe Harold. +</p> + +<p> +On my entrance his lordship apologized for not rising to receive me, on the +sufficient plea that the gout for several years past had taken up its constant +residence in his right foot, which accordingly was swathed in many rolls of +flannel and deposited upon a cushion. The other foot was hidden in the drapery +of his chair. Do you recollect whether Byron’s right or left foot was the +deformed one. +</p> + +<p> +The noble poet’s reconciliation with Lady Byron is now, as you are aware, of +ten years’ standing; nor does it exhibit, I am assured, any symptom of breach +or fracture. They are said to be, if not a happy, at least a contented, or at +all events a quiet couple, descending the slope of life with that tolerable +degree of mutual support which will enable them to come easily and comfortably +to the bottom. It is pleasant to reflect how entirely the poet has redeemed his +youthful errors in this particular. Her ladyship’s influence, it rejoices me to +add, has been productive of the happiest results upon Lord Byron in a religious +point of view. He now combines the most rigid tenets of Methodism with the +ultra doctrines of the Puseyites; the former being perhaps due to the +convictions wrought upon his mind by his noble consort, while the latter are +the embroidery and picturesque illumination demanded by his imaginative +character. Much of whatever expenditure his increasing habits of thrift +continue to allow him is bestowed in the reparation or beautifying of places of +worship; and this nobleman, whose name was once considered a synonyme of the +foul fiend, is now all but canonized as a saint in many pulpits of the +metropolis and elsewhere. In politics, Lord Byron is an uncompromising +conservative, and loses no opportunity, whether in the House of Lords or in +private circles, of denouncing and repudiating the mischievous and anarchical +notions of his earlier day. Nor does he fail to visit similar sins in other +people with the sincerest vengeance which his somewhat blunted pen is capable +of inflicting. Southey and he are on the most intimate terms. You are aware +that, some little time before the death of Moore, Byron caused that brilliant +but reprehensible man to be evicted from his house. Moore took the insult so +much to heart that, it is said to have been one great cause of the fit of +illness which brought him to the grave. Others pretend that the lyrist died in +a very happy state of mind, singing one of his own sacred melodies, and +expressing his belief that it would be heard within the gate of paradise, and +gain him instant and honorable admittance. I wish he may have found it so. +</p> + +<p> +I failed not, as you may suppose, in the course of conversation with Lord +Byron, to pay the weed of homage due to a mighty poet, by allusions to passages +in Childe Harold, and Manfred, and Don Juan, which have made so large a portion +of the music of my life. My words, whether apt or otherwise, were at least warm +with the enthusiasm of one worthy to discourse of immortal poesy. It was +evident, however, that they did not go precisely to the right spot. I could +perceive that there was some mistake or other, and was not a little angry with +myself, and ashamed of my abortive attempt to throw back, from my own heart to +the gifted author’s ear, the echo of those strains that have resounded +throughout the world. But by and by the secret peeped quietly out. +Byron,—I have the information from his own lips, so that you need not +hesitate to repeat it in literary circles,—Byron is preparing a new +edition of his complete works, carefully corrected, expurgated, and amended, in +accordance with his present creed of taste, morals, politics, and religion. It +so happened that the very passages of highest inspiration to which I had +alluded were among the condemned and rejected rubbish which it is his purpose +to cast into the gulf of oblivion. To whisper you the truth, it appears to me +that his passions having burned out, the extinction of their vivid and riotous +flame has deprived Lord Byron of the illumination by which he not merely wrote, +but was enabled to feel and comprehend what he had written. Positively he no +longer understands his own poetry. +</p> + +<p> +This became very apparent on his favoring me so far as to read a few specimens +of Don Juan in the moralized version. Whatever is licentious, whatever +disrespectful to the sacred mysteries of our faith, whatever morbidly +melancholic or splenetically sportive, whatever assails settled constitutions +of government or systems of society, whatever could wound the sensibility of +any mortal, except a pagan, a republican, or a dissenter, has been +unrelentingly blotted out, and its place supplied by unexceptionable verses in +his lordship’s later style. You may judge how much of the poem remains as +hitherto published. The result is not so good as might be wished; in plain +terms, it is a very sad affair indeed; for, though the torches kindled in +Tophet have been extinguished, they leave an abominably ill odor, and are +succeeded by no glimpses of hallowed fire. It is to be hoped, nevertheless, +that this attempt on Lord Byron’s part to atone for his youthful errors will at +length induce the Dean of Westminster, or whatever churchman is concerned, to +allow Thorwaldsen’s statue of the poet its due niche in the grand old Abbey. +His bones, you know, when brought from Greece, were denied sepulture among +those of his tuneful brethren there. +</p> + +<p> +What a vile slip of the pen was that! How absurd in me to talk about burying +the bones of Byron, who, I have just seen alive, and incased in a big, round +bulk of flesh! But, to say the truth, a prodigiously fat man always impresses +me as a kind of hobgoblin; in the very extravagance of his mortal system I find +something akin to the immateriality of a ghost. And then that ridiculous old +story darted into my mind, how that Byron died of fever at Missolonghi, above +twenty years ago. More and more I recognize that we dwell in a world of +shadows; and, for my part, I hold it hardly worth the trouble to attempt a +distinction between shadows in the mind and shadows out of it. If there be any +difference, the former are rather the more substantial. +</p> + +<p> +Only think of my good fortune! The venerable Robert Burns—now, if I +mistake not, in his eighty-seventh year—happens to be making a visit to +London, as if on purpose to afford me an opportunity of grasping him by the +hand. For upwards of twenty years past he has hardly left his quiet cottage in +Ayrshire for a single night, and has only been drawn hither now by the +irresistible persuasions of all the distinguished men in England. They wish to +celebrate the patriarch’s birthday by a festival. It will be the greatest +literary triumph on record. Pray Heaven the little spirit of life within the +aged bard’s bosom may not be extinguished in the lustre of that hour! I have +already had the honor of an introduction to him at the British Museum, where he +was examining a collection of his own unpublished letters, interspersed with +songs, which have escaped the notice of all his biographers. +</p> + +<p> +Poh! Nonsense! What am I thinking of? How should Burns have been embalmed in +biography when he is still a hearty old man? +</p> + +<p> +The figure of the bard is tall and in the highest degree reverend, nor the less +so that it is much bent by the burden of time. His white hair floats like a +snowdrift around his face, in which are seen the furrows of intellect and +passion, like the channels of headlong torrents that have foamed themselves +away. The old gentleman is in excellent preservation, considering his time of +life. He has that crickety sort of liveliness,—I mean the cricket’s humor +of chirping for any cause or none,—which is perhaps the most favorable +mood that can befall extreme old age. Our pride forbids us to desire it for +ourselves, although we perceive it to be a beneficence of nature in the case of +others. I was surprised to find it in Burns. It seems as if his ardent heart +and brilliant imagination had both burned down to the last embers, leaving only +a little flickering flame in one corner, which keeps dancing upward and +laughing all by itself. He is no longer capable of pathos. At the request of +Allan Cunningham, he attempted to sing his own song to Mary in Heaven; but it +was evident that the feeling of those verses, so profoundly true and so simply +expressed, was entirely beyond the scope of his present sensibilities; and, +when a touch of it did partially awaken him, the tears immediately gushed into +his eyes and his voice broke into a tremulous cackle. And yet he but +indistinctly knew wherefore he was weeping. Ah, he must not think again of Mary +in Heaven until he shake off the dull impediment of time and ascend to meet her +there. +</p> + +<p> +Burns then began to repeat Tan O’Shanter; but was so tickled with its wit and +humor—of which, however, I suspect he had but a traditionary +sense—that he soon burst into a fit of chirruping laughter, succeeded by +a cough, which brought this not very agreeable exhibition to a close. On the +whole, I would rather not have witnessed it. It is a satisfactory idea, +however, that the last forty years of the peasant poet’s life have been passed +in competence and perfect comfort. Having been cured of his bardic improvidence +for many a day past, and grown as attentive to the main chance as a canny +Scotsman should be, he is now considered to be quite well off as to pecuniary +circumstances. This, I suppose, is worth having lived so long for. +</p> + +<p> +I took occasion to inquire of some of the countrymen of Burns in regard to the +health of Sir Walter Scott. His condition, I am sorry to say, remains the same +as for ten years past; it is that of a hopeless paralytic, palsied not more in +body than in those nobler attributes of which the body is the instrument. And +thus he vegetates from day to day and from year to year at that splendid +fantasy of Abbotsford, which grew out of his brain, and became a symbol of the +great romancer’s tastes, feelings, studies, prejudices, and modes of intellect. +Whether in verse, prose, or architecture, he could achieve but one thing, +although that one in infinite variety. There he reclines, on a couch in his +library, and is said to spend whole hours of every day in dictating tales to an +amanuensis,—to an imaginary amanuensis; for it is not deemed worth any +one’s trouble now to take down what flows from that once brilliant fancy, every +image of which was formerly worth gold and capable of being coined. Yet +Cunningham, who has lately seen him, assures me that there is now and then a +touch of the genius,—a striking combination of incident, or a picturesque +trait of character, such as no other man alive could have bit off,—a +glimmer from that ruined mind, as if the sun had suddenly flashed on a +half-rusted helmet in the gloom of an ancient ball. But the plots of these +romances become inextricably confused; the characters melt into one another; +and the tale loses itself like the course of a stream flowing through muddy and +marshy ground. +</p> + +<p> +For my part, I can hardly regret that Sir Walter Scott had lost his +consciousness of outward things before his works went out of vogue. It was good +that he should forget his fame rather than that fame should first have +forgotten him. Were he still a writer, and as brilliant a one as ever, he could +no longer maintain anything like the same position in literature. The world, +nowadays, requires a more earnest purpose, a deeper moral, and a closer and +homelier truth than he was qualified to supply it with. Yet who can be to the +present generation even what Scott has been to the past? I had expectations +from a young man,—one Dickens,—who published a few magazine +articles, very rich in humor, and not without symptoms of genuine pathos; but +the poor fellow died shortly after commencing an odd series of sketches, +entitled, I think, the Pickwick Papers. Not impossibly the world has lost more +than it dreams of by the untimely death of this Mr. Dickens. +</p> + +<p> +Whom do you think I met in Pall Mall the other day? You would not hit it in ten +guesses. Why, no less a man than Napoleon Bonaparte, or all that is now left of +him,—that is to say, the skin, bones, and corporeal substance, little +cocked hat, green coat, white breeches, and small sword, which are still known +by his redoubtable name. He was attended only by two policemen, who walked +quietly behind the phantasm of the old ex-emperor, appearing to have no duty in +regard to him except to see that none of the light-fingered gentry should +possess themselves of thee star of the Legion of Honor. Nobody save myself so +much as turned to look after him; nor, it grieves me to confess, could even I +contrive to muster up any tolerable interest, even by all that the warlike +spirit, formerly manifested within that now decrepit shape, had wrought upon +our globe. There is no surer method of annihilating the magic influence of a +great renown than by exhibiting the possessor of it in the decline, the +overthrow, the utter degradation of his powers,—buried beneath his own +mortality,—and lacking even the qualities of sense that enable the most +ordinary men to bear themselves decently in the eye of the world. This is the +state to which disease, aggravated by long endurance of a tropical climate, and +assisted by old age,—for he is now above seventy,—has reduced +Bonaparte. The British government has acted shrewdly in retransporting him from +St. Helena to England. They should now restore him to Paris, and there let him +once again review the relics of his armies. His eye is dull and rheumy; his +nether lip hung down upon his chin. While I was observing him there chanced to +be a little extra bustle in the street; and he, the brother of Caesar and +Hannibal,—the great captain who had veiled the world in battle-smoke and +tracked it round with bloody footsteps,—was seized with a nervous +trembling, and claimed the protection of the two policemen by a cracked and +dolorous cry. The fellows winked at one another, laughed aside, and, patting +Napoleon on the back, took each an arm and led him away. +</p> + +<p> +Death and fury! Ha, villain, how came you hither? Avaunt! or I fling my +inkstand at your head. Tush, tusk; it is all a mistake. Pray, my dear friend, +pardon this little outbreak. The fact is, the mention of those two policemen, +and their custody of Bonaparte, had called up the idea of that odious +wretch—you remember him well—who was pleased to take such +gratuitous and impertinent care of my person before I quitted New England. +Forthwith up rose before my mind’s eye that same little whitewashed room, with +the iron-grated window,—strange that it should have been +iron-grated!—where, in too easy compliance with the absurd wishes of my +relatives, I have wasted several good years of my life. Positively it seemed to +me that I was still sitting there, and that the keeper—not that he ever +was my keeper neither, but only a kind of intrusive devil of a +body-servant—had just peeped in at the door. The rascal! I owe him an old +grudge, and will find a time to pay it yet. Fie! fie! The mere thought of him +has exceedingly discomposed me. Even now that hateful chamber—the +iron-grated window, which blasted the blessed sunshine as it fell through the +dusty panes and made it poison to my soul-looks more distinct to my view than +does this my comfortable apartment in the heart of London. The +reality—that which I know to be such—hangs like remnants of +tattered scenery over the intolerably prominent illusion. Let us think of it no +more. +</p> + +<p> +You will be anxious to hear of Shelley. I need not say, what is known to all +the world, that this celebrated poet has for many years past been reconciled to +the Church of England. In his more recent works he has applied his fine powers +to the vindication of the Christian faith, with an especial view to that +particular development. Latterly, as you may not have heard, he has taken +orders, and been inducted to a small country living in the gift of the Lord +Chancellor. Just now, luckily for me, he has come to the metropolis to +superintend the publication of a volume of discourses treating of the +poetico-philosophical proofs of Christianity on the basis of the Thirty-nine +Articles. On my first introduction I felt no little embarrassment as to the +manner of combining what I had to say to the author of <i>Queen Mali</i>, the +<i>Revolt of Islam</i>, and <i>Prometheus Unbound</i> with such acknowledgments +as might be acceptable to a Christian minister and zealous upholder of the +Established Church. But Shelley soon placed me at my ease. Standing where he +now does, and reviewing all his successive productions from a higher point, he +assures me that there is a harmony, an order, a regular procession, which +enables him to lay his hand upon any one of the earlier poems and say, “This is +my work,” with precisely the same complacency of conscience wherewithal he +contemplates the volume of discourses above mentioned. They are like the +successive steps of a staircase, the lowest of which, in the depth of chaos, is +as essential to the support of the whole as the highest and final one resting +upon the threshold of the heavens. I felt half inclined to ask him what would +have been his fate had he perished on the lower steps of his staircase, instead +of building his way aloft into the celestial brightness. +</p> + +<p> +How all this may be I neither pretend to understand nor greatly care, so long +as Shelley has really climbed, as it seems he has, from a lower region to a +loftier one. Without touching upon their religious merits, I consider the +productions of his maturity superior, as poems, to those of his youth. They are +warmer with human love, which has served as an interpreter between his mind and +the multitude. The author has learned to dip his pen oftener into his heart, +and has thereby avoided the faults into which a too exclusive use of fancy and +intellect are wont to betray him. Formerly his page was often little other than +a concrete arrangement of crystallizations, or even of icicles, as cold as they +were brilliant. Now you take it to your heart, and are conscious of a +heart-warmth responsive to your own. In his private character Shelley can +hardly have grown more gentle, kind, and affectionate than his friends always +represented him to be up to that disastrous night when he was drowned in the +Mediterranean. Nonsense, again,—sheer nonsense! What, am I babbling +about? I was thinking of that old figment of his being lost in the Bay of +Spezzia, and washed ashore near Via Reggio, and burned to ashes on a funeral +pyre, with wine, and spices, and frankincense; while Byron stood on the beach +and beheld a flame of marvellous beauty rise heavenward from the dead poet’s +heart, and that his fire-purified relics were finally buried near his child in +Roman earth. If all this happened three-and-twenty years ago, how could I have +met the drowned and burned and buried man here in London only yesterday? +</p> + +<p> +Before quitting the subject, I may mention that Dr. Reginald Heber, heretofore +Bishop of Calcutta, but recently translated to a see in England, called on +Shelley while I was with him. They appeared to be on terms of very cordial +intimacy, and are said to have a joint poem in contemplation. What a strange, +incongruous dream is the life of man! +</p> + +<p> +Coleridge has at last finished his poem of Christabel. It will be issued entire +by old John Murray in the course of the present publishing season. The poet, I +hear, is visited with a troublesome affection of the tongue, which has put a +period, or some lesser stop, to the life-long discourse that has hitherto been +flowing from his lips. He will not survive it above a month, unless his +accumulation of ideas be sluiced off in some other way. Wordsworth died only a +week or two ago. Heaven rest his soul, and grant that he may not have completed +<i>The Excursion</i>! Methinks I am sick of everything he wrote, except his +<i>Laodamia</i>. It is very sad, this inconstancy of the mind to the poets whom +it once worshipped. Southey is as hale as ever, and writes with his usual +diligence. Old Gifford is still alive, in the extremity of age, and with most +pitiable decay of what little sharp and narrow intellect the Devil had gifted +him withal. One hates to allow such a man the privilege of growing old and +infirm. It takes away our speculative license of kicking him. +</p> + +<p> +Keats? No; I have not seen him except across a crowded street, with coaches, +drays, horsemen, cabs, omnibuses, foot-passengers, and divers other sensual +obstructions intervening betwixt his small and slender figure and my eager +glance. I would fain have met him on the sea-shore, or beneath a natural arch +of forest trees, or the Gothic arch of an old cathedral, or among Grecian +ruins, or at a glimmering fireside on the verge of evening, or at the twilight +entrance of a cave, into the dreamy depths of which he would have led me by the +hand; anywhere, in short, save at Temple Bar, where his presence was blotted +out by the porter-swollen bulks of these gross Englishmen. I stood and watched +him fading away, fading away along the pavement, and could hardly tell whether +he were an actual man or a thought that had slipped out of my mind and clothed +itself in human form and habiliments merely to beguile me. At one moment he put +his handkerchief to his lips, and withdrew it, I am almost certain, stained +with blood. You never saw anything so fragile as his person. The truth is, +Keats has all his life felt the effects of that terrible bleeding at the lungs +caused by the article on his Endymion in the Quarterly Review, and which so +nearly brought him to the grave. Ever since he has glided about the world like +a ghost, sighing a melancholy tone in the ear of here and there a friend, but +never sending forth his voice to greet the multitude. I can hardly think him a +great poet. The burden of a mighty genius would never have been imposed upon +shoulders so physically frail and a spirit so infirmly sensitive. Great poets +should have iron sinews. +</p> + +<p> +Yet Keats, though for so many years he has given nothing to the world, is +understood to have devoted himself to the composition of an epic poem. Some +passages of it have been communicated to the inner circle of his admirers, and +impressed them as the loftiest strains that have been audible on earth since +Milton’s days. If I can obtain copies of these specimens, I will ask you to +present them to James Russell Lowell, who seems to be one of the poet’s most +fervent and worthiest worshippers. The information took me by surprise. I had +supposed that all Keats’s poetic incense, without being embodied in human +language, floated up to heaven and mingled with the songs of the immortal +choristers, who perhaps were conscious of an unknown voice among them, and +thought their melody the sweeter for it. But it is not so; he has positively +written a poem on the subject of <i>Paradise Regained</i>, though in another +sense than that which presented itself to the mind of Milton. In compliance, it +may be imagined, with the dogma of those who pretend that all epic +possibilities in the past history of the world are exhausted, Keats has thrown +his poem forward into an indefinitely remote futurity. He pictures mankind amid +the closing circumstances of the time-long warfare between good and evil. Our +race is on the eve of its final triumph. Man is within the last stride of +perfection; Woman, redeemed from the thraldom against which our sibyl uplifts +so powerful and so sad a remonstrance, stands equal by his side or communes for +herself with angels; the Earth, sympathizing with her children’s happier state, +has clothed herself in such luxuriant and loving beauty as no eye ever +witnessed since our first parents saw the sun rise over dewy Eden. Nor then +indeed; for this is the fulfilment of what was then but a golden promise. But +the picture has its shadows. There remains to mankind another peril,—a +last encounter with the evil principle. Should the battle go against us, we +sink back into the slime and misery of ages. If we triumph—But it demands +a poet’s eye to contemplate the splendor of such a consummation and not to be +dazzled. +</p> + +<p> +To this great work Keats is said to have brought so deep and tender a spirit of +humanity that the poem has all the sweet and warm interest of a village tale no +less than the grandeur which befits so high a theme. Such, at least, is the +perhaps partial representation of his friends; for I have not read or heard +even a single line of the performance in question. Keats, I am told, withholds +it from the press, under an idea that the age has not enough of spiritual +insight to receive it worthily. I do not like this distrust; it makes me +distrust the poet. The universe is waiting to respond to the highest word that +the best child of time and immortality can utter. If it refuse to listen, it is +because he mumbles and stammers, or discourses things unseasonable and foreign +to the purpose. +</p> + +<p> +I visited the House of Lords the other day to hear Canning, who, you know, is +now a peer, with I forget what title. He disappointed me. Time blunts both +point and edge, and does great mischief to men of his order of intellect. Then +I stepped into the lower House and listened to a few words from Cobbett, who +looked as earthy as a real clodhopper, or rather as if he had lain a dozen +years beneath the clods. The men whom I meet nowadays often impress me thus; +probably because my spirits are not very good, and lead me to think much about +graves, with the long grass upon them, and weather-worn epitaphs, and dry bones +of people who made noise enough in their day, but now can only clatter, +clatter, clatter, when the sexton’s spade disturbs them. Were it only possible +to find out who are alive and who dead, it would contribute infinitely to my +peace of mind. Every day of my life somebody comes and stares me in the face +whom I had quietly blotted out of the tablet of living men, and trusted +nevermore to be pestered with the sight or sound of him. For instance, going to +Drury Lane Theatre a few evenings since, up rose before me, in the ghost of +Hamlet’s father, the bodily presence of the elder Kean, who did die, or ought +to have died, in some drunken fit or other, so long ago that his fame is +scarcely traditionary now. His powers are quite gone; he was rather the ghost +of himself than the ghost of the Danish king. +</p> + +<p> +In the stage-box sat several elderly and decrepit people, and among them a +stately ruin of a woman on a very large scale, with a profile—for I did +not see her front face—that stamped itself into my brain as a seal +impresses hot wax. By the tragic gesture with which she took a pinch of snuff, +I was sure it must be Mrs. Siddons. Her brother, John Kemble, sat +behind,—a broken-down figure, but still with a kingly majesty about him. +In lieu of all former achievements, Nature enables him to look the part of Lear +far better than in the meridian of his genius. Charles Matthews was likewise +there; but a paralytic affection has distorted his once mobile countenance into +a most disagreeable one-sidedness, from which he could no more wrench it into +proper form than he could rearrange the face of the great globe itself. It +looks as if, for the joke’s sake, the poor man had twisted his features into an +expression at once the most ludicrous and horrible that he could contrive, and +at that very moment, as a judgment for making himself so hideous, an avenging +Providence had seen fit to petrify him. Since it is out of his own power, I +would gladly assist him to change countenance, for his ugly visage haunts me +both at noontide and night-time. Some other players of the past generation were +present, but none that greatly interested me. It behooves actors, more than all +other men of publicity, to vanish from the scene betimes. Being at best but +painted shadows flickering on the wall and empty sounds that echo anther’s +thought, it is a sad disenchantment when the colors begin to fade and the voice +to croak with age. +</p> + +<p> +What is there new in the literary way on your side of the water? Nothing of the +kind has come under any inspection, except a volume of poems published above a +year ago by Dr. Channing. I did not before know that this eminent writer is a +poet; nor does the volume alluded to exhibit any of the characteristics of the +author’s mind as displayed in his prose works; although some of the poems have +a richness that is not merely of the surface, but glows still the brighter the +deeper and more faithfully you look into then. They seem carelessly wrought, +however, like those rings and ornaments of the very purest gold, but of rude, +native manufacture, which are found among the gold-dust from Africa. I doubt +whether the American public will accept them; it looks less to the assay of +metal than to the neat and cunning manufacture. How slowly our literature grows +up! Most of our writers of promise have come to untimely ends. There was that +wild fellow, John Neal, who almost turned my boyish brain with his romances; he +surely has long been dead, else he never could keep himself so quiet. Bryant +has gone to his last sleep, with the <i>Thanatopsis</i> gleaming over him like +a sculptured marble sepulchre by moonlight. Halleck, who used to write queer +verses in the newspapers and published a Don Juanic poem called <i>Fanny</i>, +is defunct as a poet, though averred to be exemplifying the metempsychosis as a +man of business. Somewhat later there was Whittier, a fiery Quaker youth, to +whom the muse had perversely assigned a battle-trumpet, and who got himself +lynched, ten years agone, in South Carolina. I remember, too, a lad just from +college, Longfellow by name, who scattered some delicate verses to the winds, +and went to Germany, and perished, I think, of intense application, at the +University of Gottingen. Willis—what a pity!—was lost, if I +recollect rightly, in 1833, on his voyage to Europe, whither he was going to +give us sketches of the world’s sunny face. If these had lived, they might, one +or all of them, have grown to be famous men. +</p> + +<p> +And yet there is no telling: it may be as well that they have died. I was +myself a young man of promise. O shattered brain, O broken spirit, where is the +fulfilment of that promise? The sad truth is, that, when fate would gently +disappoint the world, it takes away the hopefulest mortals in their youth; when +it would laugh the world’s hopes to scorn, it lets them live. Let me die upon +this apothegm, for I shall never make a truer one. +</p> + +<p> +What a strange substance is the human brain! Or rather,—for there is no +need of generalizing the remark,—what an odd brain is mine! Would you +believe it? Daily and nightly there come scraps of poetry humming in my +intellectual ear—some as airy as birdnotes, and some as delicately neat +as parlor-music, and a few as grand as organ-peals—that seem just such +verses as those departed poets would have written had not an inexorable destiny +snatched them from their inkstands. They visit me in spirit, perhaps desiring +to engage my services as the amanuensis of their posthumous productions, and +thus secure the endless renown that they have forfeited by going hence too +early. But I have my own business to attend to; and besides, a medical +gentleman, who interests himself in some little ailments of mine, advises me +not to make too free use of pen and ink. There are clerks enough out of +employment who would be glad of such a job. +</p> + +<p> +Good by! Are you alive or dead? and what are you about? Still scribbling for +the Democratic? And do those infernal compositors and proof-readers misprint +your unfortunate productions as vilely as ever? It is too bad. Let every man +manufacture his own nonsense, say I. Expect me home soon, and—to whisper +you a secret—in company with the poet Campbell, who purposes to visit +Wyoming and enjoy the shadow of the laurels that he planted there. Campbell is +now an old man. He calls himself well, better than ever in his life, but looks +strangely pale, and so shadow-like that one might almost poke a finger through +his densest material. I tell him, by way of joke, that he is as dim and forlorn +as Memory, though as unsubstantial as Hope. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Your true friend, P. +</p> + +<p> +P. S.—Pray present my most respectful regards to our venerable and +revered friend Mr. Brockden Brown. +</p> + +<p> +It gratifies me to learn that a complete edition of his works, in a +double-columned octavo volume, is shortly to issue from the press at +Philadelphia. Tell him that no American writer enjoys a more classic reputation +on this side of the water. Is old Joel Barlow yet alive? Unconscionable man! +Why, he must have nearly fulfilled his century. And does he meditate an epic on +the war between Mexico and Texas with machinery contrived on the principle of +the steam-engine, as being the nearest to celestial agency that our epoch can +boast? How can he expect ever to rise again, if, while just sinking into his +grave, he persists in burdening himself with such a ponderosity of leaden +verses? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a> +EARTH’S HOLOCAUST</h2> + +<p> +Once upon a time—but whether in the time past or time to come is a matter +of little or no moment—this wide world had become so overburdened with an +accumulation of worn-out trumpery, that the inhabitants determined to rid +themselves of it by a general bonfire. The site fixed upon at the +representation of the insurance companies, and as being as central a spot as +any other on the globe, was one of the broadest prairies of the West, where no +human habitation would be endangered by the flames, and where a vast assemblage +of spectators might commodiously admire the show. Having a taste for sights of +this kind, and imagining, likewise, that the illumination of the bonfire might +reveal some profundity of moral truth heretofore hidden in mist or darkness, I +made it convenient to journey thither and be present. At my arrival, although +the heap of condemned rubbish was as yet comparatively small, the torch had +already been applied. Amid that boundless plain, in the dusk of the evening, +like a far off star alone in the firmament, there was merely visible one +tremulous gleam, whence none could have anticipated so fierce a blaze as was +destined to ensue. With every moment, however, there came foot-travellers, +women holding up their aprons, men on horseback, wheelbarrows, lumbering +baggage-wagons, and other vehicles, great and small, and from far and near, +laden with articles that were judged fit for nothing but to be burned. +</p> + +<p> +“What materials have been used to kindle the flame?” inquired I of a bystander; +for I was desirous of knowing the whole process of the affair from beginning to +end. +</p> + +<p> +The person whom I addressed was a grave man, fifty years old or thereabout, who +had evidently come thither as a looker-on. He struck me immediately as having +weighed for himself the true value of life and its circumstances, and therefore +as feeling little personal interest in whatever judgment the world might form +of them. Before answering my question, he looked me in the face by the kindling +light of the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“O, some very dry combustibles,” replied he, “and extremely suitable to the +purpose,—no other, in fact, than yesterday’s newspapers, last month’s +magazines, and last year’s withered leaves. Here now comes some antiquated +trash that will take fire like a handful of shavings.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, some rough-looking men advanced to the verge of the bonfire, and +threw in, as it appeared, all the rubbish of the herald’s office,—the +blazonry of coat armor, the crests and devices of illustrious families, +pedigrees that extended back, like lines of light, into the mist of the dark +ages, together with stars, garters, and embroidered collars, each of which, as +paltry a bawble as it might appear to the uninstructed eye, had once possessed +vast significance, and was still, in truth, reckoned among the most precious of +moral or material facts by the worshippers of the gorgeous past. Mingled with +this confused heap, which was tossed into the flames by armfuls at once, were +innumerable badges of knighthood, comprising those of all the European +sovereignties, and Napoleon’s decoration of the Legion of Honor, the ribbons of +which were entangled with those of the ancient order of St. Louis. There, too, +were the medals of our own Society of Cincinnati, by means of which, as history +tells us, an order of hereditary knights came near being constituted out of the +king quellers of the Revolution. And besides, there were the patents of +nobility of German counts and barons, Spanish grandees, and English peers, from +the worm-eaten instruments signed by William the Conqueror down to the bran-new +parchment of the latest lord who has received his honors from the fair hand of +Victoria. +</p> + +<p> +At sight of the dense volumes of smoke, mingled with vivid jets of flame, that +gushed and eddied forth from this immense pile of earthly distinctions, the +multitude of plebeian spectators set up a joyous shout, and clapped their hands +with an emphasis that made the welkin echo. That was their moment of triumph, +achieved, after long ages, over creatures of the same clay and the same +spiritual infirmities, who had dared to assume the privileges due only to +Heaven’s better workmanship. But now there rushed towards the blazing heap a +gray-haired man, of stately presence, wearing a coat, from the breast of which +a star, or other badge of rank, seemed to have been forcibly wrenched away. He +had not the tokens of intellectual power in his face; but still there was the +demeanor, the habitual and almost native dignity, of one who had been born to +the idea of his own social superiority, and had never felt it questioned till +that moment. +</p> + +<p> +“People,” cried he, gazing at the ruin of what was dearest to his eyes with +grief and wonder, but nevertheless with a degree of stateliness,—“people, +what have you done? This fire is consuming all that marked your advance from +barbarism, or that could have prevented your relapse thither. We, the men of +the privileged orders, were those who kept alive from age to age the old +chivalrous spirit; the gentle and generous thought; the higher, the purer, the +more refined and delicate life. With the nobles, too, you cast off the poet, +the painter, the sculptor,—all the beautiful arts; for we were their +patrons, and created the atmosphere in which they flourish. In abolishing the +majestic distinctions of rank, society loses not only its grace, but its +steadfastness—” +</p> + +<p> +More he would doubtless have spoken; but here there arose an outcry, sportive, +contemptuous, and indignant, that altogether drowned the appeal of the fallen +nobleman, insomuch that, casting one look of despair at his own half-burned +pedigree, he shrunk back into the crowd, glad to shelter himself under his +new-found insignificance. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him thank his stars that we have not flung him into the same fire!” +shouted a rude figure, spurning the embers with his foot. “And henceforth let +no man dare to show a piece of musty parchment as his warrant for lording it +over his fellows. If he have strength of arm, well and good; it is one species +of superiority. If he have wit, wisdom, courage, force of character, let these +attributes do for him what they may; but from this day forward no mortal must +hope for place and consideration by reckoning up the mouldy bones of his +ancestors. That nonsense is done away.” +</p> + +<p> +“And in good time,” remarked the grave observer by my side, in a low voice, +however, “if no worse nonsense comes in its place; but, at all events, this +species of nonsense has fairly lived out its life.” +</p> + +<p> +There was little space to muse or moralize over the embers of this time-honored +rubbish; for, before it was half burned out, there came another multitude from +beyond the sea, bearing the purple robes of royalty, and the crowns, globes, +and sceptres of emperors and kings. All these had been condemned as useless +bawbles, playthings at best, fit only for the infancy of the world or rods to +govern and chastise it in its nonage, but with which universal manhood at its +full-grown stature could no longer brook to be insulted. Into such contempt had +these regal insignia now fallen that the gilded crown and tinselled robes of +the player king from Drury Lane Theatre had been thrown in among the rest, +doubtless as a mockery of his brother monarchs on the great stage of the world. +It was a strange sight to discern the crown jewels of England glowing and +flashing in the midst of the fire. Some of them had been delivered down from +the time of the Saxon princes; others were purchased with vast revenues, or +perchance ravished from the dead brows of the native potentates of Hindustan; +and the whole now blazed with a dazzling lustre, as if a star had fallen in +that spot and been shattered into fragments. The splendor of the ruined +monarchy had no reflection save in those inestimable precious stones. But +enough on this subject. It were but tedious to describe how the Emperor of +Austria’s mantle was converted to tinder, and how the posts and pillars of the +French throne became a heap of coals, which it was impossible to distinguish +from those of any other wood. Let me add, however, that I noticed one of the +exiled Poles stirring up the bonfire with the Czar of Russia’s sceptre, which +he afterwards flung into the flames. +</p> + +<p> +“The smell of singed garments is quite intolerable here,” observed my new +acquaintance, as the breeze enveloped us in the smoke of a royal wardrobe. “Let +us get to windward and see what they are doing on the other side of the +bonfire.” +</p> + +<p> +We accordingly passed around, and were just in time to witness the arrival of a +vast procession of Washingtonians,—as the votaries of temperance call +themselves nowadays,—accompanied by thousands of the Irish disciples of +Father Mathew, with that great apostle at their head. They brought a rich +contribution to the bonfire, being nothing less than all the hogsheads and +barrels of liquor in the world, which they rolled before them across the +prairie. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my children,” cried Father Mathew, when they reached the verge of the +fire, “one shove more, and the work is done. And now let us stand off and see +Satan deal with his own liquor.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, having placed their wooden vessels within reach of the flames, the +procession stood off at a safe distance, and soon beheld them burst into a +blaze that reached the clouds and threatened to set the sky itself on fire. And +well it might; for here was the whole world’s stock of spirituous liquors, +which, instead of kindling a frenzied light in the eyes of individual topers as +of yore, soared upwards with a bewildering gleam that startled all mankind. It +was the aggregate of that fierce fire which would otherwise have scorched the +hearts of millions. Meantime numberless bottles of precious wine were flung +into the blaze, which lapped up the contents as if it loved them, and grew, +like other drunkards, the merrier and fiercer for what it quaffed. Never again +will the insatiable thirst of the fire-fiend be so pampered. Here were the +treasures of famous bon vivants,—liquors that had been tossed on ocean, +and mellowed in the sun, and hoarded long in the recesses of the +earth,—the pale, the gold, the ruddy juice of whatever vineyards were +most delicate,—the entire vintage of Tokay,—all mingling in one +stream with the vile fluids of the common pot house, and contributing to +heighten the self-same blaze. And while it rose in a gigantic spire that seemed +to wave against the arch of the firmament and combine itself with the light of +stars, the multitude gave a shout as if the broad earth were exulting in its +deliverance from the curse of ages. +</p> + +<p> +But the joy was not universal. Many deemed that human life would be gloomier +than ever when that brief illumination should sink down. While the reformers +were at work I overheard muttered expostulations from several respectable +gentlemen with red noses and wearing gouty shoes; and a ragged worthy, whose +face looked like a hearth where the fire is burned out, now expressed his +discontent more openly and boldly. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this world good for,” said the last toper, “now that we can never be +jolly any more? What is to comfort the poor man in sorrow and perplexity? How +is he to keep his heart warm against the cold winds of this cheerless earth? +And what do you propose to give him in exchange for the solace that you take +away? How are old friends to sit together by the fireside without a cheerful +glass between them? A plague upon your reformation! It is a sad world, a cold +world, a selfish world, a low world, not worth an honest fellow’s living in, +now that good fellowship is gone forever!” +</p> + +<p> +This harangue excited great mirth among the bystanders; but, preposterous as +was the sentiment, I could not help commiserating the forlorn condition of the +last toper, whose boon companions had dwindled away from his side, leaving the +poor fellow without a soul to countenance him in sipping his liquor, nor indeed +any liquor to sip. Not that this was quite the true state of the case; for I +had observed him at a critical moment filch a bottle of fourth-proof brandy +that fell beside the bonfire and hide it in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +The spirituous and fermented liquors being thus disposed of, the zeal of the +reformers next induced them to replenish the fire with all the boxes of tea and +bags of coffee in the world. And now came the planters of Virginia, bringing +their crops of tobacco. These, being cast upon the heap of inutility, +aggregated it to the size of a mountain, and incensed the atmosphere with such +potent fragrance that methought we should never draw pure breath again. The +present sacrifice seemed to startle the lovers of the weed more than any that +they had hitherto witnessed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they’ve put my pipe out,” said an old gentleman, flinging it into the +flames in a pet. “What is this world coming to? Everything rich and +racy—all the spice of life—is to be condemned as useless. Now that +they have kindled the bonfire, if these nonsensical reformers would fling +themselves into it, all would be well enough!” +</p> + +<p> +“Be patient,” responded a stanch conservative; “it will come to that in the +end. They will first fling us in, and finally themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +From the general and systematic measures of reform I now turn to consider the +individual contributions to this memorable bonfire. In many instances these +were of a very amusing character. One poor fellow threw in his empty purse, and +another a bundle of counterfeit or insolvable bank-notes. Fashionable ladies +threw in their last season’s bonnets, together with heaps of ribbons, yellow +lace, and much other half-worn milliner’s ware, all of which proved even more +evanescent in the fire than it had been in the fashion. A multitude of lovers +of both sexes—discarded maids or bachelors and couples mutually weary of +one another—tossed in bundles of perfumed letters and enamored sonnets. A +hack politician, being deprived of bread by the loss of office, threw in his +teeth, which happened to be false ones. The Rev. Sydney Smith—having +voyaged across the Atlantic for that sole purpose—came up to the bonfire +with a bitter grin and threw in certain repudiated bonds, fortified though they +were with the broad seal of a sovereign state. A little boy of five years old, +in the premature manliness of the present epoch, threw in his playthings; a +college graduate, his diploma; an apothecary, ruined by the spread of +homeopathy, his whole stock of drugs and medicines; a physician, his library; a +parson, his old sermons; and a fine gentleman of the old school, his code of +manners, which he had formerly written down for the benefit of the next +generation. A widow, resolving on a second marriage, slyly threw in her dead +husband’s miniature. A young man, jilted by his mistress, would willingly have +flung his own desperate heart into the flames, but could find no means to +wrench it out of his bosom. An American author, whose works were neglected by +the public, threw his pen and paper into the bonfire and betook himself to some +less discouraging occupation. It somewhat startled me to overhear a number of +ladies, highly respectable in appearance, proposing to fling their gowns and +petticoats into the flames, and assume the garb, together with the manners, +duties, offices, and responsibilities, of the opposite sex. +</p> + +<p> +What favor was accorded to this scheme I am unable to say, my attention being +suddenly drawn to a poor, deceived, and half-delirious girl, who, exclaiming +that she was the most worthless thing alive or dead, attempted to cast herself +into the fire amid all that wrecked and broken trumpery of the world. A good +man, however, ran to her rescue. +</p> + +<p> +“Patience, my poor girl!” said he, as he drew her back from the fierce embrace +of the destroying angel. “Be patient, and abide Heaven’s will. So long as you +possess a living soul, all may be restored to its first freshness. These things +of matter and creations of human fantasy are fit for nothing but to be burned +when once they have had their day; but your day is eternity!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the wretched girl, whose frenzy seemed now to have sunk down into +deep despondency, “yes, and the sunshine is blotted out of it!” +</p> + +<p> +It was now rumored among the spectators that all the weapons and munitions of +war were to be thrown into the bonfire with the exception of the world’s stock +of gunpowder, which, as the safest mode of disposing of it, had already been +drowned in the sea. This intelligence seemed to awaken great diversity of +opinion. The hopeful philanthropist esteemed it a token that the millennium was +already come; while persons of another stamp, in whose view mankind was a breed +of bulldogs, prophesied that all the old stoutness, fervor, nobleness, +generosity, and magnanimity of the race would disappear,—these qualities, +as they affirmed, requiring blood for their nourishment. They comforted +themselves, however, in the belief that the proposed abolition of war was +impracticable for any length of time together. +</p> + +<p> +Be that as it might, numberless great guns, whose thunder had long been the +voice of battle,—the artillery of the Armada, the battering trains of +Marlborough, and the adverse cannon of Napoleon and Wellington,—were +trundled into the midst of the fire. By the continual addition of dry +combustibles, it had now waxed so intense that neither brass nor iron could +withstand it. It was wonderful to behold how these terrible instruments of +slaughter melted away like playthings of wax. Then the armies of the earth +wheeled around the mighty furnace, with their military music playing triumphant +marches,—and flung in their muskets and swords. The standard-bearers, +likewise, cast one look upward at their banners, all tattered with shot-holes +and inscribed with the names of victorious fields; and, giving them a last +flourish on the breeze, they lowered them into the flame, which snatched them +upward in its rush towards the clouds. This ceremony being over, the world was +left without a single weapon in its hands, except possibly a few old king’s +arms and rusty swords and other trophies of the Revolution in some of our State +armories. And now the drums were beaten and the trumpets brayed all together, +as a prelude to the proclamation of universal and eternal peace and the +announcement that glory was no longer to be won by blood, but that it would +henceforth be the contention of the human race to work out the greatest mutual +good, and that beneficence, in the future annals of the earth, would claim the +praise of valor. The blessed tidings were accordingly promulgated, and caused +infinite rejoicings among those who had stood aghast at the horror and +absurdity of war. +</p> + +<p> +But I saw a grim smile pass over the seared visage of a stately old +commander,—by his war-worn figure and rich military dress, he might have +been one of Napoleon’s famous marshals,—who, with the rest of the world’s +soldiery, had just flung away the sword that had been familiar to his right +hand for half a century. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay! ay!” grumbled he. “Let them proclaim what they please; but, in the end, we +shall find that all this foolery has only made more work for the armorers and +cannon-founders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, sir,” exclaimed I, in astonishment, “do you imagine that the human race +will ever so far return on the steps of its past madness as to weld another +sword or cast another cannon?” +</p> + +<p> +“There will be no need,” observed, with a sneer, one who neither felt +benevolence nor had faith in it. “When Cain wished to slay his brother, he was +at no loss for a weapon.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see,” replied the veteran commander. “If I am mistaken, so much the +better; but in my opinion, without pretending to philosophize about the matter, +the necessity of war lies far deeper than these honest gentlemen suppose. What! +is there a field for all the petty disputes of individuals? and shall there be +no great law court for the settlement of national difficulties? The +battle-field is the only court where such suits can be tried.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget, general,” rejoined I, “that, in this advanced stage of +civilization, Reason and Philanthropy combined will constitute just such a +tribunal as is requisite.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I had forgotten that, indeed!” said the old warrior, as he limped away. +</p> + +<p> +The fire was now to be replenished with materials that had hitherto been +considered of even greater importance to the well-being of society than the +warlike munitions which we had already seen consumed. A body of reformers had +travelled all over the earth in quest of the machinery by which the different +nations were accustomed to inflict the punishment of death. A shudder passed +through the multitude as these ghastly emblems were dragged forward. Even the +flames seemed at first to shrink away, displaying the shape and murderous +contrivance of each in a full blaze of light, which of itself was sufficient to +convince mankind of the long and deadly error of human law. Those old +implements of cruelty; those horrible monsters of mechanism; those inventions +which it seemed to demand something worse than man’s natural heart to contrive, +and which had lurked in the dusky nooks of ancient prisons, the subject of +terror-stricken legend,—were now brought forth to view. Headsmen’s axes, +with the rust of noble and royal blood upon them, and a vast collection of +halters that had choked the breath of plebeian victims, were thrown in +together. A shout greeted the arrival of the guillotine, which was thrust +forward on the same wheels that had borne it from one to another of the +bloodstained streets of Paris. But the loudest roar of applause went up, +telling the distant sky of the triumph of the earth’s redemption, when the +gallows made its appearance. An ill-looking fellow, however, rushed forward, +and, putting himself in the path of the reformers, bellowed hoarsely, and +fought with brute fury to stay their progress. +</p> + +<p> +It was little matter of surprise, perhaps, that the executioner should thus do +his best to vindicate and uphold the machinery by which he himself had his +livelihood and worthier individuals their death; but it deserved special note +that men of a far different sphere—even of that consecrated class in +whose guardianship the world is apt to trust its benevolence—were found +to take the hangman’s view of the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay, my brethren!” cried one of them. “You are misled by a false +philanthropy; you know not what you do. The gallows is a Heaven-ordained +instrument. Bear it back, then, reverently, and set it up in its old place, +else the world will fall to speedy ruin and desolation!” +</p> + +<p> +“Onward! onward!” shouted a leader in the reform. “Into the flames with the +accursed instrument of man’s bloody policy! How can human law inculcate +benevolence and love while it persists in setting up the gallows as its chief +symbol? One heave more, good friends, and the world will be redeemed from its +greatest error.” +</p> + +<p> +A thousand hands, that nevertheless loathed the touch, now lent their +assistance, and thrust the ominous burden far, far into the centre of the +raging furnace. There its fatal and abhorred image was beheld, first black, +then a red coal, then ashes. +</p> + +<p> +“That was well done!” exclaimed I. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it was well done,” replied, but with less enthusiasm than I expected, the +thoughtful observer, who was still at my side,—“well done, if the world +be good enough for the measure. Death, however, is an idea that cannot easily +be dispensed with in any condition between the primal innocence and that other +purity and perfection which perchance we are destined to attain after +travelling round the full circle; but, at all events, it is well that the +experiment should now be tried.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too cold! too cold!” impatiently exclaimed the young and ardent leader in this +triumph. “Let the heart have its voice here as well as the intellect. And as +for ripeness, and as for progress, let mankind always do the highest, kindest, +noblest thing that, at any given period, it has attained the perception of; and +surely that thing cannot be wrong nor wrongly timed.” +</p> + +<p> +I know not whether it were the excitement of the scene, or whether the good +people around the bonfire were really growing more enlightened every instant; +but they now proceeded to measures in the full length of which I was hardly +prepared to keep them company. For instance, some threw their marriage +certificates into the flames, and declared themselves candidates for a higher, +holier, and more comprehensive union than that which had subsisted from the +birth of time under the form of the connubial tie. Others hastened to the +vaults of banks and to the coffers of the rich—all of which were opened +to the first comer on this fated occasion—and brought entire bales of +paper-money to enliven the blaze, and tons of coin to be melted down by its +intensity. Henceforth, they said, universal benevolence, uncoined and +exhaustless, was to be the golden currency of the world. At this intelligence +the bankers and speculators in the stocks grew pale, and a pickpocket, who had +reaped a rich harvest among the crowd, fell down in a deadly fainting fit. A +few men of business burned their day-books and ledgers, the notes and +obligations of their creditors, and all other evidences of debts due to +themselves; while perhaps a somewhat larger number satisfied their zeal for +reform with the sacrifice of any uncomfortable recollection of their own +indebtment. There was then a cry that the period was arrived when the +title-deeds of landed property should be given to the flames, and the whole +soil of the earth revert to the public, from whom it had been wrongfully +abstracted and most unequally distributed among individuals. Another party +demanded that all written constitutions, set forms of government, legislative +acts, statute-books, and everything else on which human invention had +endeavored to stamp its arbitrary laws, should at once be destroyed, leaving +the consummated world as free as the man first created. +</p> + +<p> +Whether any ultimate action was taken with regard to these propositions is +beyond my knowledge; for, just then, some matters were in progress that +concerned my sympathies more nearly. +</p> + +<p> +“See! see! What heaps of books and pamphlets!” cried a fellow, who did not seem +to be a lover of literature. “Now we shall have a glorious blaze!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just the thing!” said a modern philosopher. “Now we shall get rid of +the weight of dead men’s thought, which has hitherto pressed so heavily on the +living intellect that it has been incompetent to any effectual self-exertion. +Well done, my lads! Into the fire with them! Now you are enlightening the world +indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is to become of the trade?” cried a frantic bookseller. +</p> + +<p> +“O, by all means, let them accompany their merchandise,” coolly observed an +author. “It will be a noble funeral-pile!” +</p> + +<p> +The truth was, that the human race had now reached a stage of progress so far +beyond what the wisest and wittiest men of former ages had ever dreamed of, +that it would have been a manifest absurdity to allow the earth to be any +longer encumbered with their poor achievements in the literary line. +Accordingly a thorough and searching investigation had swept the booksellers’ +shops, hawkers’ stands, public and private libraries, and even the little +book-shelf by the country fireside, and had brought the world’s entire mass of +printed paper, bound or in sheets, to swell the already mountain bulk of our +illustrious bonfire. Thick, heavy folios, containing the labors of +lexicographers, commentators, and encyclopedists, were flung in, and, falling +among the embers with a leaden thump, smouldered away to ashes like rotten +wood. The small, richly gilt French tomes of the last age, with the hundred +volumes of Voltaire among them, went off in a brilliant shower of sparkles and +little jets of flame; while the current literature of the same nation burned +red and blue, and threw an infernal light over the visages of the spectators, +converting them all to the aspect of party-colored fiends. A collection of +German stories emitted a scent of brimstone. The English standard authors made +excellent fuel, generally exhibiting the properties of sound oak logs. Milton’s +works, in particular, sent up a powerful blaze, gradually reddening into a +coal, which promised to endure longer than almost any other material of the +pile. From Shakespeare there gushed a flame of such marvellous splendor that +men shaded their eyes as against the sun’s meridian glory; nor even when the +works of his own elucidators were flung upon him did he cease to flash forth a +dazzling radiance from beneath the ponderous heap. It is my belief that he is +still blazing as fervidly as ever. +</p> + +<p> +“Could a poet but light a lamp at that glorious flame,” remarked I, “he might +then consume the midnight oil to some good purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the very thing which modern poets have been too apt to do, or at least +to attempt,” answered a critic. “The chief benefit to be expected from this +conflagration of past literature undoubtedly is, that writers will henceforth +be compelled to light their lamps at the sun or stars.” +</p> + +<p> +“If they can reach so high,” said I; “but that task requires a giant, who may +afterwards distribute the light among inferior men. It is not every one that +can steal the fire from heaven like Prometheus; but, when once he had done the +deed, a thousand hearths were kindled by it.” +</p> + +<p> +It amazed me much to observe how indefinite was the proportion between the +physical mass of any given author and the property of brilliant and +long-continued combustion. For instance, there was not a quarto volume of the +last century—nor, indeed, of the present—that could compete in that +particular with a child’s little gilt-covered book, containing _Mother Goose’s +Melodies_. _The Life and Death of Tom Thumb_ outlasted the biography of +Marlborough. An epic, indeed a dozen of them, was converted to white ashes +before the single sheet of an old ballad was half consumed. In more than one +case, too, when volumes of applauded verse proved incapable of anything better +than a stifling smoke, an unregarded ditty of some nameless +bard—perchance in the corner of a newspaper—soared up among the +stars with a flame as brilliant as their own. Speaking of the properties of +flame, methought Shelley’s poetry emitted a purer light than almost any other +productions of his day, contrasting beautifully with the fitful and lurid +gleams and gushes of black vapor that flashed and eddied from the volumes of +Lord Byron. As for Tom Moore, some of his songs diffused an odor like a burning +pastil. +</p> + +<p> +I felt particular interest in watching the combustion of American authors, and +scrupulously noted by my watch the precise number of moments that changed most +of them from shabbily printed books to indistinguishable ashes. It would be +invidious, however, if not perilous, to betray these awful secrets; so that I +shall content myself with observing that it was not invariably the writer most +frequent in the public mouth that made the most splendid appearance in the +bonfire. I especially remember that a great deal of excellent inflammability +was exhibited in a thin volume of poems by Ellery Channing; although, to speak +the truth, there were certain portions that hissed and spluttered in a very +disagreeable fashion. A curious phenomenon occurred in reference to several +writers, native as well as foreign. Their books, though of highly respectable +figure, instead of bursting into a blaze or even smouldering out their +substance in smoke, suddenly melted away in a manner that proved them to be +ice. +</p> + +<p> +If it be no lack of modesty to mention my own works, it must here be confessed +that I looked for them with fatherly interest, but in vain. Too probably they +were changed to vapor by the first action of the heat; at best, I can only hope +that, in their quiet way, they contributed a glimmering spark or two to the +splendor of the evening. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! and woe is me!” thus bemoaned himself a heavy-looking gentleman in green +spectacles. “The world is utterly ruined, and there is nothing to live for any +longer. The business of my life is snatched from me. Not a volume to be had for +love or money!” +</p> + +<p> +“This,” remarked the sedate observer beside me, “is a bookworm,—one of +those men who are born to gnaw dead thoughts. His clothes, you see, are covered +with the dust of libraries. He has no inward fountain of ideas; and, in good +earnest, now that the old stock is abolished, I do not see what is to become of +the poor fellow. Have you no word of comfort for him?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir,” said I to the desperate bookworm, “is not nature better than a +book? Is not the human heart deeper than any system of philosophy? Is not life +replete with more instruction than past observers have found it possible to +write down in maxims? Be of good cheer. The great book of Time is still spread +wide open before us; and, if we read it aright, it will be to us a volume of +eternal truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, my books, my books, my precious printed books!” reiterated the forlorn +bookworm. “My only reality was a bound volume; and now they will not leave me +even a shadowy pamphlet!” +</p> + +<p> +In fact, the last remnant of the literature of all the ages was now descending +upon the blazing heap in the shape of a cloud of pamphlets from the press of +the New World. These likewise were consumed in the twinkling of an eye, leaving +the earth, for the first time since the days of Cadmus, free from the plague of +letters,—an enviable field for the authors of the next generation. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and does anything remain to be done?” inquired I, somewhat anxiously. +“Unless we set fire to the earth itself, and then leap boldly off into infinite +space, I know not that we can carry reform to any farther point.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are vastly mistaken, my good friend,” said the observer. “Believe me, the +fire will not be allowed to settle down without the addition of fuel that will +startle many persons who have lent a willing hand thus far.” +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless there appeared to be a relaxation of effort for a little time, +during which, probably, the leaders of the movement were considering what +should be done next. In the interval, a philosopher threw his theory into the +flames,—a sacrifice which, by those who knew how to estimate it, was +pronounced the most remarkable that had yet been made. The combustion, however, +was by no means brilliant. Some indefatigable people, scorning to take a +moment’s ease, now employed themselves in collecting all the withered leaves +and fallen boughs of the forest, and thereby recruited the bonfire to a greater +height than ever. But this was mere by-play. +</p> + +<p> +“Here comes the fresh fuel that I spoke of,” said my companion. +</p> + +<p> +To my astonishment the persons who now advanced into the vacant space around +the mountain fire bore surplices and other priestly garments, mitres, crosiers, +and a confusion of Popish and Protestant emblems with which it seemed their +purpose to consummate the great act of faith. Crosses from the spires of old +cathedrals were cast upon the heap with as little remorse as if the reverence +of centuries passing in long array beneath the lofty towers had not looked up +to them as the holiest of symbols. The font in which infants were consecrated +to God, the sacramental vessels whence piety received the hallowed draught, +were given to the same destruction. Perhaps it most nearly touched my heart to +see among these devoted relics fragments of the humble communion-tables and +undecorated pulpits which I recognized as having been torn from the +meeting-houses of New England. Those simple edifices might have been permitted +to retain all of sacred embellishment that their Puritan founders had bestowed, +even though the mighty structure of St. Peter’s had sent its spoils to the fire +of this terrible sacrifice. Yet I felt that these were but the externals of +religion, and might most safely be relinquished by spirits that best knew their +deep significance. +</p> + +<p> +“All is well,” said I, cheerfully. “The wood-paths shall be the aisles of our +cathedral, the firmament itself shall be its ceiling. What needs an earthly +roof between the Deity and his worshippers? Our faith can well afford to lose +all the drapery that even the holiest men have thrown around it, and be only +the more sublime in its simplicity.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said my companion; “but will they pause here?” +</p> + +<p> +The doubt implied in his question was well founded. In the general destruction +of books already described, a holy volume, that stood apart from the catalogue +of human literature, and yet, in one sense, was at its head, had been spared. +But the Titan of innovation,—angel or fiend, double in his nature, and +capable of deeds befitting both characters,—at first shaking down only +the old and rotten shapes of things, had now, as it appeared, laid his terrible +hand upon the main pillars which supported the whole edifice of our moral and +spiritual state. The inhabitants of the earth had grown too enlightened to +define their faith within a form of words, or to limit the spiritual by any +analogy to our material existence. Truths which the heavens trembled at were +now but a fable of the world’s infancy. Therefore, as the final sacrifice of +human error, what else remained to be thrown upon the embers of that awful +pile, except the book which, though a celestial revelation to past ages, was +but a voice from a lower sphere as regarded the present race of man? It was +done! Upon the blazing heap of falsehood and worn-out truth—things that +the earth had never needed, or had ceased to need, or had grown childishly +weary of—fell the ponderous church Bible, the great old volume that had +lain so long on the cushion of the pulpit, and whence the pastor’s solemn voice +had given holy utterance on so many a Sabbath day. There, likewise, fell the +family Bible, which the long-buried patriarch had read to his +children,—in prosperity or sorrow, by the fireside and in the summer +shade of trees,—and had bequeathed downward as the heirloom of +generations. There fell the bosom Bible, the little volume that had been the +soul’s friend of some sorely tried child of dust, who thence took courage, +whether his trial were for life or death, steadfastly confronting both in the +strong assurance of immortality. +</p> + +<p> +All these were flung into the fierce and riotous blaze; and then a mighty wind +came roaring across the plain with a desolate howl, as if it were the angry +lamentation of the earth for the loss of heaven’s sunshine; and it shook the +gigantic pyramid of flame and scattered the cinders of half-consumed +abominations around upon the spectators. +</p> + +<p> +“This is terrible!” said I, feeling that my check grew pale, and seeing a like +change in the visages about me. +</p> + +<p> +“Be of good courage yet,” answered the man with whom I had so often spoken. He +continued to gaze steadily at the spectacle with a singular calmness, as if it +concerned him merely as an observer. “Be of good courage, nor yet exult too +much; for there is far less both of good and evil in the effect of this bonfire +than the world might be willing to believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can that be?” exclaimed I, impatiently. “Has it not consumed everything? +Has it not swallowed up or melted down every human or divine appendage of our +mortal state that had substance enough to be acted on by fire? Will there be +anything left us to-morrow morning better or worse than a heap of embers and +ashes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly there will,” said my grave friend. “Come hither to-morrow morning, +or whenever the combustible portion of the pile shall be quite burned out, and +you will find among the ashes everything really valuable that you have seen +cast into the flames. Trust me, the world of to-morrow will again enrich itself +with the gold and diamonds which have been cast off by the world of today. Not +a truth is destroyed nor buried so deep among the ashes but it will be raked up +at last.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a strange assurance. Yet I felt inclined to credit it, the more +especially as I beheld among the wallowing flames a copy of the Holy +Scriptures, the pages of which, instead of being blackened into tinder, only +assumed a more dazzling whiteness as the fingermarks of human imperfection were +purified away. Certain marginal notes and commentaries, it is true, yielded to +the intensity of the fiery test, but without detriment to the smallest syllable +that had flamed from the pen of inspiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; there is the proof of what you say,” answered I, turning to the observer; +“but if only what is evil can feel the action of the fire, then, surely, the +conflagration has been of inestimable utility. Yet, if I understand aright, you +intimate a doubt whether the world’s expectation of benefit would be realized +by it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to the talk of these worthies,” said he, pointing to a group in front +of the blazing pile; “possibly they may teach you something useful, without +intending it.” +</p> + +<p> +The persons whom he indicated consisted of that brutal and most earthy figure +who had stood forth so furiously in defence of the gallows,—the hangman, +in short,—together with the last thief and the last murderer, all three +of whom were clustered about the last toper. The latter was liberally passing +the brandy bottle, which he had rescued from the general destruction of wines +and spirits. This little convivial party seemed at the lowest pitch of +despondency, as considering that the purified world must needs be utterly +unlike the sphere that they had hitherto known, and therefore but a strange and +desolate abode for gentlemen of their kidney. +</p> + +<p> +“The best counsel for all of us is,” remarked the hangman, “that, as soon as we +have finished the last drop of liquor, I help you, my three friends, to a +comfortable end upon the nearest tree, and then hang myself on the same bough. +This is no world for us any longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poh, poh, my good fellows!” said a dark-complexioned personage, who now joined +the group,—his complexion was indeed fearfully dark, and his eyes glowed +with a redder light than that of the bonfire; “be not so cast down, my dear +friends; you shall see good days yet. There is one thing that these wiseacres +have forgotten to throw into the fire, and without which all the rest of the +conflagration is just nothing at all; yes, though they had burned the earth +itself to a cinder.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what may that be?” eagerly demanded the last murderer. +</p> + +<p> +“What but the human heart itself?” said the dark-visaged stranger, with a +portentous grin. “And, unless they hit upon some method of purifying that foul +cavern, forth from it will reissue all the shapes of wrong and misery—the +same old shapes or worse ones—which they have taken such a vast deal of +trouble to consume to ashes. I have stood by this livelong night and laughed in +my sleeve at the whole business. O, take my word for it, it will be the old +world yet!” +</p> + +<p> +This brief conversation supplied me with a theme for lengthened thought. How +sad a truth, if true it were, that man’s age-long endeavor for perfection had +served only to render him the mockery of the evil principle, from the fatal +circumstance of an error at the very root of the matter! The heart, the heart, +there was the little yet boundless sphere wherein existed the original wrong of +which the crime and misery of this outward world were merely types. Purify that +inward sphere, and the many shapes of evil that haunt the outward, and which +now seem almost our only realities, will turn to shadowy phantoms and vanish of +their own accord; but if we go no deeper than the intellect, and strive, with +merely that feeble instrument, to discern and rectify what is wrong, our whole +accomplishment will be a dream, so unsubstantial that it matters little whether +the bonfire, which I have so faithfully described, were what we choose to call +a real event and a flame that would scorch the finger, or only a phosphoric +radiance and a parable of my own brain. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a> +PASSAGES FROM A RELINQUISHED WORK</h2> + +<h3>AT HOME</h3> + +<p> +From infancy I was under the guardianship of a village parson, who made me the +subject of daily prayer and the sufferer of innumerable stripes, using no +distinction, as to these marks of paternal love, between myself and his own +three boys. The result, it must be owned, has been very different in their +cases and mine, they being all respectable men and well settled in life; the +eldest as the successor to his father’s pulpit, the second as a physician, and +the third as a partner in a wholesale shoe-store; while I, with better +prospects than either of them, have run the course which this volume will +describe. Yet there is room for doubt whether I should have been any better +contented with such success as theirs than with my own misfortunes,—at +least, till after my experience of the latter had made it too late for another +trial. +</p> + +<p> +My guardian had a name of considerable eminence, and fitter for the place it +occupies in ecclesiastical history than for so frivolous a page as mine. In his +own vicinity, among the lighter part of his hearers, he was called Parson +Thumpcushion, from the very forcible gestures with which he illustrated his +doctrines. Certainly, if his powers as a preacher were to be estimated by the +damage done to his pulpit-furniture, none of his living brethren, and but few +dead ones, would have been worthy even to pronounce a benediction after him. +Such pounding and expounding the moment he began to grow warm, such slapping +with his open palm, thumping with his closed fist, and banging with the whole +weight of the great Bible, convinced me that he held, in imagination, either +the Old Nick or some Unitarian infidel at bay, and belabored his unhappy +cushion as proxy for those abominable adversaries. Nothing but this exercise of +the body while delivering his sermons could have supported the good parson’s +health under the mental toil which they cost him in composition. +</p> + +<p> +Though Parson Thumpcushion had an upright heart, and some called it a warm one, +he was invariably stern and severe, on principle, I suppose, to me. With late +justice, though early enough, even now, to be tinctured with generosity I +acknowledge him to have been a good and wise man after his own fashion. If his +management failed as to myself, it succeeded with his three sons; nor, I must +frankly say, could any mode of education with which it was possible for him to +be acquainted have made me much better than what I was or led me to a happier +fortune than the present. He could neither change the nature that God gave me +nor adapt his own inflexible mind to my peculiar character. Perhaps it was my +chief misfortune that I had neither father nor mother alive; for parents have +an instinctive sagacity in regard to the welfare of their children, and the +child feels a confidence both in the wisdom and affection of his parents which +he cannot transfer to any delegate of their duties, however conscientious. An +orphan’s fate is hard, be he rich or poor. As for Parson Thumpcushion, whenever +I see the old gentleman in my dreams he looks kindly and sorrowfully at me, +holding out his hand as if each had something to forgive. With such kindness +and such forgiveness, but without the sorrow, may our next meeting be! +</p> + +<p> +I was a youth of gay and happy temperament, with an incorrigible levity of +spirit, of no vicious propensities, sensible enough, but wayward and fanciful. +What a character was this to be brought in contact with the stern old Pilgrim +spirit of my guardian! We were at variance on a thousand points; but our chief +and final dispute arose from the pertinacity with which he insisted on my +adopting a particular profession; while I, being heir to a moderate competence, +had avowed my purpose of keeping aloof from the regular business of life. This +would have been a dangerous resolution anywhere in the world; it was fatal in +New England. There is a grossness in the conceptions of my countrymen; they +will not be convinced that any good thing may consist with what they call +idleness; they can anticipate nothing but evil of a young man who neither +studies physic, law, nor gospel, nor opens a store, nor takes to farming, but +manifests an incomprehensible disposition to be satisfied with what his father +left him. The principle is excellent in its general influence, but most +miserable in its effect on the few that violate it. I had a quick sensitiveness +to public opinion, and felt as if it ranked me with the tavern haunters and +town paupers,—with the drunken poet who hawked his own Fourth of July +odes, and the broken soldier who had been good for nothing since last war. The +consequence of all this was a piece of light-hearted desperation. +</p> + +<p> +I do not over-estimate my notoriety when I take it for granted that many of my +readers must have heard of me in the wild way of life which I adopted. The idea +of becoming a wandering story-teller had been suggested, a year or two before, +by an encounter with several merry vagabonds in a showman’s wagon, where they +and I had sheltered ourselves during a summer shower. The project was not more +extravagant than most which a young man forms. Stranger ones are executed every +day; and, not to mention my prototypes in the East, and the wandering orators +and poets whom my own ears have heard, I had the example of one illustrious +itinerant in the other hemisphere,—of Goldsmith, who planned and +performed his travels through France and Italy on a less promising scheme than +mine. I took credit to myself for various qualifications, mental and personal, +suited to the undertaking. Besides, my mind had latterly tormented me for +employment, keeping up an irregular activity even in sleep, and making me +conscious that I must toil, if it were but in catching butterflies. But my +chief motives were, discontent with home and a bitter grudge against Parson +Thumpcushion, who would rather have laid me in my father’s tomb than seen me +either a novelist or an actor, two characters which I thus hit upon a method of +uniting. After all, it was not half so foolish as if I had written romances +instead of reciting them. +</p> + +<p> +The following pages will contain a picture of my vagrant life, intermixed with +specimens, generally brief and slight, of that great mass of fiction to which I +gave existence, and which has vanished like cloud-shapes. Besides the occasions +when I sought a pecuniary reward, I was accustomed to exercise my narrative +faculty wherever chance had collected a little audience idle enough to listen. +These rehearsals were useful in testing the strong points of my stories; and, +indeed, the flow of fancy soon came upon me so abundantly that its indulgence +was its own reward, though the hope of praise also became a powerful +incitement. Since I shall never feel the warm gush of new thought as I did +then, let me beseech the reader to believe that my tales were not always so +cold as he may find them now. With each specimen will be given a sketch of the +circumstances in which the story was told. Thus my air-drawn pictures will be +set in frames perhaps more valuable than the pictures themselves, since they +will be embossed with groups of characteristic figures, amid the lake and +mountain scenery, the villages and fertile fields, of our native land. But I +write the book for the sake of its moral, which many a dreaming youth may +profit by, though it is the experience of a wandering story-teller. +</p> + +<h3>A FLIGHT IN THE FOG.</h3> + +<p> +I set out on my rambles one morning in June about sunrise. The day promised to +be fair, though at that early hour a heavy mist lay along the earth and settled +in minute globules on the folds of my clothes, so that I looked precisely as if +touched with a hoar-frost. The sky was quite obscured, and the trees and houses +invisible till they grew out of the fog as I came close upon them. There is a +hill towards the west whence the road goes abruptly down, holding a level +course through the village and ascending an eminence on the other side, behind +which it disappears. The whole view comprises an extent of half a mile. Here I +paused; and, while gazing through the misty veil, it partially rose and swept +away with so sudden an effect that a gray cloud seemed to have taken the aspect +of a small white town. A thin vapor being still diffused through the +atmosphere, the wreaths and pillars of fog, whether hung in air or based on +earth, appeared not less substantial than the edifices, and gave their own +indistinctness to the whole. It was singular that such an unromantic scene +should look so visionary. +</p> + +<p> +Half of the parson’s dwelling was a dingy white house, and half of it was a +cloud; but Squire Moody’s mansion, the grandest in the village, was wholly +visible, even the lattice-work of the balcony under the front window; while in +another place only two red chimneys were seen above the mist, appertaining to +my own paternal residence, then tenanted by strangers. I could not remember +those with whom I had dwelt there, not even my mother. The brick edifice of the +bank was in the clouds; the foundations of what was to be a great block of +buildings had vanished, ominously, as it proved; the dry-goods store of Mr. +Nightingale seemed a doubtful concern; and Dominicus Pike’s tobacco manufactory +an affair of smoke, except the splendid image of an Indian chief in front. The +white spire of the meeting-house ascended out of the densest heap of vapor, as +if that shadowy base were its only support: or, to give a truer interpretation, +the steeple was the emblem of Religion, enveloped in mystery below, yet +pointing to a cloudless atmosphere, and catching the brightness of the east on +its gilded vane. +</p> + +<p> +As I beheld these objects, and the dewy street, with grassy intervals and a +border of trees between the wheeltrack and the sidewalks, all so indistinct, +and not to be traced without an effort, the whole seemed more like memory than +reality. I would have imagined that years had already passed, and I was far +away, contemplating that dim picture of my native place, which I should retain +in my mind through the mist of time. No tears fell from my eyes among the +dewdrops of the morning; nor does it occur to me that I heaved a sigh. In +truth, I had never felt such a delicious excitement nor known what freedom was +till that moment when I gave up my home and took the whole world in exchange, +fluttering the wings of my spirit as if I would have flown from one star to +another through the universe. I waved my hand towards the dusky village, bade +it a joyous farewell, and turned away to follow any path but that which might +lead me back. Never was Childe Harold’s sentiment adopted in a spirit more +unlike his own. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally enough, I thought of Don Quixote. Recollecting how the knight and +Sancho had watched for auguries when they took the road to Toboso, I began, +between jest and earnest, to feel a similar anxiety. It was gratified, and by a +more poetical phenomenon than the braying of the dappled ass or the neigh of +Rosinante. The sun, then just above the horizon, shone faintly through the fog, +and formed a species of rainbow in the west, bestriding my intended road like a +gigantic portal. I had never known before that a bow could be generated between +the sunshine and the morning mist. It had no brilliancy, no perceptible hues, +but was a mere unpainted framework, as white and ghostlike as the lunar +rainbow, which is deemed ominous of evil. But, with a light heart, to which all +omens were propitious, I advanced beneath the misty archway of futurity. +</p> + +<p> +I had determined not to enter on my profession within a hundred miles of home, +and then to cover myself with a fictitious name. The first precaution was +reasonable enough, as otherwise Parson Thumpcushion might have put an untimely +catastrophe to my story; but as nobody would be much affected by my disgrace, +and all was to be suffered in my own person, I know not why I cared about a +name. For a week or two I travelled almost at random, seeking hardly any +guidance except the whirling of a leaf at, some turn of the road, or the green +bough that beckoned me, or the naked branch that pointed its withered finger +onward. All my care was to be farther from home each night than the preceding +morning. +</p> + +<h3>A FELLOW-TRAVELLER.</h3> + +<p> +One day at noontide, when the sun had burst suddenly out of a cloud, and +threatened to dissolve me, I looked round for shelter, whether of tavern, +cottage, barn, or shady tree. The first which offered itself was a +wood,—not a forest, but a trim plantation of young oaks, growing just +thick enough to keep the mass of sunshine out, while they admitted a few +straggling beams, and thus produced the most cheerful gloom imaginable. A +brook, so small and clear, and apparently so cool, that I wanted to drink it +up, ran under the road through a little arch of stone without once meeting the +sun in its passage from the shade on one side to the shade on the other. As +there was a stepping-place over the stone wall and a path along the rivulet, I +followed it and discovered its source,—a spring gushing out of an old +barrel. +</p> + +<p> +In this pleasant spot I saw a light pack suspended from the branch of a tree, a +stick leaning against the trunk, and a person seated on the grassy verge of the +spring, with his back towards me. He was a slender figure, dressed in black +broadcloth, which was none of the finest nor very fashionably cut. On hearing +my footsteps he started up rather nervously, and, turning round, showed the +face of a young man about my own age, with his finger in a volume which he had +been reading till my intrusion. His book was evidently a pocket Bible. Though I +piqued myself at that period on my great penetration into people’s characters +and pursuits, I could not decide whether this young man in black were an +unfledged divine from Andover, a college student, or preparing for college at +some academy. In either case I would quite as willingly have found a merrier +companion; such, for instance, as the comedian with whom Gil Blas shared his +dinner beside a fountain in Spain. +</p> + +<p> +After a nod, which was duly returned, I made a goblet of oak-leaves, filled and +emptied it two or three times, and then remarked, to hit the stranger’s +classical associations, that this beautiful fountain ought to flow from an urn +instead of an old barrel. He did not show that he understood the allusion, and +replied very briefly, with a shyness that was quite out of place between +persons who met in such circumstances. Had he treated my next observation in +the same way, we should have parted without another word. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very singular,” said I,—“though doubtless there are good reasons +for it,—that Nature should provide drink so abundantly, and lavish it +everywhere by the roadside, but so seldom anything to eat. Why should not we +find a loaf of bread on this tree as well as a barrel of good liquor at the +foot of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a loaf of bread on the tree,” replied the stranger, without even +smiling—at a coincidence which made me laugh. “I have something to eat in +my bundle; and, if you can make a dinner with me, you shall be welcome.” +</p> + +<p> +“I accept your offer with pleasure,” said I. “A pilgrim such as I am must not +refuse a providential meal.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man had risen to take his bundle from the branch of the tree, but now +turned round and regarded me with great earnestness, coloring deeply at the +same time. However, he said nothing, and produced part of a loaf of bread and +some cheese, the former being evidently home baked, though some days out of the +oven. The fare was good enough, with a real welcome, such as his appeared to +be. After spreading these articles on the stump of a tree, he proceeded to ask +a blessing on our food, an unexpected ceremony, and quite an impressive one at +our woodland table, with the fountain gushing beside us and the bright sky +glimmering through the boughs; nor did his brief petition affect me less +because his embarrassment made his voice tremble. At the end of the meal he +returned thanks with the same tremulous fervor. +</p> + +<p> +He felt a natural kindness for me after thus relieving my necessities, and +showed it by becoming less reserved. On my part, I professed never to have +relished a dinner better; and, in requital of the stranger’s hospitality, +solicited the pleasure of his company to supper. +</p> + +<p> +“Where? At your home?” asked he. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said I, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps our roads are not the same,” observed he. +</p> + +<p> +“O, I can take any road but one, and yet not miss my way,” answered I. “This +morning I breakfasted at home; I shall sup at home to-night; and a moment ago I +dined at home. To be sure, there was a certain place which I called home; but I +have resolved not to see it again till I have been quite round the globe and +enter the street on the east as I left it on the west. In the mean time, I have +a home everywhere, or nowhere, just as you please to take it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nowhere, then; for this transitory world is not our home,” said the young man, +with solemnity. “We are all pilgrims and wanderers; but it is strange that we +two should meet.” +</p> + +<p> +I inquired the meaning of this remark, but could obtain no satisfactory reply. +But we had eaten salt together, and it was right that we should form +acquaintance after that ceremony as the Arabs of the desert do, especially as +he had learned something about myself, and the courtesy of the country entitled +me to as much information in return. I asked whither he was travelling. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” said he; “but God knows.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is strange!” exclaimed I; “not that God should know it, but that you +should not. And how is your road to be pointed out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps by an inward conviction,” he replied, looking sideways at me to +discover whether I smiled; “perhaps by an outward sign.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, believe me,” said I, “the outward sign is already granted you, and the +inward conviction ought to follow. We are told of pious men in old times who +committed themselves to the care of Providence, and saw the manifestation of +its will in the slightest circumstances, as in the shooting of a star, the +flight of a bird, or the course taken by some brute animal. Sometimes even a +stupid ass was their guide. May I not be as good a one?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” said the pilgrim, with perfect simplicity. +</p> + +<p> +We did, however, follow the same road, and were not overtaken, as I partly +apprehended, by the keepers of any lunatic asylum in pursuit of a stray +patient. Perhaps the stranger felt as much doubt of my sanity as I did of his, +though certainly with less justice, since I was fully aware of my own +extravagances, while he acted as wildly, and deemed it heavenly wisdom. We were +a singular couple, strikingly contrasted, yet curiously assimilated, each of us +remarkable enough by himself, and doubly so in the other’s company. Without any +formal compact, we kept together day after day till our union appeared +permanent. Even had I seen nothing to love and admire in him, I could never +have thought of deserting one who needed me continually; for I never knew a +person; not even a woman, so unfit to roam the world in solitude as he +was,—so painfully shy, so easily discouraged by slight obstacles, and so +often depressed by a weight within himself. +</p> + +<p> +I was now far from my native place, but had not yet stepped before the public. +A slight tremor seized me whenever I thought of relinquishing the immunities of +a private character, and giving every man, and for money too, the right which +no man yet possessed, of treating me with open scorn. But about a week after +contracting the above alliance I made my bow to an audience of nine persons, +seven of whom hissed me in a very disagreeable manner, and not without good +cause. Indeed, the failure was so signal that it would have been mere swindling +to retain the money, which had been paid on my implied contract to give its +value of amusement. So I called in the doorkeeper, bade him refund the whole +receipts, a mighty sum and was gratified with a round of applause by way of +offset to the hisses. This event would have looked most horrible in +anticipation,—a thing to make a man shoot himself, or run amuck, or hide +himself in caverns where he might not see his own burning blush; but the +reality was not so very hard to bear. It is a fact that I was more deeply +grieved by an almost parallel misfortune which happened to my companion on the +same evening. In my own behalf I was angry and excited, not depressed; my blood +ran quick, my spirits rose buoyantly, and I had never felt such a confidence of +future success and determination to achieve it as at that trying moment. I +resolved to persevere, if it were only to wring the reluctant praise from my +enemies. +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto I had immensely underrated the difficulties of my idle trade; now I +recognized that it demanded nothing short of my whole powers cultivated to the +utmost, and exerted with the same prodigality as if I were speaking for a great +party or for the nation at large on the floor of the Capitol. No talent or +attainment could come amiss; everything, indeed, was requisite,—wide +observation, varied knowledge, deep thoughts, and sparkling ones; pathos and +levity, and a mixture of both, like sunshine in a raindrop; lofty imagination, +veiling itself in the garb of common life; and the practised art which alone +could render these gifts, and more than these, available. Not that I ever hoped +to be thus qualified. But my despair was no ignoble one; for, knowing the +impossibility of satisfying myself, even should the world be satisfied, I did +my best to overcome it; investigated the causes of every defect; and strove, +with patient stubbornness, to remove them in the next attempt. It is one of my +few sources of pride, that, ridiculous as the object was, I followed it up with +the firmness and energy of a man. +</p> + +<p> +I manufactured a great variety of plots and skeletons of tales, and kept them +ready for use, leaving the filling up to the inspiration of the moment; though +I cannot remember ever to have told a tale which did not vary considerably from +my preconceived idea, and acquire a novelty of aspect as often as I repeated +it. Oddly enough, my success was generally in proportion to the difference +between the conception and accomplishment. I provided two or more commencements +and catastrophes to many of the tales,—a happy expedient, suggested by +the double sets of sleeves and trimmings which diversified the suits in Sir +Piercy Shafton’s wardrobe. But my best efforts had a unity, a wholeness, and a +separate character that did not admit of this sort of mechanism. +</p> + +<h3>THE VILLAGE THEATRE</h3> + +<p> +About the first of September my fellow-traveller and myself arrived at a +country town, where a small company of actors, on their return from a summer’s +campaign in the British Provinces, were giving a series of dramatic +exhibitions. A moderately sized hall of the tavern had been converted into a +theatre. The performances that evening were, The Heir at Law, and No Song, no +Supper, with the recitation of Alexander’s Feast between the play and farce. +The house was thin and dull. But the next day there appeared to be brighter +prospects, the playbills announcing at every corner, on the town-pump, +and—awful sacrilege!—on the very door of the meeting-house, an +Unprecedented Attraction! After setting forth the ordinary entertainments of a +theatre, the public were informed, in the hugest type that the printing-office +could supply, that the manager had been fortunate enough to accomplish an +engagement with the celebrated Story-Teller. He would make his first appearance +that evening, and recite his famous tale of Mr. Higginbotham’s Catastrophe, +which had been received with rapturous applause by audiences in all the +principal cities. This outrageous flourish of trumpets, be it known, was wholly +unauthorized by me, who had merely made an engagement for a single evening, +without assuming any more celebrity than the little I possessed. As for the +tale, it could hardly have been applauded by rapturous audiences, being as yet +an unfilled plot; nor even when I stepped upon the stage was it decided whether +Mr. Higginbotham should live or die. +</p> + +<p> +In two or three places, underneath the flaming bills which announced the +Story-Teller, was pasted a small slip of paper, giving notice, in tremulous +characters, of a religious meeting to be held at the school-house, where, with +divine permission, Eliakim Abbott would address sinners on the welfare of their +immortal souls. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, after the commencement of the tragedy of Douglas, I took a +ramble through the town to quicken my ideas by active motion. My spirits were +good, with a certain glow of mind which I had already learned to depend upon as +the sure prognostic of success. Passing a small and solitary school-house, +where a light was burning dimly and a few people were entering the door, I went +in with them, and saw my friend Eliakim at the desk. He had collected about +fifteen hearers, mostly females. Just as I entered he was beginning to pray in +accents so low and interrupted that he seemed to doubt the reception of his +efforts both with God and man. There was room for distrust in regard to the +latter. At the conclusion of the prayer several of the little audience went +out, leaving him to begin his discourse under such discouraging circumstances, +added to his natural and agonizing diffidence. Knowing that my presence on +these occasions increased his embarrassment, I had stationed myself in a dusky +place near the door, and now stole softly out. +</p> + +<p> +On my return to the tavern the tragedy was already concluded; and, being a +feeble one in itself and indifferently performed, it left so much the better +chance for the Story-Teller. The bar was thronged with customers, the +toddy-stick keeping a continual tattoo; while in the hall there was a broad, +deep, buzzing sound, with an occasional peal of impatient thunder,—all +symptoms of all overflowing house and an eager audience. I drank a glass of +wine-and-water, and stood at the side scene conversing with a young person of +doubtful sex. If a gentleman, how could he have performed the singing girl the +night before in No Song, no Supper? Or, if a lady, why did she enact Young +Norval, and now wear a green coat and white pantaloons in the character of +Little Pickle? In either case the dress was pretty and the wearer bewitching; +so that, at the proper moment, I stepped forward with a gay heart and a hold +one; while the orchestra played a tune that had resounded at many a country +ball, and the curtain, as it rose, discovered something like a country +bar-room. Such a scene was well enough adapted to such a tale. +</p> + +<p> +The orchestra of our little theatre consisted of two fiddles and a clarinet; +but, if the whole harmony of the Tremont had been there, it might have swelled +in vain beneath the tumult of applause that greeted me. The good people of the +town, knowing that the world contained innumerable persons of celebrity +undreamed of by them, took it for granted that I was one, and that their roar +of welcome was but a feeble echo of those which had thundered around me in +lofty theatres. Such an enthusiastic uproar was never heard. Each person seemed +a Briarcus clapping a hundred hands, besides keeping his feet and several +cudgels in play with stamping and thumping on the floor; while the ladies +flourished their white cambric handkerchiefs, intermixed with yellow and red +bandanna, like the flags of different nations. After such a salutation, the +celebrated Story-Teller felt almost ashamed to produce so humble an affair as +Mr. Higginbotham’s Catastrophe. +</p> + +<p> +This story was originally more dramatic than as there presented, and afforded +good scope for mimicry and buffoonery, neither of which, to my shame, did I +spare. I never knew the “magic of a name” till I used that of Mr. Higginbotham. +Often as I repeated it, there were louder bursts of merriment than those which +responded to what, in my opinion, were more legitimate strokes of humor. The +success of the piece was incalculably heightened by a stiff cue of horsehair, +which Little Pickle, in the spirit of that mischief-loving character, had +fastened to my collar, where, unknown to me, it kept making the queerest +gestures of its own in correspondence with all mine. The audience, supposing +that some enormous joke was appended to this long tail behind, were ineffably +delighted, and gave way to such a tumult of approbation that, just as the story +closed, the benches broke beneath them and left one whole row of my admirers on +the floor. Even in that predicament they continued their applause. In after +times, when I had grown a bitter moralizer, I took this scene for an example +how much of fame is humbug; how much the meed of what our better nature blushes +at; how much an accident; how much bestowed on mistaken principles; and how +small and poor the remnant. From pit and boxes there was now a universal call +for the Story-Teller. +</p> + +<p> +That celebrated personage came not when they did call to him. As I left the +stage, the landlord, being also the postmaster, had given me a letter with the +postmark of my native village, and directed to my assumed name in the stiff old +handwriting of Parson Thumpcushion. Doubtless he had heard of the rising renown +of the Story-Teller, and conjectured at once that such a nondescript luminary +could be no other than his lost ward. His epistle, though I never read it, +affected me most painfully. I seemed to see the Puritanic figure of my guardian +standing among the fripperies of the theatre and pointing to the +players,—the fantastic and effeminate men, the painted women, the giddy +girl in boy’s clothes, merrier than modest,—pointing to these with solemn +ridicule, and eying me with stern rebuke. His image was a type of the austere +duty, and they of the vanities of life. +</p> + +<p> +I hastened with the letter to my chamber and held it unopened in my hand, while +the applause of my buffoonery yet sounded through the theatre. Another train of +thought came over me. The stern old man appeared again, but now with the +gentleness of sorrow, softening his authority with love as a father might, and +even bending his venerable head, as if to say that my errors had an apology in +his own mistaken discipline. I strode twice across the chamber, then held the +letter in the flame of the candle, and beheld it consume unread. It is fixed in +my mind, and was so at the time, that he had addressed me in a style of +paternal wisdom, and love, and reconciliation which I could not have resisted +had I but risked the trial. The thought still haunts me that then I made my +irrevocable choice between good and evil fate. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, as this occurrence had disturbed my mind and indisposed me to the +present exercise of my profession, I left the town, in spite of a laudatory +critique in the newspaper, and untempted by the liberal offers of the manager. +As we walked onward, following the same road, on two such different errands, +Eliakim groaned in spirit, and labored with tears to convince me of the guilt +and madness of my life. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a> +SKETCHES FROM MEMORY</h2> + +<h3>THE NOTCH OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS</h3> + +<p> +It was now the middle of September. We had come since sunrise from Bartlett, +passing up through the valley of the Saco, which extends between mountainous +walls, sometimes with a steep ascent, but often as level as a church-aisle. All +that day and two preceding ones we had been loitering towards the heart of the +White Mountains,—those old crystal hills, whose mysterious brilliancy had +gleamed upon our distant wanderings before we thought of visiting them. Height +after height had risen and towered one above another till the clouds began to +hang below the peaks. Down their slopes were the red pathways of the slides, +those avalanches of earth, stones, and trees, which descend into the hollows, +leaving vestiges of their track hardly to be effaced by the vegetation of ages. +We had mountains behind us and mountains on each side, and a group of mightier +ones ahead. Still our road went up along the Saco, right towards the centre of +that group, as if to climb above the clouds in its passage to the farther +region. +</p> + +<p> +In old times the settlers used to be astounded by the inroads of the Northern +Indians, coming down upon them from this mountain rampart through some defile +known only to themselves. It is, indeed, a wondrous path. A demon, it might be +fancied, or one of the Titans, was travelling up the valley, elbowing the +heights carelessly aside as he passed, till at length a great mountain took its +stand directly across his intended road. He tarries not for such an obstacle, +but, rending it asunder a thousand feet from peak to base, discloses its +treasures of hidden minerals, its sunless waters, all the secrets of the +mountain’s inmost heart, with a mighty fracture of rugged precipices on each +side. This is the Notch of the White Hills. Shame on me that I have attempted +to describe it by so mean an image, feeling, as I do, that it is one of those +symbolic scenes which lead the mind to the sentiment, though not to the +conception, of Omnipotence. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +We had now reached a narrow passage, which showed almost the appearance of +having been cut by human strength and artifice in the solid rock. There was a +wall of granite on each side, high and precipitous, especially on our right, +and so smooth that a few evergreens could hardly find foothold enough to grow +there. This is the entrance, or, in the direction we were going, the extremity, +of the romantic defile of the Notch. Before emerging from it, the rattling of +wheels approached behind us, and a stage-coach rumbled out of the mountain, +with seats on top and trunks behind, and a smart driver, in a drab great-coat, +touching the wheel-horses with the whip-stock and reigning in the leaders. To +my mind there was a sort of poetry in such an incident, hardly inferior to what +would have accompanied the painted array of an Indian war-party gliding forth +from the same wild chasm. All the passengers, except a very fat lady on the +back seat, had alighted. One was a mineralogist, a scientific, green-spectacled +figure in black, bearing a heavy hammer, with which he did great damage to the +precipices, and put the fragments in his pocket. Another was a well-dressed +young man, who carried an operaglass set in gold, and seemed to be making a +quotation from some of Byron’s rhapsodies on mountain scenery. There was also a +trader, returning from Portland to the upper part of Vermont; and a fair young +girl, with a very faint bloom like one of those pale and delicate flowers which +sometimes occur among alpine cliffs. +</p> + +<p> +They disappeared, and we followed them, passing through a deep pine forest, +which for some miles allowed us to see nothing but its own dismal shade. +Towards nightfall we reached a level amphitheatre, surrounded by a great +rampart of hills, which shut out the sunshine long before it left the external +world. It was here that we obtained our first view, except at a distance, of +the principal group of mountains. They are majestic, and even awful, when +contemplated in a proper mood, yet, by their breadth of base and the long +ridges which support them, give the idea of immense bulk rather than of +towering height. Mount Washington, indeed, looked near to Heaven: he was white +with snow a mile downward, and had caught the only cloud that was sailing +through the atmosphere to veil his head. Let us forget the other names of +American statesmen that have been stamped upon these hills, but still call the +loftiest WASHINGTON. Mountains are Earth’s undecaying monuments. They must +stand while she endures, and never should be consecrated to the mere great men +of their own age and country, but to the mighty ones alone, whose glory is +universal, and whom all time will render illustrious. +</p> + +<p> +The air, not often sultry in this elevated region, nearly two thousand feet +above the sea, was now sharp and cold, like that of a clear November evening in +the lowlands. By morning, probably, there would be a frost, if not a snowfall, +on the grass and rye, and an icy surface over the standing water. I was glad to +perceive a prospect of comfortable quarters in a house which we were +approaching, and of pleasant company in the guests who were assembled at the +door. +</p> + +<h3>OUR EVENING PARTY AMONG THE MOUNTAINS</h3> + +<p> +WE stood in front of a good substantial farm-house, of old date in that wild +country. A sign over the door denoted it to be the White Mountain +Post-Office,—an establishment which distributes letters and newspapers to +perhaps a score of persons, comprising the population of two or three townships +among the hills. The broad and weighty antlers of a deer, “a stag of ten,” were +fastened at the corner of the house; a fox’s bushy tail was nailed beneath +them; and a huge black paw lay on the ground, newly severed and still bleeding, +the trophy of a bear-hunt. Among several persons collected about the doorsteps, +the most remarkable was a sturdy mountaineer, of six feet two, and +corresponding bulk, with a heavy set of features, such as might be moulded on +his own blacksmith’s anvil, but yet indicative of mother wit and rough humor. +As we appeared, he uplifted a tin trumpet, four or five feet long, and blew a +tremendous blast, either in honor of our arrival or to awaken an echo from the +opposite hill. +</p> + +<p> +Ethan Crawford’s guests were of such a motley description as to form quite a +picturesque group, seldom seen together except at some place like this, at once +the pleasure-house of fashionable tourists and the homely inn of country +travellers. Among the company at the door were the mineralogist and the owner +of the gold operaglass whom we had encountered in the Notch; two Georgian +gentlemen, who had chilled their Southern blood that morning on the top of +Mount Washington; a physician and his wife from Conway; a trader of Burlington +and an old squire of the Green Mountains; and two young married couples, all +the way from Massachusetts, on the matrimonial jaunt. Besides these strangers, +the rugged county of Coos, in which we were, was represented by half a dozen +wood-cutters, who had slain a bear in the forest and smitten off his paw. +</p> + +<p> +I had joined the party, and had a moment’s leisure to examine them before the +echo of Ethan’s blast returned from the hill. Not one, but many echoes had +caught up the harsh and tuneless sound, untwisted its complicated threads, and +found a thousand aerial harmonies in one stern trumpet-tone. It was a distinct +yet distant and dream-like symphony of melodious instruments, as if an airy +band had been hidden on the hillside and made faint music at the summons. No +subsequent trial produced so clear, delicate, and spiritual a concert as the +first. A field-piece was then discharged from the top of a neighboring hill, +and gave birth to one long reverberation, which ran round the circle of +mountains in an unbroken chain of sound and rolled away without a separate +echo. After these experiments, the cold atmosphere drove us all into the house, +with the keenest appetites for supper. +</p> + +<p> +It did one’s heart good to see the great fires that were kindled in the parlor +and bar-room, especially the latter, where the fireplace was built of rough +stone, and might have contained the trunk of an old tree for a backlog. +</p> + +<p> +A man keeps a comfortable hearth when his own forest is at his very door. In +the parlor, when the evening was fairly set in, we held our hands before our +eyes to shield them from the ruddy glow, and began a pleasant variety of +conversation. The mineralogist and the physician talked about the invigorating +qualities of the mountain air, and its excellent effect on Ethan Crawford’s +father, an old man of seventy-five, with the unbroken frame of middle life. The +two brides and the doctor’s wife held a whispered discussion, which, by their +frequent titterings and a blush or two, seemed to have reference to the trials +or enjoyments of the matrimonial state. The bridegrooms sat together in a +corner, rigidly silent, like Quakers whom the spirit moveth not, being still in +the odd predicament of bashfulness towards their own young wives. The Green +Mountain squire chose me for his companion, and described the difficulties he +had met with half a century ago in travelling from the Connecticut River +through the Notch to Conway, now a single day’s journey, though it had cost him +eighteen. The Georgians held the album between them, and favored us with the +few specimens of its contents, which they considered ridiculous enough to be +worth hearing. One extract met with deserved applause. It was a “Sonnet to the +Snow on Mount Washington,” and had been contributed that very afternoon, +bearing a signature of great distinction in magazines and annuals. The lines +were elegant and full of fancy, but too remote from familiar sentiment, and +cold as their subject, resembling those curious specimens of crystallized vapor +which I observed next day on the mountain-top. The poet was understood to be +the young gentleman of the gold opera-glass, who heard our laudatory remarks +with the composure of a veteran. +</p> + +<p> +Such was our party, and such their ways of amusement. But on a winter evening +another set of guests assembled at the hearth where these summer travellers +were now sitting. I once had it in contemplation to spend a month hereabouts, +in sleighing-time, for the sake of studying the yeomen of New England, who then +elbow each other through the Notch by hundreds, on their way to Portland. There +could be no better school for such a purpose than Ethan Crawford’s inn. Let the +student go thither in December, sit down with the teamsters at their meals, +share their evening merriment, and repose with them at night when every bed has +its three occupants, and parlor, bar-room, and kitchen are strewn with +slumberers around the fire. Then let him rise before daylight, button his +great-coat, muffle up his ears, and stride with the departing caravan a mile or +two, to see how sturdily they make head against the blast. A treasure of +characteristic traits will repay all inconveniences, even should a frozen nose +be of the number. +</p> + +<p> +The conversation of our party soon became more animated and sincere, and we +recounted some traditions of the Indians, who believed that the father and +mother of their race were saved from a deluge by ascending the peak of Mount +Washington. The children of that pair have been overwhelmed, and found no such +refuge. In the mythology of the savage, these mountains were afterwards +considered sacred and inaccessible, full of unearthly wonders, illuminated at +lofty heights by the blaze of precious stones, and inhabited by deities, who +sometimes shrouded themselves in the snow-storm and came down on the lower +world. There are few legends more poetical than that of the “Great Carbuncle” +of the White Mountains. The belief was communicated to the English settlers, +and is hardly yet extinct, that a gem, of such immense size as to be seen +shining miles away, hangs from a rock over a clear, deep lake, high up among +the hills. They who had once beheld its splendor were enthralled with an +unutterable yearning to possess it. But a spirit guarded that inestimable +jewel, and bewildered the adventurer with a dark mist from the enchanted lake. +Thus life was worn away in the vain search for an unearthly treasure, till at +length the deluded one went up the mountain, still sanguine as in youth, but +returned no more. On this theme methinks I could frame a tale with a deep +moral. +</p> + +<p> +The hearts of the palefaces would not thrill to these superstitions of the red +men, though we spoke of them in the centre of their haunted region. The habits +and sentiments of that departed people were too distinct from those of their +successors to find much real sympathy. It has often been a matter of regret to +me that I was shut out from the most peculiar field of American fiction by an +inability to see any romance, or poetry, or grandeur, or beauty in the Indian +character, at least till such traits were pointed out by others. I do abhor an +Indian story. Yet no writer can be more secure of a permanent place in our +literature than the biographer of the Indian chiefs. His subject, as referring +to tribes which have mostly vanished from the earth, gives him a right to be +placed on a classic shelf, apart from the merits which will sustain him there. +</p> + +<p> +I made inquiries whether, in his researches about these parts, our mineralogist +had found the three “Silver Hills” which an Indian sachem sold to an Englishman +nearly two hundred years ago, and the treasure of which the posterity of the +purchaser have been looking for ever since. But the man of science had +ransacked every hill along the Saco, and knew nothing of these prodigious piles +of wealth. By this time, as usual with men on the eve of great adventure, we +had prolonged our session deep into the night, considering how early we were to +set out on our six miles’ ride to the foot of Mount Washington. There was now a +general breaking up. I scrutinized the faces of the two bridegrooms, and saw +but little probability of their leaving the bosom of earthly bliss, in the +first week of the honeymoon and at the frosty hour of three, to climb above the +clouds; nor, when I felt how sharp the wind was as it rushed through a broken +pane and eddied between the chinks of my unplastered chamber, did I anticipate +much alacrity on my own part, though we were to seek for the “Great Carbuncle.” +</p> + +<h3>THE CANAL-BOAT</h3> + +<p> +I was inclined to be poetical about the Grand Canal. In my imagination De Witt +Clinton was an enchanter, who had waved his magic wand from the Hudson to Lake +Erie and united them by a watery highway, crowded with the commerce of two +worlds, till then inaccessible to each other. This simple and mighty conception +had conferred inestimable value on spots which Nature seemed to have thrown +carelessly into the great body of the earth, without foreseeing that they could +ever attain importance. I pictured the surprise of the sleepy Dutchmen when the +new river first glittered by their doors, bringing them hard cash or foreign +commodities in exchange for their hitherto unmarketable produce. Surely the +water of this canal must be the most fertilizing of all fluids; for it causes +towns, with their masses of brick and stone, their churches and theatres, their +business and hubbub, their luxury and refinement, their gay dames and polished +citizens, to spring up, till in time the wondrous stream may flow between two +continuous lines of buildings, through one thronged street, from Buffalo to +Albany. I embarked about thirty miles below Utica, determining to voyage along +the whole extent of the canal at least twice in the course of the summer. +</p> + +<p> +Behold us, then, fairly afloat, with three horses harnessed to our vessel, like +the steeds of Neptune to a huge scallop-shell in mythological pictures. Bound +to a distant port, we had neither chart nor compass, nor cared about the wind, +nor felt the heaving of a billow, nor dreaded shipwreck, however fierce the +tempest, in our adventurous navigation of an interminable mudpuddle; for a +mudpuddle it seemed, and as dark and turbid as if every kennel in the land paid +contribution to it. With an imperceptible current, it holds its drowsy way +through all the dismal swamps and unimpressive scenery that could be found +between the great lakes and the sea-coast. Yet there is variety enough, both on +the surface of the canal and along its banks, to amuse the traveller, if an +overpowering tedium did not deaden his perceptions. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes we met a black and rusty-looking vessel, laden with lumber, salt from +Syracuse, or Genesee flour, and shaped at both ends like a square-toed boot, as +if it had two sterns, and were fated always to advance backward. On its deck +would be a square hut, and a woman seen through the window at her household +work, with a little tribe of children who perhaps had been born in this strange +dwelling and knew no other home. Thus, while the husband smoked his pipe at the +helm and the eldest son rode one of the horses, on went the family, travelling +hundreds of miles in their own house and carrying their fireside with them. The +most frequent species of craft were the “line-boats,” which had a cabin at each +end, and a great bulk of barrels, bales, and boxes in the midst, or light +packets like our own decked all over with a row of curtained windows from stem +to stern, and a drowsy face at every one. Once we encountered a boat of rude +construction, painted all in gloomy black, and manned by three Indians, who +gazed at us in silence and with a singular fixedness of eye. Perhaps these +three alone, among the ancient possessors of the land, had attempted to derive +benefit from the white mail’s mighty projects and float along the current of +his enterprise. Not long after, in the midst of a swamp and beneath a clouded +sky, we overtook a vessel that seemed full of mirth and sunshine. It contained +a little colony of Swiss on their way to Michigan, clad in garments of strange +fashion and gay colors, scarlet, yellow, and bright blue, singing, laughing, +and making merry in odd tones and a babble of outlandish words. One pretty +damsel, with a beautiful pair of naked white arms, addressed a mirthful remark +to me. She spoke in her native tongue, and I retorted in good English, both of +us laughing heartily at each other’s unintelligible wit. I cannot describe how +pleasantly this incident affected me. These honest Swiss were all itinerant +community of jest and fun journeying through a gloomy land and among a dull +race of money-getting drudges, meeting none to understand their mirth, and only +one to sympathize with it, yet still retaining the happy lightness of their own +spirit. +</p> + +<p> +Had I been on my feet at the time instead of sailing slowly along in a dirty +canal-boat, I should often have paused to contemplate the diversified panorama +along the banks of the canal. Sometimes the scene was a forest, dark, dense, +and impervious, breaking away occasionally and receding from a lonely tract, +covered with dismal black stumps, where, on the verge of the canal, might be +seen a log-cottage and a sallow-faced woman at the window. Lean and aguish, she +looked like poverty personified, half clothed, half fed, and dwelling in a +desert, while a tide of wealth was sweeping by her door. Two or three miles +farther would bring us to a lock, where the slight impediment to navigation had +created a little mart of trade. Here would be found commodities of all sorts, +enumerated in yellow letters on the window-shutters of a small grocery-store, +the owner of which had set his soul to the gathering of coppers and small +change, buying and selling through the week, and counting his gains on the +blessed Sabbath. The next scene might be the dwelling-houses and stores of a +thriving village, built of wood or small gray stones, a church-spire rising in +the midst, and generally two taverns, bearing over their piazzas the pompous +titles of “hotel,” “exchange,” “tontine,” or “coffee-house.” Passing on, we +glide now into the unquiet heart of an inland city,—of Utica, for +instance,—and find ourselves amid piles of brick, crowded docks and +quays, rich warehouses, and a busy population. We feel the eager and hurrying +spirit of the place, like a stream and eddy whirling us along with it. Through +the thickest of the tumult goes the canal, flowing between lofty rows of +buildings and arched bridges of hewn stone. Onward, also, go we, till the hum +and bustle of struggling enterprise die away behind us and we are threading an +avenue of the ancient woods again. +</p> + +<p> +This sounds not amiss in description, but was so tiresome in reality that we +were driven to the most childish expedients for amusement. An English traveller +paraded the deck, with a rifle in his walking-stick, and waged war on squirrels +and woodpeckers, sometimes sending an unsuccessful bullet among flocks of tame +ducks and geese which abound in the dirty water of the canal. I, also, pelted +these foolish birds with apples, and smiled at the ridiculous earnestness of +their scrambles for the prize while the apple bobbed about like a thing of +life. Several little accidents afforded us good-natured diversion. At the +moment of changing horses the tow-rope caught a Massachusetts farmer by the leg +and threw him down in a very indescribable posture, leaving a purple mark +around his sturdy limb. A new passenger fell flat on his back in attempting to +step on deck as the boat emerged from under a bridge. Another, in his Sunday +clothes, as good luck would have it, being told to leap aboard from the bank, +forthwith plunged up to his third waistcoat-button in the canal, and was fished +out in a very pitiable plight, not at all amended by our three rounds of +applause. Anon a Virginia schoolmaster, too intent on a pocket Virgil to heed +the helmsman’s warning, “Bridge! bridge!” was saluted by the said bridge on his +knowledge-box. I had prostrated myself like a pagan before his idol, but heard +the dull, leaden sound of the contact, and fully expected to see the treasures +of the poor man’s cranium scattered about the deck. However, as there was no +harm done, except a large bump on the head, and probably a corresponding dent +in the bridge, the rest of us exchanged glances and laughed quietly. O, bow +pitiless are idle people! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The table being now lengthened through the cabin and spread for supper, the +next twenty minutes were the pleasantest I had spent on the canal, the same +space at dinner excepted. At the close of the meal it had become dusky enough +for lamplight. The rain pattered unceasingly on the deck, and sometimes came +with a sullen rush against the windows, driven by the wind as it stirred +through an opening of the forest. The intolerable dulness of the scene +engendered an evil spirit in me. Perceiving that the Englishman was taking +notes in a memorandum-book, with occasional glances round the cabin, I presumed +that we were all to figure in a future volume of travels, and amused my +ill-humor by falling into the probable vein of his remarks. He would hold up an +imaginary mirror, wherein our reflected faces would appear ugly and ridiculous, +yet still retain all undeniable likeness to the originals. Then, with more +sweeping malice, he would make these caricatures the representatives of great +classes of my countrymen. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at the Virginia schoolmaster, a Yankee by birth, who, to recreate +himself, was examining a freshman from Schenectady College in the conjugation +of a Greek verb. Him the Englishman would portray as the scholar of America, +and compare his erudition to a school-boy’s Latin theme made up of scraps +ill-selected and worse put together. Next the tourist looked at the +Massachusetts farmer, who was delivering a dogmatic harangue on the iniquity of +Sunday mails. Here was the far-famed yeoman of New England; his religion, +writes the Englishman, is gloom on the Sabbath, long prayers every morning and +eventide, and illiberality at all times; his boasted information is merely an +abstract and compound of newspaper paragraphs, Congress debates, caucus +harangues, and the argument and judge’s charge in his own lawsuits. The +book-monger cast his eye at a Detroit merchant, and began scribbling faster +than ever. In this sharp-eyed man, this lean man, of wrinkled brow, we see +daring enterprise and close-fisted avarice combined. Here is the worshipper of +Mammon at noonday; here is the three times bankrupt, richer after every ruin; +here, in one word, (O wicked Englishman to say it!) here is the American. He +lifted his eyeglass to inspect a Western lady, who at once became aware of the +glance, reddened, and retired deeper into the female part of the cabin. Here +was the pure, modest, sensitive, and shrinking woman of +America,—shrinking when no evil is intended, and sensitive like diseased +flesh, that thrills if you but point at it; and strangely modest, without +confidence in the modesty of other people; and admirably pure, with such a +quick apprehension of all impurity. +</p> + +<p> +In this manner I went all through the cabin, hitting everybody as hard a lash +as I could, and laying the whole blame on the infernal Englishman. At length I +caught the eyes of my own image in the looking-glass, where a number of the +party were likewise reflected, and among them the Englishman, who at that +moment was intently observing myself. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The crimson curtain being let down between the ladies and gentlemen, the cabin +became a bedchamber for twenty persons, who were laid on shelves one above +another. For a long time our various incommodities kept us all awake except +five or six, who were accustomed to sleep nightly amid the uproar of their own +snoring, and had little to dread from any other species of disturbance. It is a +curious fact that these snorers had been the most quiet people in the boat +while awake, and became peace-breakers only when others cease to be so, +breathing tumult out of their repose. Would it were possible to affix a +wind-instrument to the nose, and thus make melody of a snore, so that a +sleeping lover might serenade his mistress or a congregation snore a +psalm-tune! Other, though fainter, sounds than these contributed to my +restlessness. My head was close to the crimson curtain,—the sexual +division of the boat,—behind which I continually heard whispers and +stealthy footsteps; the noise of a comb laid on the table or a slipper dropped +on the floor; the twang, like a broken harp-string, caused by loosening a tight +belt; the rustling of a gown in its descent; and the unlacing of a pair of +stays. My ear seemed to have the properties of an eye; a visible image pestered +my fancy in the darkness; the curtain was withdrawn between me and the Western +lady, who yet disrobed herself without a blush. +</p> + +<p> +Finally all was hushed in that quarter. Still I was more broad awake than +through the whole preceding day, and felt a feverish impulse to toss my limbs +miles apart and appease the unquietness of mind by that of matter. Forgetting +that my berth was hardly so wide as a coffin, I turned suddenly over and fell +like an avalanche on the floor, to the disturbance of the whole community of +sleepers. As there were no bones broken, I blessed the accident and went on +deck. A lantern was burning at each end of the boat, and one of the crew was +stationed at the bows, keeping watch, as mariners do on the ocean. Though the +rain had ceased, the sky was all one cloud, and the darkness so intense that +there seemed to be no world except the little space on which our lanterns +glimmered. Yet it was an impressive scene. +</p> + +<p> +We were traversing the “long level,” a dead flat between Utica and Syracuse, +where the canal has not rise or fall enough to require a lock for nearly +seventy miles. There can hardly be a more dismal tract of country. The forest +which covers it, consisting chiefly of white-cedar, black-ash, and other trees +that live in excessive moisture, is now decayed and death-struck by the partial +draining of the swamp into the great ditch of the canal. Sometimes, indeed, our +lights were reflected from pools of stagnant water which stretched far in among +the trunks of the trees, beneath dense masses of dark foliage. But generally +the tall stems and intermingled branches were naked, and brought into strong +relief amid the surrounding gloom by the whiteness of their decay. Often we +beheld the prostrate form of some old sylvan giant which had fallen and crushed +down smaller trees under its immense ruin. In spots where destruction had been +riotous, the lanterns showed perhaps a hundred trunks, erect, half overthrown, +extended along the ground, resting on their shattered limbs or tossing them +desperately into the darkness, but all of one ashy white, all naked together, +in desolate confusion. Thus growing out of the night as we drew nigh, and +vanishing as we glided on, based on obscurity, and overhung and bounded by it, +the scene was ghostlike,—the very land of unsubstantial things, whither +dreams might betake themselves when they quit the slumberer’s brain. +</p> + +<p> +My fancy found another emblem. The wild nature of America had been driven to +this desert-place by the encroachments of civilized man. And even here, where +the savage queen was throned on the ruins of her empire, did we penetrate, a +vulgar and worldly throng, intruding on her latest solitude. In other lands +decay sits among fallen palaces; but here her home is in the forests. +</p> + +<p> +Looking ahead, I discerned a distant light, announcing the approach of another +boat, which soon passed us, and proved to be a rusty old scow,—just such +a craft as the “Flying Dutchman” would navigate on the canal. Perhaps it was +that celebrated personage himself whom I imperfectly distinguished at the helm +in a glazed cap and rough great-coat, with a pipe in his mouth, leaving the +fumes of tobacco a hundred yards behind. Shortly after our boatman blew a horn, +sending a long and melancholy note through the forest avenue, as a signal for +some watcher in the wilderness to be ready with a change of horses. We had +proceeded a mile or two with our fresh team when the tow-rope got entangled in +a fallen branch on the edge of the canal, and caused a momentary delay, during +which I went to examine the phosphoric light of an old tree a little within the +forest. It was not the first delusive radiance that I had followed. +</p> + +<p> +The tree lay along the ground, and was wholly converted into a mass of diseased +splendor, which threw a ghastliness around. Being full of conceits that night, +I called it a frigid fire, a funeral light, illumining decay and death, an +emblem of fame that gleams around the dead man without warming him, or of +genius when it owes its brilliancy to moral rottenness, and was thinking that +such ghostlike torches were just fit to light up this dead forest or to blaze +coldly in tombs, when, starting from my abstraction, I looked up the canal. I +recollected myself, and discovered the lanterns glimmering far away. +</p> + +<p> +“Boat ahoy!” shouted I, making a trumpet of my closed fists. +</p> + +<p> +Though the cry must have rung for miles along that hollow passage of the woods, +it produced no effect. These packet-boats make up for their snail-like pace by +never loitering day nor night, especially for those who have paid their fare. +Indeed, the captain had an interest in getting rid of me; for I was his +creditor for a breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +“They are gone, Heaven be praised!” ejaculated I; “for I cannot possibly +overtake them. Here am I, on the ‘long level,’ at midnight, with the +comfortable prospect of a walk to Syracuse, where my baggage will be left. And +now to find a house or shed wherein to pass the night.” So thinking aloud, I +took a flambeau from the old tree, burning, but consuming not, to light my +steps withal, and, like a jack-o’-the-lantern, set out on my midnight tour. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a> +THE OLD APPLE DEALER</h2> + +<p> +The lover of the moral picturesque may sometimes find what he, seeks in a +character which is nevertheless of too negative a description to be seized upon +and represented to the imaginative vision by word-painting. As an instance, I +remember an old man who carries on a little trade of gingerbread and apples at +the depot of one of our railroads. While awaiting the departure of the cars, my +observation, flitting to and fro among the livelier characteristics of the +scene, has often settled insensibly upon this almost hueless object. Thus, +unconsciously to myself and unsuspected by him, I have studied the old +apple-dealer until he has become a naturalized citizen of my inner world. How +little would he imagine—poor, neglected, friendless, unappreciated, and +with little that demands appreciation—that the mental eye of an utter +stranger has so often reverted to his figure! Many a noble form, many a +beautiful face, has flitted before me and vanished like a shadow. It is a +strange witchcraft whereby this faded and featureless old apple-dealer has +gained a settlement in my memory. +</p> + +<p> +He is a small man, with gray hair and gray stubble beard, and is invariably +clad in a shabby surtout of snuff-color, closely buttoned, and half concealing +a pair of gray pantaloons; the whole dress, though clean and entire, being +evidently flimsy with much wear. His face, thin, withered, furrowed, and with +features which even age has failed to render impressive, has a frost-bitten +aspect. It is a moral frost which no physical warmth or comfortableness could +counteract. The summer sunshine may fling its white heat upon him or the good +fire of the depot room may slake him the focus of its blaze on a winter’s day; +but all in vain; for still the old roan looks as if he were in a frosty +atmosphere, with scarcely warmth enough to keep life in the region about his +heart. It is a patient, long-suffering, quiet, hopeless, shivering aspect. He +is not desperate,—that, though its etymology implies no more, would be +too positive an expression,—but merely devoid of hope. As all his past +life, probably, offers no spots of brightness to his memory, so he takes his +present poverty and discomfort as entirely a matter of course! he thinks it the +definition of existence, so far as himself is concerned, to be poor, cold, and +uncomfortable. It may be added, that time has not thrown dignity as a mantle +over the old man’s figure: there is nothing venerable about him: you pity him +without a scruple. +</p> + +<p> +He sits on a bench in the depot room; and before him, on the floor, are +deposited two baskets of a capacity to contain his whole stock in trade. Across +from one basket to the other extends a board, on which is displayed a plate of +cakes and gingerbread, some russet and red-cheeked apples, and a box containing +variegated sticks of candy, together with that delectable condiment known by +children as Gibraltar rock, neatly done up in white paper. There is likewise a +half-peck measure of cracked walnuts and two or three tin half-pints or gills +filled with the nut-kernels, ready for purchasers. +</p> + +<p> +Such are the small commodities with which our old friend comes daily before the +world, ministering to its petty needs and little freaks of appetite, and +seeking thence the solid subsistence—so far as he may subsist of his +life. +</p> + +<p> +A slight observer would speak of the old man’s quietude; but, on closer +scrutiny, you discover that there is a continual unrest within him, which +somewhat resembles the fluttering action of the nerves in a corpse from which +life has recently departed. Though he never exhibits any violent action, and, +indeed, might appear to be sitting quite still, yet you perceive, when his +minuter peculiarities begin to be detected, that he is always making some +little movement or other. He looks anxiously at his plate of cakes or pyramid +of apples and slightly alters their arrangement, with an evident idea that a +great deal depends on their being disposed exactly thus and so. Then for a +moment he gazes out of the window; then he shivers quietly and folds his arms +across his breast, as if to draw himself closer within himself, and thus keep a +flicker of warmth in his lonesome heart. Now he turns again to his merchandise +of cakes, apples, and candy, and discovers that this cake or that apple, or +yonder stick of red and white candy, has somehow got out of its proper +position. And is there not a walnut-kernel too many or too few in one of those +small tin measures? Again the whole arrangement appears to be settled to his +mind; but, in the course of a minute or two, there will assuredly be something +to set right. At times, by an indescribable shadow upon his features, too +quiet, however, to be noticed until you are familiar with his ordinary aspect, +the expression of frostbitten, patient despondency becomes very touching. It +seems as if just at that instant the suspicion occurred to him that, in his +chill decline of life, earning scanty bread by selling cakes, apples, and +candy, he is a very miserable old fellow. +</p> + +<p> +But, if he thinks so, it is a mistake. He can never suffer the extreme of +misery, because the tone of his whole being is too much subdued for him to feel +anything acutely. +</p> + +<p> +Occasionally one of the passengers, to while away a tedious interval, +approaches the old man, inspects the articles upon his board, and even peeps +curiously into the two baskets. Another, striding to and fro along the room, +throws a look at the apples and gingerbread at every turn. A third, it may be +of a more sensitive and delicate texture of being, glances shyly thitherward, +cautious not to excite expectations of a purchaser while yet undetermined +whether to buy. But there appears to be no need of such a scrupulous regard to +our old friend’s feelings. True, he is conscious of the remote possibility to +sell a cake or an apple; but innumerable disappointments have rendered him so +far a philosopher, that, even if the purchased article should be returned, he +will consider it altogether in the ordinary train of events. He speaks to none, +and makes no sign of offering his wares to the public: not that he is deterred +by pride, but by the certain conviction that such demonstrations would not +increase his custom. Besides, this activity in business would require an energy +that never could have been a characteristic of his almost passive disposition +even in youth. Whenever an actual customer customer appears the old man looks +up with a patient eye: if the price and the article are approved, he is ready +to make change; otherwise his eyelids droop again sadly enough, but with no +heavier despondency than before. He shivers, perhaps folds his lean arms around +his lean body, and resumes the life-long, frozen patience in which consists his +strength. +</p> + +<p> +Once in a while a school-boy comes hastily up, places cent or two upon the +board, and takes up a cake, or stick of candy, or a measure of walnuts, or an +apple as red-checked as himself. There are no words as to price, that being as +well known to the buyer as to the seller. The old apple-dealer never speaks an +unnecessary word not that he is sullen and morose; but there is none of the +cheeriness and briskness in him that stirs up people to talk. +</p> + +<p> +Not seldom he is greeted by some old neighbor, a man well to do in the world, +who makes a civil, patronizing observation about the weather; and then, by way +of performing a charitable deed, begins to chaffer for an apple. Our friend +presumes not on any past acquaintance; he makes the briefest possible response +to all general remarks, and shrinks quietly into himself again. After every +diminution of his stock he takes care to produce from the basket another cake, +another stick of candy, another apple, or another measure of walnuts, to supply +the place of the article sold. Two or three attempts—or, perchance, half +a dozen—are requisite before the board can be rearranged to his +satisfaction. If he have received a silver coin, he waits till the purchaser is +out of sight, then examines it closely, and tries to bend it with his finger +and thumb: finally he puts it into his waistcoat-pocket with seemingly a gentle +sigh. This sigh, so faint as to be hardly perceptible, and not expressive of +any definite emotion, is the accompaniment and conclusion of all his actions. +It is the symbol of the chillness and torpid melancholy of his old age, which +only make themselves felt sensibly when his repose is slightly disturbed. +</p> + +<p> +Our man of gingerbread and apples is not a specimen of the “needy man who has +seen better days.” Doubtless there have been better and brighter days in the +far-off time of his youth; but none with so much sunshine of prosperity in them +that the chill, the depression, the narrowness of means, in his declining +years, can have come upon him by surprise. His life has all been of a piece. +His subdued and nerveless boyhood prefigured his abortive prime, which likewise +contained within itself the prophecy and image of his lean and torpid age. He +was perhaps a mechanic, who never came to be a master in his craft, or a petty +tradesman, rubbing onward between passably to do and poverty. Possibly he may +look back to some brilliant epoch of his career when there were a hundred or +two of dollars to his credit in the Savings Bank. Such must have been the +extent of his better fortune,—his little measure of this world’s +triumphs,—all that he has known of success. A meek, downcast, humble, +uncomplaining creature, he probably has never felt himself entitled to more +than so much of the gifts of Providence. Is it not still something that he has +never held out his hand for charity, nor has yet been driven to that sad home +and household of Earth’s forlorn and broken-spirited children, the almshouse? +He cherishes no quarrel, therefore, with his destiny, nor with the Author of +it. All is as it should be. +</p> + +<p> +If, indeed, he have been bereaved of a son, a bold, energetic, vigorous young +man, on whom the father’s feeble nature leaned as on a staff of strength, in +that case he may have felt a bitterness that could not otherwise have been +generated in his heart. But methinks the joy of possessing such a son and the +agony of losing him would have developed the old man’s moral and intellectual +nature to a much greater degree than we now find it. Intense grief appears to +be as much out of keeping with his life as fervid happiness. +</p> + +<p> +To confess the truth, it is not the easiest matter in the world to define and +individualize a character like this which we are now handling. The portrait +must be so generally negative that the most delicate pencil is likely to spoil +it by introducing some too positive tint. Every touch must be kept down, or +else you destroy the subdued tone which is absolutely essential to the whole +effect. Perhaps more may be done by contrast than by direct description. For +this purpose I make use of another cake and candy merchant, who, likewise +infests the railroad depot. This latter worthy is a very smart and well-dressed +boy of ten years old or thereabouts, who skips briskly hither and thither, +addressing the passengers in a pert voice, yet with somewhat of good breeding +in his tone and pronunciation. Now he has caught my eye, and skips across the +room with a pretty pertness, which I should like to correct with a box on the +ear. “Any cake, sir? any candy?” +</p> + +<p> +No, none for me, my lad. I did but glance at your brisk figure in order to +catch a reflected light and throw it upon your old rival yonder. +</p> + +<p> +Again, in order to invest my conception of the old man with a more decided +sense of reality, I look at him in the very moment of intensest bustle, on the +arrival of the cars. The shriek of the engine as it rushes into the car-house +is the utterance of the steam fiend, whom man has subdued by magic spells and +compels to serve as a beast of burden. He has skimmed rivers in his headlong +rush, dashed through forests, plunged into the hearts of mountains, and glanced +from the city to the desert-place, and again to a far-off city, with a meteoric +progress, seen and out of sight, while his reverberating roar still fills the +ear. The travellers swarm forth from the cars. All are full of the momentum +which they have caught from their mode of conveyance. It seems as if the whole +world, both morally and physically, were detached from its old standfasts and +set in rapid motion. And, in the midst of this terrible activity, there sits +the old man of gingerbread, so subdued, so hopeless, so without a stake in +life, and yet not positively miserable,—there he sits, the forlorn old +creature, one chill and sombre day after another, gathering scanty coppers for +his cakes, apples, and candy,—there sits the old apple-dealer, in his +threadbare suit of snuff-color and gray and his grizzly stubble heard. See! he +folds his lean arms around his lean figure with that quiet sigh and that +scarcely perceptible shiver which are the tokens of his inward state. I have +him now. He and the steam fiend are each other’s antipodes; the latter is the +type of all that go ahead, and the old man the representative of that +melancholy class who by some sad witchcraft are doomed never to share in the +world’s exulting progress. Thus the contrast between mankind and this desolate +brother becomes picturesque, and even sublime. +</p> + +<p> +And now farewell, old friend! Little do you suspect that a student of human +life has made your character the theme of more than one solitary and thoughtful +hour. Many would say that you have hardly individuality enough to be the object +of your own self-love. How, then, can a stranger’s eye detect anything in your +mind and heart to study and to wonder at? Yet, could I read but a tithe of what +is written there, it would be a volume of deeper and more comprehensive import +than all that the wisest mortals have given to the world; for the soundless +depths of the human soul and of eternity have an opening through your breast. +God be praised, were it only for your sake, that the present shapes of human +existence are not cast in iron nor hewn in everlasting adamant, but moulded of +the vapors that vanish away while the essence flits upward to the infinite. +There is a spiritual essence in this gray and lean old shape that shall flit +upward too. Yes; doubtless there is a region where the life-long shiver will +pass away from his being, and that quiet sigh, which it has taken him so many +years to breathe, will be brought to a close for good and all. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a> +THE ARTIST OF THE BEAUTIFUL</h2> + +<p> +An elderly man, with his pretty daughter on his arm, was passing along the +street, and emerged from the gloom of the cloudy evening into the light that +fell across the pavement from the window of a small shop. It was a projecting +window; and on the inside were suspended a variety of watches, pinchbeck, +silver, and one or two of gold, all with their faces turned from the streets, +as if churlishly disinclined to inform the wayfarers what o’clock it was. +Seated within the shop, sidelong to the window with his pale face bent +earnestly over some delicate piece of mechanism on which was thrown the +concentrated lustre of a shade lamp, appeared a young man. +</p> + +<p> +“What can Owen Warland be about?” muttered old Peter Hovenden, himself a +retired watchmaker, and the former master of this same young man whose +occupation he was now wondering at. “What can the fellow be about? These six +months past I have never come by his shop without seeing him just as steadily +at work as now. It would be a flight beyond his usual foolery to seek for the +perpetual motion; and yet I know enough of my old business to be certain that +what he is now so busy with is no part of the machinery of a watch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, father,” said Annie, without showing much interest in the question, +“Owen is inventing a new kind of timekeeper. I am sure he has ingenuity +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poh, child! He has not the sort of ingenuity to invent anything better than a +Dutch toy,” answered her father, who had formerly been put to much vexation by +Owen Warland’s irregular genius. “A plague on such ingenuity! All the effect +that ever I knew of it was to spoil the accuracy of some of the best watches in +my shop. He would turn the sun out of its orbit and derange the whole course of +time, if, as I said before, his ingenuity could grasp anything bigger than a +child’s toy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, father! He hears you!” whispered Annie, pressing the old man’s arm. “His +ears are as delicate as his feelings; and you know how easily disturbed they +are. Do let us move on.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter Hovenden and his daughter Annie plodded on without further +conversation, until in a by-street of the town they found themselves passing +the open door of a blacksmith’s shop. Within was seen the forge, now blazing up +and illuminating the high and dusky roof, and now confining its lustre to a +narrow precinct of the coal-strewn floor, according as the breath of the +bellows was puffed forth or again inhaled into its vast leathern lungs. In the +intervals of brightness it was easy to distinguish objects in remote corners of +the shop and the horseshoes that hung upon the wall; in the momentary gloom the +fire seemed to be glimmering amidst the vagueness of unenclosed space. Moving +about in this red glare and alternate dusk was the figure of the blacksmith, +well worthy to be viewed in so picturesque an aspect of light and shade, where +the bright blaze struggled with the black night, as if each would have snatched +his comely strength from the other. Anon he drew a white-hot bar of iron from +the coals, laid it on the anvil, uplifted his arm of might, and was soon +enveloped in the myriads of sparks which the strokes of his hammer scattered +into the surrounding gloom. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, that is a pleasant sight,” said the old watchmaker. “I know what it is to +work in gold; but give me the worker in iron after all is said and done. He +spends his labor upon a reality. What say you, daughter Annie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray don’t speak so loud, father,” whispered Annie, “Robert Danforth will hear +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what if he should hear me?” said Peter Hovenden. “I say again, it is a +good and a wholesome thing to depend upon main strength and reality, and to +earn one’s bread with the bare and brawny arm of a blacksmith. A watchmaker +gets his brain puzzled by his wheels within a wheel, or loses his health or the +nicety of his eyesight, as was my case, and finds himself at middle age, or a +little after, past labor at his own trade and fit for nothing else, yet too +poor to live at his ease. So I say once again, give me main strength for my +money. And then, how it takes the nonsense out of a man! Did you ever hear of a +blacksmith being such a fool as Owen Warland yonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, uncle Hovenden!” shouted Robert Danforth from the forge, in a full, +deep, merry voice, that made the roof re-echo. “And what says Miss Annie to +that doctrine? She, I suppose, will think it a genteeler business to tinker up +a lady’s watch than to forge a horseshoe or make a gridiron.” +</p> + +<p> +Annie drew her father onward without giving him time for reply. +</p> + +<p> +But we must return to Owen Warland’s shop, and spend more meditation upon his +history and character than either Peter Hovenden, or probably his daughter +Annie, or Owen’s old school-fellow, Robert Danforth, would have thought due to +so slight a subject. From the time that his little fingers could grasp a +penknife, Owen had been remarkable for a delicate ingenuity, which sometimes +produced pretty shapes in wood, principally figures of flowers and birds, and +sometimes seemed to aim at the hidden mysteries of mechanism. But it was always +for purposes of grace, and never with any mockery of the useful. He did not, +like the crowd of school-boy artisans, construct little windmills on the angle +of a barn or watermills across the neighboring brook. Those who discovered such +peculiarity in the boy as to think it worth their while to observe him closely, +sometimes saw reason to suppose that he was attempting to imitate the beautiful +movements of Nature as exemplified in the flight of birds or the activity of +little animals. It seemed, in fact, a new development of the love of the +beautiful, such as might have made him a poet, a painter, or a sculptor, and +which was as completely refined from all utilitarian coarseness as it could +have been in either of the fine arts. He looked with singular distaste at the +stiff and regular processes of ordinary machinery. Being once carried to see a +steam-engine, in the expectation that his intuitive comprehension of mechanical +principles would be gratified, he turned pale and grew sick, as if something +monstrous and unnatural had been presented to him. This horror was partly owing +to the size and terrible energy of the iron laborer; for the character of +Owen’s mind was microscopic, and tended naturally to the minute, in accordance +with his diminutive frame and the marvellous smallness and delicate power of +his fingers. Not that his sense of beauty was thereby diminished into a sense +of prettiness. The beautiful idea has no relation to size, and may be as +perfectly developed in a space too minute for any but microscopic investigation +as within the ample verge that is measured by the arc of the rainbow. But, at +all events, this characteristic minuteness in his objects and accomplishments +made the world even more incapable than it might otherwise have been of +appreciating Owen Warland’s genius. The boy’s relatives saw nothing better to +be done—as perhaps there was not—than to bind him apprentice to a +watchmaker, hoping that his strange ingenuity might thus be regulated and put +to utilitarian purposes. +</p> + +<p> +Peter Hovenden’s opinion of his apprentice has already been expressed. He could +make nothing of the lad. Owen’s apprehension of the professional mysteries, it +is true, was inconceivably quick; but he altogether forgot or despised the +grand object of a watchmaker’s business, and cared no more for the measurement +of time than if it had been merged into eternity. So long, however, as he +remained under his old master’s care, Owen’s lack of sturdiness made it +possible, by strict injunctions and sharp oversight, to restrain his creative +eccentricity within bounds; but when his apprenticeship was served out, and he +had taken the little shop which Peter Hovenden’s failing eyesight compelled him +to relinquish, then did people recognize how unfit a person was Owen Warland to +lead old blind Father Time along his daily course. One of his most rational +projects was to connect a musical operation with the machinery of his watches, +so that all the harsh dissonances of life might be rendered tuneful, and each +flitting moment fall into the abyss of the past in golden drops of harmony. If +a family clock was intrusted to him for repair,—one of those tall, +ancient clocks that have grown nearly allied to human nature by measuring out +the lifetime of many generations,—he would take upon himself to arrange a +dance or funeral procession of figures across its venerable face, representing +twelve mirthful or melancholy hours. Several freaks of this kind quite +destroyed the young watchmaker’s credit with that steady and matter-of-fact +class of people who hold the opinion that time is not to be trifled with, +whether considered as the medium of advancement and prosperity in this world or +preparation for the next. His custom rapidly diminished—a misfortune, +however, that was probably reckoned among his better accidents by Owen Warland, +who was becoming more and more absorbed in a secret occupation which drew all +his science and manual dexterity into itself, and likewise gave full employment +to the characteristic tendencies of his genius. This pursuit had already +consumed many months. +</p> + +<p> +After the old watchmaker and his pretty daughter had gazed at him out of the +obscurity of the street, Owen Warland was seized with a fluttering of the +nerves, which made his hand tremble too violently to proceed with such delicate +labor as he was now engaged upon. +</p> + +<p> +“It was Annie herself!” murmured he. “I should have known it, by this throbbing +of my heart, before I heard her father’s voice. Ah, how it throbs! I shall +scarcely be able to work again on this exquisite mechanism to-night. Annie! +dearest Annie! thou shouldst give firmness to my heart and hand, and not shake +them thus; for if I strive to put the very spirit of beauty into form and give +it motion, it is for thy sake alone. O throbbing heart, be quiet! If my labor +be thus thwarted, there will come vague and unsatisfied dreams which will leave +me spiritless to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +As he was endeavoring to settle himself again to his task, the shop door opened +and gave admittance to no other than the stalwart figure which Peter Hovenden +had paused to admire, as seen amid the light and shadow of the blacksmith’s +shop. Robert Danforth had brought a little anvil of his own manufacture, and +peculiarly constructed, which the young artist had recently bespoken. Owen +examined the article and pronounced it fashioned according to his wish. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” said Robert Danforth, his strong voice filling the shop as with the +sound of a bass viol, “I consider myself equal to anything in the way of my own +trade; though I should have made but a poor figure at yours with such a fist as +this,” added he, laughing, as he laid his vast hand beside the delicate one of +Owen. “But what then? I put more main strength into one blow of my sledge +hammer than all that you have expended since you were a ’prentice. Is not that +the truth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very probably,” answered the low and slender voice of Owen. “Strength is an +earthly monster. I make no pretensions to it. My force, whatever there may be +of it, is altogether spiritual.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but, Owen, what are you about?” asked his old school-fellow, still in +such a hearty volume of tone that it made the artist shrink, especially as the +question related to a subject so sacred as the absorbing dream of his +imagination. “Folks do say that you are trying to discover the perpetual +motion.” +</p> + +<p> +“The perpetual motion? Nonsense!” replied Owen Warland, with a movement of +disgust; for he was full of little petulances. “It can never be discovered. It +is a dream that may delude men whose brains are mystified with matter, but not +me. Besides, if such a discovery were possible, it would not be worth my while +to make it only to have the secret turned to such purposes as are now effected +by steam and water power. I am not ambitious to be honored with the paternity +of a new kind of cotton machine.” +</p> + +<p> +“That would be droll enough!” cried the blacksmith, breaking out into such an +uproar of laughter that Owen himself and the bell glasses on his work-board +quivered in unison. “No, no, Owen! No child of yours will have iron joints and +sinews. Well, I won’t hinder you any more. Good night, Owen, and success, and +if you need any assistance, so far as a downright blow of hammer upon anvil +will answer the purpose, I’m your man.” +</p> + +<p> +And with another laugh the man of main strength left the shop. +</p> + +<p> +“How strange it is,” whispered Owen Warland to himself, leaning his head upon +his hand, “that all my musings, my purposes, my passion for the beautiful, my +consciousness of power to create it,—a finer, more ethereal power, of +which this earthly giant can have no conception,—all, all, look so vain +and idle whenever my path is crossed by Robert Danforth! He would drive me mad +were I to meet him often. His hard, brute force darkens and confuses the +spiritual element within me; but I, too, will be strong in my own way. I will +not yield to him.” +</p> + +<p> +He took from beneath a glass a piece of minute machinery, which he set in the +condensed light of his lamp, and, looking intently at it through a magnifying +glass, proceeded to operate with a delicate instrument of steel. In an instant, +however, he fell back in his chair and clasped his hands, with a look of horror +on his face that made its small features as impressive as those of a giant +would have been. +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven! What have I done?” exclaimed he. “The vapor, the influence of that +brute force,—it has bewildered me and obscured my perception. I have made +the very stroke—the fatal stroke—that I have dreaded from the +first. It is all over—the toil of months, the object of my life. I am +ruined!” +</p> + +<p> +And there he sat, in strange despair, until his lamp flickered in the socket +and left the Artist of the Beautiful in darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it is that ideas, which grow up within the imagination and appear so +lovely to it and of a value beyond whatever men call valuable, are exposed to +be shattered and annihilated by contact with the practical. It is requisite for +the ideal artist to possess a force of character that seems hardly compatible +with its delicacy; he must keep his faith in himself while the incredulous +world assails him with its utter disbelief; he must stand up against mankind +and be his own sole disciple, both as respects his genius and the objects to +which it is directed. +</p> + +<p> +For a time Owen Warland succumbed to this severe but inevitable test. He spent +a few sluggish weeks with his head so continually resting in his hands that the +towns-people had scarcely an opportunity to see his countenance. When at last +it was again uplifted to the light of day, a cold, dull, nameless change was +perceptible upon it. In the opinion of Peter Hovenden, however, and that order +of sagacious understandings who think that life should be regulated, like +clockwork, with leaden weights, the alteration was entirely for the better. +Owen now, indeed, applied himself to business with dogged industry. It was +marvellous to witness the obtuse gravity with which he would inspect the wheels +of a great old silver watch thereby delighting the owner, in whose fob it had +been worn till he deemed it a portion of his own life, and was accordingly +jealous of its treatment. In consequence of the good report thus acquired, Owen +Warland was invited by the proper authorities to regulate the clock in the +church steeple. He succeeded so admirably in this matter of public interest +that the merchants gruffly acknowledged his merits on ’Change; the nurse +whispered his praises as she gave the potion in the sick-chamber; the lover +blessed him at the hour of appointed interview; and the town in general thanked +Owen for the punctuality of dinner time. In a word, the heavy weight upon his +spirits kept everything in order, not merely within his own system, but +wheresoever the iron accents of the church clock were audible. It was a +circumstance, though minute, yet characteristic of his present state, that, +when employed to engrave names or initials on silver spoons, he now wrote the +requisite letters in the plainest possible style, omitting a variety of +fanciful flourishes that had heretofore distinguished his work in this kind. +</p> + +<p> +One day, during the era of this happy transformation, old Peter Hovenden came +to visit his former apprentice. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Owen,” said he, “I am glad to hear such good accounts of you from all +quarters, and especially from the town clock yonder, which speaks in your +commendation every hour of the twenty-four. Only get rid altogether of your +nonsensical trash about the beautiful, which I nor nobody else, nor yourself to +boot, could ever understand,—only free yourself of that, and your success +in life is as sure as daylight. Why, if you go on in this way, I should even +venture to let you doctor this precious old watch of mine; though, except my +daughter Annie, I have nothing else so valuable in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should hardly dare touch it, sir,” replied Owen, in a depressed tone; for he +was weighed down by his old master’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +“In time,” said the latter,—“In time, you will be capable of it.” +</p> + +<p> +The old watchmaker, with the freedom naturally consequent on his former +authority, went on inspecting the work which Owen had in hand at the moment, +together with other matters that were in progress. The artist, meanwhile, could +scarcely lift his head. There was nothing so antipodal to his nature as this +man’s cold, unimaginative sagacity, by contact with which everything was +converted into a dream except the densest matter of the physical world. Owen +groaned in spirit and prayed fervently to be delivered from him. +</p> + +<p> +“But what is this?” cried Peter Hovenden abruptly, taking up a dusty bell +glass, beneath which appeared a mechanical something, as delicate and minute as +the system of a butterfly’s anatomy. “What have we here? Owen! Owen! there is +witchcraft in these little chains, and wheels, and paddles. See! with one pinch +of my finger and thumb I am going to deliver you from all future peril.” +</p> + +<p> +“For Heaven’s sake,” screamed Owen Warland, springing up with wonderful energy, +“as you would not drive me mad, do not touch it! The slightest pressure of your +finger would ruin me forever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aha, young man! And is it so?” said the old watchmaker, looking at him with +just enough penetration to torture Owen’s soul with the bitterness of worldly +criticism. “Well, take your own course; but I warn you again that in this small +piece of mechanism lives your evil spirit. Shall I exorcise him?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are my evil spirit,” answered Owen, much excited,—“you and the hard, +coarse world! The leaden thoughts and the despondency that you fling upon me +are my clogs, else I should long ago have achieved the task that I was created +for.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter Hovenden shook his head, with the mixture of contempt and indignation +which mankind, of whom he was partly a representative, deem themselves entitled +to feel towards all simpletons who seek other prizes than the dusty one along +the highway. He then took his leave, with an uplifted finger and a sneer upon +his face that haunted the artist’s dreams for many a night afterwards. At the +time of his old master’s visit, Owen was probably on the point of taking up the +relinquished task; but, by this sinister event, he was thrown back into the +state whence he had been slowly emerging. +</p> + +<p> +But the innate tendency of his soul had only been accumulating fresh vigor +during its apparent sluggishness. As the summer advanced he almost totally +relinquished his business, and permitted Father Time, so far as the old +gentleman was represented by the clocks and watches under his control, to stray +at random through human life, making infinite confusion among the train of +bewildered hours. He wasted the sunshine, as people said, in wandering through +the woods and fields and along the banks of streams. There, like a child, he +found amusement in chasing butterflies or watching the motions of water +insects. There was something truly mysterious in the intentness with which he +contemplated these living playthings as they sported on the breeze or examined +the structure of an imperial insect whom he had imprisoned. The chase of +butterflies was an apt emblem of the ideal pursuit in which he had spent so +many golden hours; but would the beautiful idea ever be yielded to his hand +like the butterfly that symbolized it? Sweet, doubtless, were these days, and +congenial to the artist’s soul. They were full of bright conceptions, which +gleamed through his intellectual world as the butterflies gleamed through the +outward atmosphere, and were real to him, for the instant, without the toil, +and perplexity, and many disappointments of attempting to make them visible to +the sensual eye. Alas that the artist, whether in poetry, or whatever other +material, may not content himself with the inward enjoyment of the beautiful, +but must chase the flitting mystery beyond the verge of his ethereal domain, +and crush its frail being in seizing it with a material grasp. Owen Warland +felt the impulse to give external reality to his ideas as irresistibly as any +of the poets or painters who have arrayed the world in a dimmer and fainter +beauty, imperfectly copied from the richness of their visions. +</p> + +<p> +The night was now his time for the slow progress of re-creating the one idea to +which all his intellectual activity referred itself. Always at the approach of +dusk he stole into the town, locked himself within his shop, and wrought with +patient delicacy of touch for many hours. Sometimes he was startled by the rap +of the watchman, who, when all the world should be asleep, had caught the gleam +of lamplight through the crevices of Owen Warland’s shutters. Daylight, to the +morbid sensibility of his mind, seemed to have an intrusiveness that interfered +with his pursuits. On cloudy and inclement days, therefore, he sat with his +head upon his hands, muffling, as it were, his sensitive brain in a mist of +indefinite musings, for it was a relief to escape from the sharp distinctness +with which he was compelled to shape out his thoughts during his nightly toil. +</p> + +<p> +From one of these fits of torpor he was aroused by the entrance of Annie +Hovenden, who came into the shop with the freedom of a customer, and also with +something of the familiarity of a childish friend. She had worn a hole through +her silver thimble, and wanted Owen to repair it. +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t know whether you will condescend to such a task,” said she, +laughing, “now that you are so taken up with the notion of putting spirit into +machinery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you get that idea, Annie?” said Owen, starting in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, out of my own head,” answered she, “and from something that I heard you +say, long ago, when you were but a boy and I a little child. But come, will you +mend this poor thimble of mine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything for your sake, Annie,” said Owen Warland,—“anything, even were +it to work at Robert Danforth’s forge.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that would be a pretty sight!” retorted Annie, glancing with imperceptible +slightness at the artist’s small and slender frame. “Well; here is the +thimble.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that is a strange idea of yours,” said Owen, “about the spiritualization +of matter.” +</p> + +<p> +And then the thought stole into his mind that this young girl possessed the +gift to comprehend him better than all the world besides. And what a help and +strength would it be to him in his lonely toil if he could gain the sympathy of +the only being whom he loved! To persons whose pursuits are insulated from the +common business of life—who are either in advance of mankind or apart +from it—there often comes a sensation of moral cold that makes the spirit +shiver as if it had reached the frozen solitudes around the pole. What the +prophet, the poet, the reformer, the criminal, or any other man with human +yearnings, but separated from the multitude by a peculiar lot, might feel, poor +Owen felt. +</p> + +<p> +“Annie,” cried he, growing pale as death at the thought, “how gladly would I +tell you the secret of my pursuit! You, methinks, would estimate it rightly. +You, I know, would hear it with a reverence that I must not expect from the +harsh, material world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would I not? to be sure I would!” replied Annie Hovenden, lightly laughing. +“Come; explain to me quickly what is the meaning of this little whirligig, so +delicately wrought that it might be a plaything for Queen Mab. See! I will put +it in motion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold!” exclaimed Owen, “hold!” +</p> + +<p> +Annie had but given the slightest possible touch, with the point of a needle, +to the same minute portion of complicated machinery which has been more than +once mentioned, when the artist seized her by the wrist with a force that made +her scream aloud. She was affrighted at the convulsion of intense rage and +anguish that writhed across his features. The next instant he let his head sink +upon his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Go, Annie,” murmured he; “I have deceived myself, and must suffer for it. I +yearned for sympathy, and thought, and fancied, and dreamed that you might give +it me; but you lack the talisman, Annie, that should admit you into my secrets. +That touch has undone the toil of months and the thought of a lifetime! It was +not your fault, Annie; but you have ruined me!” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Owen Warland! He had indeed erred, yet pardonably; for if any human spirit +could have sufficiently reverenced the processes so sacred in his eyes, it must +have been a woman’s. Even Annie Hovenden, possibly might not have disappointed +him had she been enlightened by the deep intelligence of love. +</p> + +<p> +The artist spent the ensuing winter in a way that satisfied any persons who had +hitherto retained a hopeful opinion of him that he was, in truth, irrevocably +doomed to unutility as regarded the world, and to an evil destiny on his own +part. The decease of a relative had put him in possession of a small +inheritance. Thus freed from the necessity of toil, and having lost the +steadfast influence of a great purpose,—great, at least, to him,—he +abandoned himself to habits from which it might have been supposed the mere +delicacy of his organization would have availed to secure him. But when the +ethereal portion of a man of genius is obscured the earthly part assumes an +influence the more uncontrollable, because the character is now thrown off the +balance to which Providence had so nicely adjusted it, and which, in coarser +natures, is adjusted by some other method. Owen Warland made proof of whatever +show of bliss may be found in riot. He looked at the world through the golden +medium of wine, and contemplated the visions that bubble up so gayly around the +brim of the glass, and that people the air with shapes of pleasant madness, +which so soon grow ghostly and forlorn. Even when this dismal and inevitable +change had taken place, the young man might still have continued to quaff the +cup of enchantments, though its vapor did but shroud life in gloom and fill the +gloom with spectres that mocked at him. There was a certain irksomeness of +spirit, which, being real, and the deepest sensation of which the artist was +now conscious, was more intolerable than any fantastic miseries and horrors +that the abuse of wine could summon up. In the latter case he could remember, +even out of the midst of his trouble, that all was but a delusion; in the +former, the heavy anguish was his actual life. +</p> + +<p> +From this perilous state he was redeemed by an incident which more than one +person witnessed, but of which the shrewdest could not explain or conjecture +the operation on Owen Warland’s mind. It was very simple. On a warm afternoon +of spring, as the artist sat among his riotous companions with a glass of wine +before him, a splendid butterfly flew in at the open window and fluttered about +his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” exclaimed Owen, who had drank freely, “are you alive again, child of the +sun and playmate of the summer breeze, after your dismal winter’s nap? Then it +is time for me to be at work!” +</p> + +<p> +And, leaving his unemptied glass upon the table, he departed and was never +known to sip another drop of wine. +</p> + +<p> +And now, again, he resumed his wanderings in the woods and fields. It might be +fancied that the bright butterfly, which had come so spirit-like into the +window as Owen sat with the rude revellers, was indeed a spirit commissioned to +recall him to the pure, ideal life that had so etheralized him among men. It +might be fancied that he went forth to seek this spirit in its sunny haunts; +for still, as in the summer time gone by, he was seen to steal gently up +wherever a butterfly had alighted, and lose himself in contemplation of it. +When it took flight his eyes followed the winged vision, as if its airy track +would show the path to heaven. But what could be the purpose of the +unseasonable toil, which was again resumed, as the watchman knew by the lines +of lamplight through the crevices of Owen Warland’s shutters? The towns-people +had one comprehensive explanation of all these singularities. Owen Warland had +gone mad! How universally efficacious—how satisfactory, too, and soothing +to the injured sensibility of narrowness and dulness—is this easy method +of accounting for whatever lies beyond the world’s most ordinary scope! From +St. Paul’s days down to our poor little Artist of the Beautiful, the same +talisman had been applied to the elucidation of all mysteries in the words or +deeds of men who spoke or acted too wisely or too well. In Owen Warland’s case +the judgment of his towns-people may have been correct. Perhaps he was mad. The +lack of sympathy—that contrast between himself and his neighbors which +took away the restraint of example—was enough to make him so. Or possibly +he had caught just so much of ethereal radiance as served to bewilder him, in +an earthly sense, by its intermixture with the common daylight. +</p> + +<p> +One evening, when the artist had returned from a customary ramble and had just +thrown the lustre of his lamp on the delicate piece of work so often +interrupted, but still taken up again, as if his fate were embodied in its +mechanism, he was surprised by the entrance of old Peter Hovenden. Owen never +met this man without a shrinking of the heart. Of all the world he was most +terrible, by reason of a keen understanding which saw so distinctly what it did +see, and disbelieved so uncompromisingly in what it could not see. On this +occasion the old watchmaker had merely a gracious word or two to say. +</p> + +<p> +“Owen, my lad,” said he, “we must see you at my house to-morrow night.” +</p> + +<p> +The artist began to mutter some excuse. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but it must be so,” quoth Peter Hovenden, “for the sake of the days when +you were one of the household. What, my boy! don’t you know that my daughter +Annie is engaged to Robert Danforth? We are making an entertainment, in our +humble way, to celebrate the event.” +</p> + +<p> +That little monosyllable was all he uttered; its tone seemed cold and +unconcerned to an ear like Peter Hovenden’s; and yet there was in it the +stifled outcry of the poor artist’s heart, which he compressed within him like +a man holding down an evil spirit. One slight outbreak, however, imperceptible +to the old watchmaker, he allowed himself. Raising the instrument with which he +was about to begin his work, he let it fall upon the little system of machinery +that had, anew, cost him months of thought and toil. It was shattered by the +stroke! +</p> + +<p> +Owen Warland’s story would have been no tolerable representation of the +troubled life of those who strive to create the beautiful, if, amid all other +thwarting influences, love had not interposed to steal the cunning from his +hand. Outwardly he had been no ardent or enterprising lover; the career of his +passion had confined its tumults and vicissitudes so entirely within the +artist’s imagination that Annie herself had scarcely more than a woman’s +intuitive perception of it; but, in Owen’s view, it covered the whole field of +his life. Forgetful of the time when she had shown herself incapable of any +deep response, he had persisted in connecting all his dreams of artistical +success with Annie’s image; she was the visible shape in which the spiritual +power that he worshipped, and on whose altar he hoped to lay a not unworthy +offering, was made manifest to him. Of course he had deceived himself; there +were no such attributes in Annie Hovenden as his imagination had endowed her +with. She, in the aspect which she wore to his inward vision, was as much a +creature of his own as the mysterious piece of mechanism would be were it ever +realized. Had he become convinced of his mistake through the medium of +successful love,—had he won Annie to his bosom, and there beheld her fade +from angel into ordinary woman,—the disappointment might have driven him +back, with concentrated energy, upon his sole remaining object. On the other +hand, had he found Annie what he fancied, his lot would have been so rich in +beauty that out of its mere redundancy he might have wrought the beautiful into +many a worthier type than he had toiled for; but the guise in which his sorrow +came to him, the sense that the angel of his life had been snatched away and +given to a rude man of earth and iron, who could neither need nor appreciate +her ministrations,—this was the very perversity of fate that makes human +existence appear too absurd and contradictory to be the scene of one other hope +or one other fear. There was nothing left for Owen Warland but to sit down like +a man that had been stunned. +</p> + +<p> +He went through a fit of illness. After his recovery his small and slender +frame assumed an obtuser garniture of flesh than it had ever before worn. His +thin cheeks became round; his delicate little hand, so spiritually fashioned to +achieve fairy task-work, grew plumper than the hand of a thriving infant. His +aspect had a childishness such as might have induced a stranger to pat him on +the head—pausing, however, in the act, to wonder what manner of child was +here. It was as if the spirit had gone out of him, leaving the body to flourish +in a sort of vegetable existence. Not that Owen Warland was idiotic. He could +talk, and not irrationally. Somewhat of a babbler, indeed, did people begin to +think him; for he was apt to discourse at wearisome length of marvels of +mechanism that he had read about in books, but which he had learned to consider +as absolutely fabulous. Among them he enumerated the Man of Brass, constructed +by Albertus Magnus, and the Brazen Head of Friar Bacon; and, coming down to +later times, the automata of a little coach and horses, which it was pretended +had been manufactured for the Dauphin of France; together with an insect that +buzzed about the ear like a living fly, and yet was but a contrivance of minute +steel springs. There was a story, too, of a duck that waddled, and quacked, and +ate; though, had any honest citizen purchased it for dinner, he would have +found himself cheated with the mere mechanical apparition of a duck. +</p> + +<p> +“But all these accounts,” said Owen Warland, “I am now satisfied are mere +impositions.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, in a mysterious way, he would confess that he once thought differently. +In his idle and dreamy days he had considered it possible, in a certain sense, +to spiritualize machinery, and to combine with the new species of life and +motion thus produced a beauty that should attain to the ideal which Nature has +proposed to herself in all her creatures, but has never taken pains to realize. +He seemed, however, to retain no very distinct perception either of the process +of achieving this object or of the design itself. +</p> + +<p> +“I have thrown it all aside now,” he would say. “It was a dream such as young +men are always mystifying themselves with. Now that I have acquired a little +common sense, it makes me laugh to think of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor, poor and fallen Owen Warland! These were the symptoms that he had ceased +to be an inhabitant of the better sphere that lies unseen around us. He had +lost his faith in the invisible, and now prided himself, as such unfortunates +invariably do, in the wisdom which rejected much that even his eye could see, +and trusted confidently in nothing but what his hand could touch. This is the +calamity of men whose spiritual part dies out of them and leaves the grosser +understanding to assimilate them more and more to the things of which alone it +can take cognizance; but in Owen Warland the spirit was not dead nor passed +away; it only slept. +</p> + +<p> +How it awoke again is not recorded. Perhaps the torpid slumber was broken by a +convulsive pain. Perhaps, as in a former instance, the butterfly came and +hovered about his head and reinspired him,—as indeed this creature of the +sunshine had always a mysterious mission for the artist,—reinspired him +with the former purpose of his life. Whether it were pain or happiness that +thrilled through his veins, his first impulse was to thank Heaven for rendering +him again the being of thought, imagination, and keenest sensibility that he +had long ceased to be. +</p> + +<p> +“Now for my task,” said he. “Never did I feel such strength for it as now.” +</p> + +<p> +Yet, strong as he felt himself, he was incited to toil the more diligently by +an anxiety lest death should surprise him in the midst of his labors. This +anxiety, perhaps, is common to all men who set their hearts upon anything so +high, in their own view of it, that life becomes of importance only as +conditional to its accomplishment. So long as we love life for itself, we +seldom dread the losing it. When we desire life for the attainment of an +object, we recognize the frailty of its texture. But, side by side with this +sense of insecurity, there is a vital faith in our invulnerability to the shaft +of death while engaged in any task that seems assigned by Providence as our +proper thing to do, and which the world would have cause to mourn for should we +leave it unaccomplished. Can the philosopher, big with the inspiration of an +idea that is to reform mankind, believe that he is to be beckoned from this +sensible existence at the very instant when he is mustering his breath to speak +the word of light? Should he perish so, the weary ages may pass away—the +world’s, whose life sand may fall, drop by drop—before another intellect +is prepared to develop the truth that might have been uttered then. But history +affords many an example where the most precious spirit, at any particular epoch +manifested in human shape, has gone hence untimely, without space allowed him, +so far as mortal judgment could discern, to perform his mission on the earth. +The prophet dies, and the man of torpid heart and sluggish brain lives on. The +poet leaves his song half sung, or finishes it, beyond the scope of mortal +ears, in a celestial choir. The painter—as Allston did—leaves half +his conception on the canvas to sadden us with its imperfect beauty, and goes +to picture forth the whole, if it be no irreverence to say so, in the hues of +heaven. But rather such incomplete designs of this life will be perfected +nowhere. This so frequent abortion of man’s dearest projects must be taken as a +proof that the deeds of earth, however etherealized by piety or genius, are +without value, except as exercises and manifestations of the spirit. In heaven, +all ordinary thought is higher and more melodious than Milton’s song. Then, +would he add another verse to any strain that he had left unfinished here? +</p> + +<p> +But to return to Owen Warland. It was his fortune, good or ill, to achieve the +purpose of his life. Pass we over a long space of intense thought, yearning +effort, minute toil, and wasting anxiety, succeeded by an instant of solitary +triumph: let all this be imagined; and then behold the artist, on a winter +evening, seeking admittance to Robert Danforth’s fireside circle. There he +found the man of iron, with his massive substance thoroughly warmed and +attempered by domestic influences. And there was Annie, too, now transformed +into a matron, with much of her husband’s plain and sturdy nature, but imbued, +as Owen Warland still believed, with a finer grace, that might enable her to be +the interpreter between strength and beauty. It happened, likewise, that old +Peter Hovenden was a guest this evening at his daughter’s fireside, and it was +his well-remembered expression of keen, cold criticism that first encountered +the artist’s glance. +</p> + +<p> +“My old friend Owen!” cried Robert Danforth, starting up, and compressing the +artist’s delicate fingers within a hand that was accustomed to gripe bars of +iron. “This is kind and neighborly to come to us at last. I was afraid your +perpetual motion had bewitched you out of the remembrance of old times.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are glad to see you,” said Annie, while a blush reddened her matronly +cheek. “It was not like a friend to stay from us so long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Owen,” inquired the old watchmaker, as his first greeting, “how comes on +the beautiful? Have you created it at last?” +</p> + +<p> +The artist did not immediately reply, being startled by the apparition of a +young child of strength that was tumbling about on the carpet,—a little +personage who had come mysteriously out of the infinite, but with something so +sturdy and real in his composition that he seemed moulded out of the densest +substance which earth could supply. This hopeful infant crawled towards the +new-comer, and setting himself on end, as Robert Danforth expressed the +posture, stared at Owen with a look of such sagacious observation that the +mother could not help exchanging a proud glance with her husband. But the +artist was disturbed by the child’s look, as imagining a resemblance between it +and Peter Hovenden’s habitual expression. He could have fancied that the old +watchmaker was compressed into this baby shape, and looking out of those baby +eyes, and repeating, as he now did, the malicious question: “The beautiful, +Owen! How comes on the beautiful? Have you succeeded in creating the +beautiful?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have succeeded,” replied the artist, with a momentary light of triumph in +his eyes and a smile of sunshine, yet steeped in such depth of thought that it +was almost sadness. “Yes, my friends, it is the truth. I have succeeded.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” cried Annie, a look of maiden mirthfulness peeping out of her face +again. “And is it lawful, now, to inquire what the secret is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely; it is to disclose it that I have come,” answered Owen Warland. “You +shall know, and see, and touch, and possess the secret! For, Annie,—if by +that name I may still address the friend of my boyish years,—Annie, it is +for your bridal gift that I have wrought this spiritualized mechanism, this +harmony of motion, this mystery of beauty. It comes late, indeed; but it is as +we go onward in life, when objects begin to lose their freshness of hue and our +souls their delicacy of perception, that the spirit of beauty is most needed. +If,—forgive me, Annie,—if you know how—to value this gift, it +can never come too late.” +</p> + +<p> +He produced, as he spoke, what seemed a jewel box. It was carved richly out of +ebony by his own hand, and inlaid with a fanciful tracery of pearl, +representing a boy in pursuit of a butterfly, which, elsewhere, had become a +winged spirit, and was flying heavenward; while the boy, or youth, had found +such efficacy in his strong desire that he ascended from earth to cloud, and +from cloud to celestial atmosphere, to win the beautiful. This case of ebony +the artist opened, and bade Annie place her fingers on its edge. She did so, +but almost screamed as a butterfly fluttered forth, and, alighting on her +finger’s tip, sat waving the ample magnificence of its purple and gold-speckled +wings, as if in prelude to a flight. It is impossible to express by words the +glory, the splendor, the delicate gorgeousness which were softened into the +beauty of this object. Nature’s ideal butterfly was here realized in all its +perfection; not in the pattern of such faded insects as flit among earthly +flowers, but of those which hover across the meads of paradise for child-angels +and the spirits of departed infants to disport themselves with. The rich down +was visible upon its wings; the lustre of its eyes seemed instinct with spirit. +The firelight glimmered around this wonder—the candles gleamed upon it; +but it glistened apparently by its own radiance, and illuminated the finger and +outstretched hand on which it rested with a white gleam like that of precious +stones. In its perfect beauty, the consideration of size was entirely lost. Had +its wings overreached the firmament, the mind could not have been more filled +or satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful! beautiful!” exclaimed Annie. “Is it alive? Is it alive?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alive? To be sure it is,” answered her husband. “Do you suppose any mortal has +skill enough to make a butterfly, or would put himself to the trouble of making +one, when any child may catch a score of them in a summer’s afternoon? Alive? +Certainly! But this pretty box is undoubtedly of our friend Owen’s manufacture; +and really it does him credit.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the butterfly waved its wings anew, with a motion so absolutely +lifelike that Annie was startled, and even awestricken; for, in spite of her +husband’s opinion, she could not satisfy herself whether it was indeed a living +creature or a piece of wondrous mechanism. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it alive?” she repeated, more earnestly than before. +</p> + +<p> +“Judge for yourself,” said Owen Warland, who stood gazing in her face with +fixed attention. +</p> + +<p> +The butterfly now flung itself upon the air, fluttered round Annie’s head, and +soared into a distant region of the parlor, still making itself perceptible to +sight by the starry gleam in which the motion of its wings enveloped it. The +infant on the floor followed its course with his sagacious little eyes. After +flying about the room, it returned in a spiral curve and settled again on +Annie’s finger. +</p> + +<p> +“But is it alive?” exclaimed she again; and the finger on which the gorgeous +mystery had alighted was so tremulous that the butterfly was forced to balance +himself with his wings. “Tell me if it be alive, or whether you created it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wherefore ask who created it, so it be beautiful?” replied Owen Warland. +“Alive? Yes, Annie; it may well be said to possess life, for it has absorbed my +own being into itself; and in the secret of that butterfly, and in its +beauty,—which is not merely outward, but deep as its whole +system,—is represented the intellect, the imagination, the sensibility, +the soul of an Artist of the Beautiful! Yes; I created it. But”—and here +his countenance somewhat changed—“this butterfly is not now to me what it +was when I beheld it afar off in the daydreams of my youth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be it what it may, it is a pretty plaything,” said the blacksmith, grinning +with childlike delight. “I wonder whether it would condescend to alight on such +a great clumsy finger as mine? Hold it hither, Annie.” +</p> + +<p> +By the artist’s direction, Annie touched her finger’s tip to that of her +husband; and, after a momentary delay, the butterfly fluttered from one to the +other. It preluded a second flight by a similar, yet not precisely the same, +waving of wings as in the first experiment; then, ascending from the +blacksmith’s stalwart finger, it rose in a gradually enlarging curve to the +ceiling, made one wide sweep around the room, and returned with an undulating +movement to the point whence it had started. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that does beat all nature!” cried Robert Danforth, bestowing the +heartiest praise that he could find expression for; and, indeed, had he paused +there, a man of finer words and nicer perception could not easily have said +more. “That goes beyond me, I confess. But what then? There is more real use in +one downright blow of my sledge hammer than in the whole five years’ labor that +our friend Owen has wasted on this butterfly.” +</p> + +<p> +Here the child clapped his hands and made a great babble of indistinct +utterance, apparently demanding that the butterfly should be given him for a +plaything. +</p> + +<p> +Owen Warland, meanwhile, glanced sidelong at Annie, to discover whether she +sympathized in her husband’s estimate of the comparative value of the beautiful +and the practical. There was, amid all her kindness towards himself, amid all +the wonder and admiration with which she contemplated the marvellous work of +his hands and incarnation of his idea, a secret scorn—too secret, +perhaps, for her own consciousness, and perceptible only to such intuitive +discernment as that of the artist. But Owen, in the latter stages of his +pursuit, had risen out of the region in which such a discovery might have been +torture. He knew that the world, and Annie as the representative of the world, +whatever praise might be bestowed, could never say the fitting word nor feel +the fitting sentiment which should be the perfect recompense of an artist who, +symbolizing a lofty moral by a material trifle,—converting what was +earthly to spiritual gold,—had won the beautiful into his handiwork. Not +at this latest moment was he to learn that the reward of all high performance +must be sought within itself, or sought in vain. There was, however, a view of +the matter which Annie and her husband, and even Peter Hovenden, might fully +have understood, and which would have satisfied them that the toil of years had +here been worthily bestowed. Owen Warland might have told them that this +butterfly, this plaything, this bridal gift of a poor watchmaker to a +blacksmith’s wife, was, in truth, a gem of art that a monarch would have +purchased with honors and abundant wealth, and have treasured it among the +jewels of his kingdom as the most unique and wondrous of them all. But the +artist smiled and kept the secret to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” said Annie, thinking that a word of praise from the old watchmaker +might gratify his former apprentice, “do come and admire this pretty +butterfly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us see,” said Peter Hovenden, rising from his chair, with a sneer upon his +face that always made people doubt, as he himself did, in everything but a +material existence. “Here is my finger for it to alight upon. I shall +understand it better when once I have touched it.” +</p> + +<p> +But, to the increased astonishment of Annie, when the tip of her father’s +finger was pressed against that of her husband, on which the butterfly still +rested, the insect drooped its wings and seemed on the point of falling to the +floor. Even the bright spots of gold upon its wings and body, unless her eyes +deceived her, grew dim, and the glowing purple took a dusky hue, and the starry +lustre that gleamed around the blacksmith’s hand became faint and vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“It is dying! it is dying!” cried Annie, in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“It has been delicately wrought,” said the artist, calmly. “As I told you, it +has imbibed a spiritual essence—call it magnetism, or what you will. In +an atmosphere of doubt and mockery its exquisite susceptibility suffers +torture, as does the soul of him who instilled his own life into it. It has +already lost its beauty; in a few moments more its mechanism would be +irreparably injured.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take away your hand, father!” entreated Annie, turning pale. “Here is my +child; let it rest on his innocent hand. There, perhaps, its life will revive +and its colors grow brighter than ever.” +</p> + +<p> +Her father, with an acrid smile, withdrew his finger. The butterfly then +appeared to recover the power of voluntary motion, while its hues assumed much +of their original lustre, and the gleam of starlight, which was its most +ethereal attribute, again formed a halo round about it. At first, when +transferred from Robert Danforth’s hand to the small finger of the child, this +radiance grew so powerful that it positively threw the little fellow’s shadow +back against the wall. He, meanwhile, extended his plump hand as he had seen +his father and mother do, and watched the waving of the insect’s wings with +infantine delight. Nevertheless, there was a certain odd expression of sagacity +that made Owen Warland feel as if here were old Pete Hovenden, partially, and +but partially, redeemed from his hard scepticism into childish faith. +</p> + +<p> +“How wise the little monkey looks!” whispered Robert Danforth to his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw such a look on a child’s face,” answered Annie, admiring her own +infant, and with good reason, far more than the artistic butterfly. “The +darling knows more of the mystery than we do.” +</p> + +<p> +As if the butterfly, like the artist, were conscious of something not entirely +congenial in the child’s nature, it alternately sparkled and grew dim. At +length it arose from the small hand of the infant with an airy motion that +seemed to bear it upward without an effort, as if the ethereal instincts with +which its master’s spirit had endowed it impelled this fair vision +involuntarily to a higher sphere. Had there been no obstruction, it might have +soared into the sky and grown immortal. But its lustre gleamed upon the +ceiling; the exquisite texture of its wings brushed against that earthly +medium; and a sparkle or two, as of stardust, floated downward and lay +glimmering on the carpet. Then the butterfly came fluttering down, and, instead +of returning to the infant, was apparently attracted towards the artist’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so! not so!” murmured Owen Warland, as if his handiwork could have +understood him. “Thou has gone forth out of thy master’s heart. There is no +return for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +With a wavering movement, and emitting a tremulous radiance, the butterfly +struggled, as it were, towards the infant, and was about to alight upon his +finger; but while it still hovered in the air, the little child of strength, +with his grandsire’s sharp and shrewd expression in his face, made a snatch at +the marvellous insect and compressed it in his hand. Annie screamed. Old Peter +Hovenden burst into a cold and scornful laugh. The blacksmith, by main force, +unclosed the infant’s hand, and found within the palm a small heap of +glittering fragments, whence the mystery of beauty had fled forever. And as for +Owen Warland, he looked placidly at what seemed the ruin of his life’s labor, +and which was yet no ruin. He had caught a far other butterfly than this. When +the artist rose high enough to achieve the beautiful, the symbol by which he +made it perceptible to mortal senses became of little value in his eyes while +his spirit possessed itself in the enjoyment of the reality. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a> +A VIRTUOSO’S COLLECTION</h2> + +<p> +The other day, having a leisure hour at my disposal, I stepped into a new +museum, to which my notice was casually drawn by a small and unobtrusive sign: +“T<small>O BE SEEN HERE, A</small> V<small>IRTUOSO’S</small> +C<small>OLLECTION</small>.” Such was the simple yet not altogether unpromising +announcement that turned my steps aside for a little while from the sunny +sidewalk of our principal thoroughfare. Mounting a sombre staircase, I pushed +open a door at its summit, and found myself in the presence of a person, who +mentioned the moderate sum that would entitle me to admittance. +</p> + +<p> +“Three shillings, Massachusetts tenor,” said he. “No, I mean half a dollar, as +you reckon in these days.” +</p> + +<p> +While searching my pocket for the coin I glanced at the doorkeeper, the marked +character and individuality of whose aspect encouraged me to expect something +not quite in the ordinary way. He wore an old-fashioned great-coat, much faded, +within which his meagre person was so completely enveloped that the rest of his +attire was undistinguishable. But his visage was remarkably wind-flushed, +sunburnt, and weather-worn, and had a most, unquiet, nervous, and apprehensive +expression. It seemed as if this man had some all-important object in view, +some point of deepest interest to be decided, some momentous question to ask, +might he but hope for a reply. As it was evident, however, that I could have +nothing to do with his private affairs, I passed through an open doorway, which +admitted me into the extensive hall of the museum. +</p> + +<p> +Directly in front of the portal was the bronze statue of a youth with winged +feet. He was represented in the act of flitting away from earth, yet wore such +a look of earnest invitation that it impressed me like a summons to enter the +hall. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the original statue of Opportunity, by the ancient sculptor Lysippus,” +said a gentleman who now approached me. “I place it at the entrance of my +museum, because it is not at all times that one can gain admittance to such a +collection.” +</p> + +<p> +The speaker was a middle-aged person, of whom it was not easy to determine +whether he had spent his life as a scholar or as a man of action; in truth, all +outward and obvious peculiarities had been worn away by an extensive and +promiscuous intercourse with the world. There was no mark about him of +profession, individual habits, or scarcely of country; although his dark +complexion and high features made me conjecture that he was a native of some +southern clime of Europe. At all events, he was evidently the virtuoso in +person. +</p> + +<p> +“With your permission,” said he, “as we have no descriptive catalogue, I will +accompany you through the museum and point out whatever may be most worthy of +attention. In the first place, here is a choice collection of stuffed animals.” +</p> + +<p> +Nearest the door stood the outward semblance of a wolf, exquisitely prepared, +it is true, and showing a very wolfish fierceness in the large glass eyes which +were inserted into its wild and crafty head. Still it was merely the skin of a +wolf, with nothing to distinguish it from other individuals of that unlovely +breed. +</p> + +<p> +“How does this animal deserve a place in your collection?” inquired I. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the wolf that devoured Little Red Riding Hood,” answered the virtuoso; +“and by his side—with a milder and more matronly look, as you +perceive—stands the she-wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, indeed!” exclaimed I. “And what lovely lamb is this with the snow-white +fleece, which seems to be of as delicate a texture as innocence itself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks you have but carelessly read Spenser,” replied my guide, “or you +would at once recognize the ‘milk-white lamb’ which Una led. But I set no great +value upon the lamb. The next specimen is better worth our notice.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried I, “this strange animal, with the black head of an ox upon the +body of a white horse? Were it possible to suppose it, I should say that this +was Alexander’s steed Bucephalus.” +</p> + +<p> +“The same,” said the virtuoso. “And can you likewise give a name to the famous +charger that stands beside him?” +</p> + +<p> +Next to the renowned Bucephalus stood the mere skeleton of a horse, with the +white bones peeping through his ill-conditioned hide; but, if my heart had not +warmed towards that pitiful anatomy, I might as well have quitted the museum at +once. Its rarities had not been collected with pain and toil from the four +quarters of the earth, and from the depths of the sea, and from the palaces and +sepulchres of ages, for those who could mistake this illustrious steed. +</p> + +<p> +“It, is Rosinante!” exclaimed I, with enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +And so it proved. My admiration for the noble and gallant horse caused me to +glance with less interest at the other animals, although many of them might +have deserved the notice of Cuvier himself. There was the donkey which Peter +Bell cudgelled so soundly, and a brother of the same species who had suffered a +similar infliction from the ancient prophet Balaam. Some doubts were +entertained, however, as to the authenticity of the latter beast. My guide +pointed out the venerable Argus, that faithful dog of Ulysses, and also another +dog (for so the skin bespoke it), which, though imperfectly preserved, seemed +once to have had three heads. It was Cerberus. I was considerably amused at +detecting in an obscure corner the fox that became so famous by the loss of his +tail. There were several stuffed cats, which, as a dear lover of that +comfortable beast, attracted my affectionate regards. One was Dr. Johnson’s cat +Hodge; and in the same row stood the favorite cats of Mahomet, Gray, and Walter +Scott, together with Puss in Boots, and a cat of very noble aspect—who +had once been a deity of ancient Egypt. Byron’s tame bear came next. I must not +forget to mention the Eryruanthean boar, the skin of St. George’s dragon, and +that of the serpent Python; and another skin with beautifully variegated hues, +supposed to have been the garment of the “spirited sly snake,” which tempted +Eve. Against the walls were suspended the horns of the stag that Shakespeare +shot; and on the floor lay the ponderous shell of the tortoise which fell upon +the head of Aeschylus. In one row, as natural as life, stood the sacred bull +Apis, the “cow with the crumpled horn,” and a very wild-looking young heifer, +which I guessed to be the cow that jumped over the moon. She was probably +killed by the rapidity of her descent. As I turned away, my eyes fell upon an +indescribable monster, which proved to be a griffin. +</p> + +<p> +“I look in vain,” observed I, “for the skin of an animal which might well +deserve the closest study of a naturalist,—the winged horse, Pegasus.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is not yet dead,” replied the virtuoso; “but he is so hard ridden by many +young gentlemen of the day that I hope soon to add his skin and skeleton to my +collection.” +</p> + +<p> +We now passed to the next alcove of the hall, in which was a multitude of +stuffed birds. They were very prettily arranged, some upon the branches of +trees, others brooding upon nests, and others suspended by wires so +artificially that they seemed in the very act of flight. Among them was a white +dove, with a withered branch of olive-leaves in her mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Can this be the very dove,” inquired I, “that brought the message of peace and +hope to the tempest-beaten passengers of the ark?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” said my companion. +</p> + +<p> +“And this raven, I suppose,” continued I, “is the same that fed Elijah in the +wilderness.” +</p> + +<p> +“The raven? No,” said the virtuoso; “it is a bird of modern date. He belonged +to one Barnaby Rudge, and many people fancied that the Devil himself was +disguised under his sable plumage. But poor Grip has drawn his last cork, and +has been forced to ‘say die’ at last. This other raven, hardly less curious, is +that in which the soul of King George I. revisited his lady-love, the Duchess +of Kendall.” +</p> + +<p> +My guide next pointed out Minerva’s owl and the vulture that preyed upon the +liver of Prometheus. There was likewise the sacred ibis of Egypt, and one of +the Stymphalides which Hercules shot in his sixth labor. Shelley’s skylark, +Bryant’s water-fowl, and a pigeon from the belfry of the Old South Church, +preserved by N. P. Willis, were placed on the same perch. I could not but +shudder on beholding Coleridge’s albatross, transfixed with the Ancient +Mariner’s crossbow shaft. Beside this bird of awful poesy stood a gray goose of +very ordinary aspect. +</p> + +<p> +“Stuffed goose is no such rarity,” observed I. “Why do you preserve such a +specimen in your museum?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is one of the flock whose cackling saved the Roman Capitol,” answered the +virtuoso. “Many geese have cackled and hissed both before and since; but none, +like those, have clamored themselves into immortality.” +</p> + +<p> +There seemed to be little else that demanded notice in this department of the +museum, unless we except Robinson Crusoe’s parrot, a live phoenix, a footless +bird of paradise, and a splendid peacock, supposed to be the same that once +contained the soul of Pythagoras. I therefore passed to the next alcove, the +shelves of which were covered with a miscellaneous collection of curiosities +such as are usually found in similar establishments. One of the first things +that took my eye was a strange-looking cap, woven of some substance that +appeared to be neither woollen, cotton, nor linen. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a magician’s cap?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the virtuoso; “it is merely Dr. Franklin’s cap of asbestos. But +here is one which, perhaps, may suit you better. It is the wishing-cap of +Fortunatus. Will you try it on?” +</p> + +<p> +“By no means,” answered I, putting it aside with my hand. “The day of wild +wishes is past with me. I desire nothing that may not come in the ordinary +course of Providence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then probably,” returned the virtuoso, “you will not be tempted to rub this +lamp?” +</p> + +<p> +While speaking, he took from the shelf an antique brass lamp, curiously wrought +with embossed figures, but so covered with verdigris that the sculpture was +almost eaten away. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a thousand years,” said he, “since the genius of this lamp constructed +Aladdin’s palace in a single night. But he still retains his power; and the man +who rubs Aladdin’s lamp has but to desire either a palace or a cottage.” +</p> + +<p> +“I might desire a cottage,” replied I; “but I would have it founded on sure and +stable truth, not on dreams and fantasies. I have learned to look for the real +and the true.” +</p> + +<p> +My guide next showed me Prospero’s magic wand, broken into three fragments by +the hand of its mighty master. On the same shelf lay the gold ring of ancient +Gyges, which enabled the wearer to walk invisible. On the other side of the +alcove was a tall looking-glass in a frame of ebony, but veiled with a curtain +of purple silk, through the rents of which the gleam of the mirror was +perceptible. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Cornelius Agrippa’s magic glass,” observed the virtuoso. “Draw aside +the curtain, and picture any human form within your mind, and it will be +reflected in the mirror.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is enough if I can picture it within my mind,” answered I. “Why should I +wish it to be repeated in the mirror? But, indeed, these works of magic have +grown wearisome to me. There are so many greater wonders in the world, to those +who keep their eyes open and their sight undimmed by custom, that all the +delusions of the old sorcerers seem flat and stale. Unless you can show me +something really curious, I care not to look further into your museum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, then,” said the virtuoso, composedly, “perhaps you may deem some of +my antiquarian rarities deserving of a glance.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed out the iron mask, now corroded with rust; and my heart grew sick at +the sight of this dreadful relic, which had shut out a human being from +sympathy with his race. There was nothing half so terrible in the axe that +beheaded King Charles, nor in the dagger that slew Henry of Navarre, nor in the +arrow that pierced the heart of William Rufus,—all of which were shown to +me. Many of the articles derived their interest, such as it was, from having +been formerly in the possession of royalty. For instance, here was +Charlemagne’s sheepskin cloak, the flowing wig of Louis Quatorze, the +spinning-wheel of Sardanapalus, and King Stephen’s famous breeches which cost +him but a crown. The heart of the Bloody Mary, with the word “Calais” worn into +its diseased substance, was preserved in a bottle of spirits; and near it lay +the golden case in which the queen of Gustavus Adolphus treasured up that +hero’s heart. Among these relics and heirlooms of kings I must not forget the +long, hairy ears of Midas, and a piece of bread which had been changed to gold +by the touch of that unlucky monarch. And as Grecian Helen was a queen, it may +here be mentioned that I was permitted to take into my hand a lock of her +golden hair and the bowl which a sculptor modelled from the curve of her +perfect breast. Here, likewise, was the robe that smothered Agamemnon, Nero’s +fiddle, the Czar Peter’s brandy-bottle, the crown of Semiramis, and Canute’s +sceptre which he extended over the sea. That my own land may not deem itself +neglected, let me add that I was favored with a sight of the skull of King +Philip, the famous Indian chief, whose head the Puritans smote off and +exhibited upon a pole. +</p> + +<p> +“Show me something else,” said I to the virtuoso. “Kings are in such an +artificial position that people in the ordinary walks of life cannot feel an +interest in their relics. If you could show me the straw hat of sweet little +Nell, I would far rather see it than a king’s golden crown.” +</p> + +<p> +“There it is,” said my guide, pointing carelessly with his staff to the straw +hat in question. “But, indeed, you are hard to please. Here are the +seven-league boots. Will you try them on?” +</p> + +<p> +“Our modern railroads have superseded their use,” answered I; “and as to these +cowhide boots, I could show you quite as curious a pair at the Transcendental +community in Roxbury.” +</p> + +<p> +We next examined a collection of swords and other weapons, belonging to +different epochs, but thrown together without much attempt at arrangement. Here +Was Arthur’s sword Excalibar, and that of the Cid Campeader, and the sword of +Brutus rusted with Caesar’s blood and his own, and the sword of Joan of Arc, +and that of Horatius, and that with which Virginius slew his daughter, and the +one which Dionysius suspended over the head of Damocles. Here also was Arria’s +sword, which she plunged into her own breast, in order to taste of death before +her husband. The crooked blade of Saladin’s cimeter next attracted my notice. I +know not by what chance, but so it happened, that the sword of one of our own +militia generals was suspended between Don Quixote’s lance and the brown blade +of Hudibras. My heart throbbed high at the sight of the helmet of Miltiades and +the spear that was broken in the breast of Epaminondas. I recognized the shield +of Achilles by its resemblance to the admirable cast in the possession of +Professor Felton. Nothing in this apartment interested me more than Major +Pitcairn’s pistol, the discharge of which, at Lexington, began the war of the +Revolution, and was reverberated in thunder around the land for seven long +years. The bow of Ulysses, though unstrung for ages, was placed against the +wall, together with a sheaf of Robin Hood’s arrows and the rifle of Daniel +Boone. +</p> + +<p> +“Enough of weapons,” said I, at length; “although I would gladly have seen the +sacred shield which fell from heaven in the time of Numa. And surely you should +obtain the sword which Washington unsheathed at Cambridge. But the collection +does you much credit. Let us pass on.” +</p> + +<p> +In the next alcove we saw the golden thigh of Pythagoras, which had so divine a +meaning; and, by one of the queer analogies to which the virtuoso seemed to be +addicted, this ancient emblem lay on the same shelf with Peter Stuyvesant’s +wooden leg, that was fabled to be of silver. Here was a remnant of the Golden +Fleece, and a sprig of yellow leaves that resembled the foliage of a +frost-bitten elm, but was duly authenticated as a portion of the golden branch +by which AEneas gained admittance to the realm of Pluto. Atalanta’s golden +apple and one of the apples of discord were wrapped in the napkin of gold which +Rampsinitus brought from Hades; and the whole were deposited in the golden vase +of Bias, with its inscription: “TO THE WISEST.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how did you obtain this vase?” said I to the virtuoso. +</p> + +<p> +“It was given me long ago,” replied he, with a scornful expression in his eye, +“because I had learned to despise all things.” +</p> + +<p> +It had not escaped me that, though the virtuoso was evidently a man of high +cultivation, yet he seemed to lack sympathy with the spiritual, the sublime, +and the tender. Apart from the whim that had led him to devote so much time, +pains, and expense to the collection of this museum, he impressed me as one of +the hardest and coldest men of the world whom I had ever met. +</p> + +<p> +“To despise all things!” repeated I. “This, at best, is the wisdom of the +understanding. It is the creed of a man whose soul, whose better and diviner +part, has never been awakened, or has died out of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not think that you were still so young,” said the virtuoso. “Should you +live to my years, you will acknowledge that the vase of Bias was not ill +bestowed.” +</p> + +<p> +Without further discussion of the point, he directed my attention to other +curiosities. I examined Cinderella’s little glass slipper, and compared it with +one of Diana’s sandals, and with Fanny Elssler’s shoe, which bore testimony to +the muscular character of her illustrious foot. On the same shelf were Thomas +the Rhymer’s green velvet shoes, and the brazen shoe of Empedocles which was +thrown out of Mount AEtna. Anacreon’s drinking-cup was placed in apt +juxtaposition with one of Tom Moore’s wine-glasses and Circe’s magic bowl. +These were symbols of luxury and riot; but near them stood the cup whence +Socrates drank his hemlock, and that which Sir Philip Sidney put from his +death-parched lips to bestow the draught upon a dying soldier. Next appeared a +cluster of tobacco-pipes, consisting of Sir Walter Raleigh’s, the earliest on +record, Dr. Parr’s, Charles Lamb’s, and the first calumet of peace which was +ever smoked between a European and an Indian. Among other musical instruments, +I noticed the lyre of Orpheus and those of Homer and Sappho, Dr. Franklin’s +famous whistle, the trumpet of Anthony Van Corlear, and the flute which +Goldsmith played upon in his rambles through the French provinces. The staff of +Peter the Hermit stood in a corner with that of good old Bishop Jewel, and one +of ivory, which had belonged to Papirius, the Roman senator. The ponderous club +of Hercules was close at hand. The virtuoso showed me the chisel of Phidias, +Claude’s palette, and the brush of Apelles, observing that he intended to +bestow the former either on Greenough, Crawford, or Powers, and the two latter +upon Washington Allston. There was a small vase of oracular gas from Delphos, +which I trust will be submitted to the scientific analysis of Professor +Silliman. I was deeply moved on beholding a vial of the tears into which Niobe +was dissolved; nor less so on learning that a shapeless fragment of salt was a +relic of that victim of despondency and sinful regrets,—Lot’s wife. My +companion appeared to set great value upon some Egyptian darkness in a +blacking-jug. Several of the shelves were covered by a collection of coins, +among which, however, I remember none but the Splendid Shilling, celebrated by +Phillips, and a dollar’s worth of the iron money of Lycurgus, weighing about +fifty pounds. +</p> + +<p> +Walking carelessly onward, I had nearly fallen over a huge bundle, like a +peddler’s pack, done up in sackcloth, and very securely strapped and corded. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Christian’s burden of sin,” said the virtuoso. +</p> + +<p> +“O, pray let us open it!” cried I. “For many a year I have longed to know its +contents.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look into your own consciousness and memory,” replied the virtuoso. “You will +there find a list of whatever it contains.” +</p> + +<p> +As this was all undeniable truth, I threw a melancholy look at the burden and +passed on. A collection of old garments, banging on pegs, was worthy of some +attention, especially the shirt of Nessus, Caesar’s mantle, Joseph’s coat of +many colors, the Vicar of Bray’s cassock, Goldsmith’s peach-bloom suit, a pair +of President Jefferson’s scarlet breeches, John Randolph’s red baize +hunting-shirt, the drab small-clothes of the Stout Gentleman, and the rags of +the “man all tattered and torn.” George Fox’s hat impressed me with deep +reverence as a relic of perhaps the truest apostle that has appeared on earth +for these eighteen hundred years. My eye was next attracted by an old pair of +shears, which I should have taken for a memorial of some famous tailor, only +that the virtuoso pledged his veracity that they were the identical scissors of +Atropos. He also showed me a broken hourglass which had been thrown aside by +Father Time, together with the old gentleman’s gray forelock, tastefully +braided into a brooch. In the hour-glass was the handful of sand, the grains of +which had numbered the years of the Cumeean sibyl. I think it was in this +alcove that I saw the inkstand which Luther threw at the Devil, and the ring +which Essex, while under sentence of death, sent to Queen Elizabeth. And here +was the blood-incrusted pen of steel with which Faust signed away his +salvation. +</p> + +<p> +The virtuoso now opened the door of a closet and showed me a lamp burning, +while three others stood unlighted by its side. One of the three was the lamp +of Diogenes, another that of Guy Fawkes, and the third that which Hero set +forth to the midnight breeze in the high tower of Ahydos. +</p> + +<p> +“See!” said the virtuoso, blowing with all his force at the lighted lamp. +</p> + +<p> +The flame quivered and shrank away from his breath, but clung to the wick, and +resumed its brilliancy as soon as the blast was exhausted. +</p> + +<p> +“It is an undying lamp from the tomb of Charlemagne,” observed my guide. “That +flame was kindled a thousand years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“How ridiculous to kindle an unnatural light in tombs!” exclaimed I. “We should +seek to behold the dead in the light of heaven. But what is the meaning of this +chafing-dish of glowing coals?” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” answered the virtuoso, “is the original fire which Prometheus stole +from heaven. Look steadfastly into it, and you will discern another curiosity.” +</p> + +<p> +I gazed into that fire,—which, symbolically, was the origin of all that +was bright and glorious in the soul of man,—and in the midst of it, +behold a little reptile, sporting with evident enjoyment of the fervid heat! It +was a salamander. +</p> + +<p> +“What a sacrilege!” cried I, with inexpressible disgust. “Can you find no +better use for this ethereal fire than to cherish a loathsome reptile in it? +Yet there are men who abuse the sacred fire of their own souls to as foul and +guilty a purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +The virtuoso made no answer except by a dry laugh and an assurance that the +salamander was the very same which Benvenuto Cellini had seen in his father’s +household fire. He then proceeded to show me other rarities; for this closet +appeared to be the receptacle of what he considered most valuable in his +collection. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said he, “is the Great Carbuncle of the White Mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +I gazed with no little interest at this mighty gem, which it had been one of +the wild projects of my youth to discover. Possibly it might have looked +brighter to me in those days than now; at all events, it had not such +brilliancy as to detain me long from the other articles of the museum. The +virtuoso pointed out to me a crystalline stone which hung by a gold chain +against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“That is the philosopher’s stone,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“And have you the elixir vita which generally accompanies it?” inquired I. +</p> + +<p> +“Even so; this urn is filled with it,” he replied. “A draught would refresh +you. Here is Hebe’s cup; will you quaff a health from it?” +</p> + +<p> +My heart thrilled within me at the idea of such a reviving draught; for +methought I had great need of it after travelling so far on the dusty road of +life. But I know not whether it were a peculiar glance in the virtuoso’s eye, +or the circumstance that this most precious liquid was contained in an antique +sepulchral urn, that made me pause. Then came many a thought with which, in the +calmer and better hours of life, I had strengthened myself to feel that Death +is the very friend whom, in his due season, even the happiest mortal should be +willing to embrace. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I desire not an earthly immortality,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Were man to live longer on the earth, the spiritual would die out of him. The +spark of ethereal fire would be choked by the material, the sensual. There is a +celestial something within us that requires, after a certain time, the +atmosphere of heaven to preserve it from decay and ruin. I will have none of +this liquid. You do well to keep it in a sepulchral urn; for it would produce +death while bestowing the shadow of life.” +</p> + +<p> +“All this is unintelligible to me,” responded my guide, with indifference. +“Life—earthly life—is the only good. But you refuse the draught? +Well, it is not likely to be offered twice within one man’s experience. +Probably you have griefs which you seek to forget in death. I can enable you to +forget them in life. Will you take a draught of Lethe?” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, the virtuoso took from the shelf a crystal vase containing a sable +liquor, which caught no reflected image from the objects around. +</p> + +<p> +“Not for the world!” exclaimed I, shrinking back. “I can spare none of my +recollections, not even those of error or sorrow. They are all alike the food +of my spirit. As well never to have lived as to lose them now.” +</p> + +<p> +Without further parley we passed to the next alcove, the shelves of which were +burdened with ancient volumes and with those rolls of papyrus in which was +treasured up the eldest wisdom of the earth. Perhaps the most valuable work in +the collection, to a bibliomaniac, was the Book of Hermes. For my part, +however, I would have given a higher price for those six of the Sibyl’s books +which Tarquin refused to purchase, and which the virtuoso informed me he had +himself found in the cave of Trophonius. Doubtless these old volumes contain +prophecies of the fate of Rome, both as respects the decline and fall of her +temporal empire and the rise of her spiritual one. Not without value, likewise, +was the work of Anaxagoras on Nature, hitherto supposed to be irrecoverably +lost, and the missing treatises of Longinus, by which modern criticism might +profit, and those books of Livy for which the classic student has so long +sorrowed without hope. Among these precious tomes I observed the original +manuscript of the Koran, and also that of the Mormon Bible in Joe Smith’s +authentic autograph. Alexander’s copy of the Iliad was also there, enclosed in +the jewelled casket of Darius, still fragrant of the perfumes which the Persian +kept in it. +</p> + +<p> +Opening an iron-clasped volume, bound in black leather, I discovered it to be +Cornelius Agrippa’s book of magic; and it was rendered still more interesting +by the fact that many flowers, ancient and modern, were pressed between its +leaves. Here was a rose from Eve’s bridal bower, and all those red and white +roses which were plucked in the garden of the Temple by the partisans of York +and Lancaster. Here was Halleck’s Wild Rose of Alloway. Cowper had contributed +a Sensitive Plant, and Wordsworth an Eglantine, and Burns a Mountain Daisy, and +Kirke White a Star of Bethlehem, and Longfellow a Sprig of Fennel, with its +yellow flowers. James Russell Lowell had given a Pressed Flower, but fragrant +still, which had been shadowed in the Rhine. There was also a sprig from +Southey’s Holly Tree. One of the most beautiful specimens was a Fringed +Gentian, which had been plucked and preserved for immortality by Bryant. From +Jones Very, a poet whose voice is scarcely heard among us by reason of its +depth, there was a Wind Flower and a Columbine. +</p> + +<p> +As I closed Cornelius Agrippa’s magic volume, an old, mildewed letter fell upon +the floor. It proved to be an autograph from the Flying Dutchman to his wife. I +could linger no longer among books; for the afternoon was waning, and there was +yet much to see. The bare mention of a few more curiosities must suffice. The +immense skull of Polyphemus was recognizable by the cavernous hollow in the +centre of the forehead where once had blazed the giant’s single eye. The tub of +Diogenes, Medea’s caldron, and Psyche’s vase of beauty were placed one within +another. Pandora’s box, without the lid, stood next, containing nothing but the +girdle of Venus, which had been carelessly flung into it. A bundle of +birch-rods which had been used by Shenstone’s schoolmistress were tied up with +the Countess of Salisbury’s garter. I know not which to value most, a roc’s egg +as big as an ordinary hogshead, or the shell of the egg which Columbus set upon +its end. Perhaps the most delicate article in the whole museum was Queen Mab’s +chariot, which, to guard it from the touch of meddlesome fingers, was placed +under a glass tumbler. +</p> + +<p> +Several of the shelves were occupied by specimens of entomology. Feeling but +little interest in the science, I noticed only Anacreon’s grasshopper, and a +bumblebee which had been presented to the virtuoso by Ralph Waldo Emerson. +</p> + +<p> +In the part of the hall which we had now reached I observed a curtain, that +descended from the ceiling to the floor in voluminous folds, of a depth, +richness, and magnificence which I had never seen equalled. It was not to be +doubted that this splendid though dark and solemn veil concealed a portion of +the museum even richer in wonders than that through which I had already passed; +but, on my attempting to grasp the edge of the curtain and draw it aside, it +proved to be an illusive picture. +</p> + +<p> +“You need not blush,” remarked the virtuoso; “for that same curtain deceived +Zeuxis. It is the celebrated painting of Parrhasius.” +</p> + +<p> +In a range with the curtain there were a number of other choice pictures by +artists of ancient days. Here was the famous cluster of grapes by Zeuxis, so +admirably depicted that it seemed as if the ripe juice were bursting forth. As +to the picture of the old woman by the same illustrious painter, and which was +so ludicrous that he himself died with laughing at it, I cannot say that it +particularly moved my risibility. Ancient humor seems to have little power over +modern muscles. Here, also, was the horse painted by Apelles which living +horses neighed at; his first portrait of Alexander the Great, and his last +unfinished picture of Venus asleep. Each of these works of art, together with +others by Parrhasius, Timanthes, Polygnotus, Apollodorus, Pausias, and +Pamplulus, required more time and study than I could bestow for the adequate +perception of their merits. I shall therefore leave them undescribed and +uncriticised, nor attempt to settle the question of superiority between ancient +and modern art. +</p> + +<p> +For the same reason I shall pass lightly over the specimens of antique +sculpture which this indefatigable and fortunate virtuoso had dug out of the +dust of fallen empires. Here was AEtion’s cedar statue of AEsculapius, much +decayed, and Alcon’s iron statue of Hercules, lamentably rusted. Here was the +statue of Victory, six feet high, which the Jupiter Olympus of Phidias had held +in his hand. Here was a forefinger of the Colossus of Rhodes, seven feet in +length. Here was the Venus Urania of Phidias, and other images of male and +female beauty or grandeur, wrought by sculptors who appeared never to have +debased their souls by the sight of any meaner forms than those of gods or +godlike mortals. But the deep simplicity of these great works was not to be +comprehended by a mind excited and disturbed, as mine was, by the various +objects that had recently been presented to it. I therefore turned away with +merely a passing glance, resolving on some future occasion to brood over each +individual statue and picture until my inmost spirit should feel their +excellence. In this department, again, I noticed the tendency to whimsical +combinations and ludicrous analogies which seemed to influence many of the +arrangements of the museum. The wooden statue so well known as the Palladium of +Troy was placed in close apposition with the wooden head of General Jackson, +which was stolen a few years since from the bows of the frigate Constitution. +</p> + +<p> +We had now completed the circuit of the spacious hall, and found ourselves +again near the door. Feeling somewhat wearied with the survey of so many +novelties and antiquities, I sat down upon Cowper’s sofa, while the virtuoso +threw himself carelessly into Rabelais’s easychair. Casting my eyes upon the +opposite wall, I was surprised to perceive the shadow of a man flickering +unsteadily across the wainscot, and looking as if it were stirred by some +breath of air that found its way through the door or windows. No substantial +figure was visible from which this shadow might be thrown; nor, had there been +such, was there any sunshine that would have caused it to darken upon the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Peter Schlemihl’s shadow,” observed the virtuoso, “and one of the most +valuable articles in my collection.” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks a shadow would have made a fitting doorkeeper to such a museum,” said +I; “although, indeed, yonder figure has something strange and fantastic about +him, which suits well enough with many of the impressions which I have received +here. Pray, who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +While speaking, I gazed more scrutinizingly than before at the antiquated +presence of the person who had admitted me, and who still sat on his bench with +the same restless aspect, and dim, confused, questioning anxiety that I had +noticed on my first entrance. At this moment he looked eagerly towards us, and, +half starting from his seat, addressed me. +</p> + +<p> +“I beseech you, kind sir,” said he, in a cracked, melancholy tone, “have pity +on the most unfortunate man in the world. For Heaven’s sake, answer me a single +question! Is this the town of Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have recognized him now,” said the virtuoso. “It is Peter Rugg, the +missing man. I chanced to meet him the other day still in search of Boston, and +conducted him hither; and, as he could not succeed in finding his friends, I +have taken him into my service as doorkeeper. He is somewhat too apt to ramble, +but otherwise a man of trust and integrity.” +</p> + +<p> +“And might I venture to ask,” continued I, “to whom am I indebted for this +afternoon’s gratification?” +</p> + +<p> +The virtuoso, before replying, laid his hand upon an antique dart, or javelin, +the rusty steel head of winch seemed to have been blunted, as if it had +encountered the resistance of a tempered shield, or breastplate. +</p> + +<p> +“My name has not been without its distinction in the world for a longer period +than that of any other man alive,” answered he. “Yet many doubt of my +existence; perhaps you will do so to-morrow. This dart which I hold in my hand +was once grim Death’s own weapon. It served him well for the space of four +thousand years; but it fell blunted, as you see, when he directed it against my +breast.” +</p> + +<p> +These words were spoken with the calm and cold courtesy of manner that had +characterized this singular personage throughout our interview. I fancied, it +is true, that there was a bitterness indefinably mingled with his tone, as of +one cut off from natural sympathies and blasted with a doom that had been +inflicted on no other human being, and by the results of which he had ceased to +be human. Yet, withal, it seemed one of the most terrible consequences of that +doom that the victim no longer regarded it as a calamity, but had finally +accepted it as the greatest good that could have befallen him. +</p> + +<p> +“You are the Wandering Jew!” exclaimed I. +</p> + +<p> +The virtuoso bowed without emotion of any kind; for, by centuries of custom, he +had almost lost the sense of strangeness in his fate, and was but imperfectly +conscious of the astonishment and awe with which it affected such as are +capable of death. +</p> + +<p> +“Your doom is indeed a fearful one!” said I, with irrepressible feeling and a +frankness that afterwards startled me; “yet perhaps the ethereal spirit is not +entirely extinct under all this corrupted or frozen mass of earthly life. +Perhaps the immortal spark may yet be rekindled by a breath of heaven. Perhaps +you may yet be permitted to die before it is too late to live eternally. You +have my prayers for such a consummation. Farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your prayers will be in vain,” replied he, with a smile of cold triumph. “My +destiny is linked with the realities of earth. You are welcome to your visions +and shadows of a future state; but give me what I can see, and touch, and +understand, and I ask no more.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is indeed too late,” thought I. “The soul is dead within him.” +</p> + +<p> +Struggling between pity and horror, I extended my hand, to which the virtuoso +gave his own, still with the habitual courtesy of a man of the world, but +without a single heart-throb of human brotherhood. The touch seemed like ice, +yet I know not whether morally or physically. As I departed, he bade me observe +that the inner door of the hall was constructed with the ivory leaves of the +gateway through which Aeneas and the Sibyl had been dismissed from Hades. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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