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diff --git a/8645-h/8645-h.htm b/8645-h/8645-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6bf61c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/8645-h/8645-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5815 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!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"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Prue and I, by George William Curtis + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Prue and I, by George William Curtis + +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 +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + +Title: Prue and I + +Author: George William Curtis + + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8645] +First Posted: July 29, 2003 +Last Updated: September 24, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRUE AND I *** + + +Etext produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + PRUE AND I + </h1> + <h2> + By George William Curtis + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h5> + “Knitters in the sun.” <i>Twelfth Night.</i> + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WORD TO THE GENTLE READER. + </h2> + <p> + An old book-keeper, who wears a white cravat and black trowsers in the + morning, who rarely goes to the opera, and never dines out, is clearly a + person of no fashion and of no superior sources of information. His only + journey is from his house to his office; his only satisfaction is in doing + his duty; his only happiness is in his Prue and his children. + </p> + <p> + What romance can such a life have? What stories can such a man tell? + </p> + <p> + Yet I think, sometimes, when I look up from the parquet at the opera, and + see Aurelia smiling in the boxes, and holding her court of love, and + youth, and beauty, that the historians have not told of a fairer queen, + nor the travellers seen devouter homage. And when I remember that it was + in misty England that quaint old George Herbert Sang of the— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Sweet day so cool, so calm, so bright— + The bridal of the earth and sky,” + </pre> + <p> + I am sure that I see days as lovely in our clearer air, and do not believe + that Italian sunsets have a more gorgeous purple or a softer gold. + </p> + <p> + So, as the circle of my little life revolves, I console myself with + believing, what I cannot help believing, that a man need not be a vagabond + to enjoy the sweetest charm of travel, but that all countries and all + times repeat themselves in his experience. This is an old philosophy, I am + told, and much favored by those who have travelled; and I cannot but be + glad that my faith has such a fine name and such competent witnesses. I am + assured, however, upon the other hand, that such a faith is only + imagination. But, if that be true, imagination is as good as many voyages—and + how much cheaper!—a consideration which an old book-keeper can never + afford to forget. + </p> + <p> + I have not found, in my experience, that travellers always bring back with + them the sunshine of Italy or the elegance of Greece. They tell us that + there are such things, and that they have seen them; but, perhaps, they + saw them, as the apples in the garden of the Hesperides were sometimes + seen—over the wall. I prefer the fruit which I can buy in the market + to that which a man tells me he saw in Sicily, but of which there is no + flavor in his story. Others, like Moses Primrose, bring us a gross of such + spectacles as we prefer not to see; so that I begin to suspect a man must + have Italy and Greece in his heart and mind, if he would ever see them + with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + I know that this may be only a device of that compassionate imagination + designed to comfort me, who shall never take but one other journey than my + daily beat. Yet there have been wise men who taught that all scenes are + but pictures upon the mind; and if I can see them as I walk the street + that leads to my office, or sit at the office-window looking into the + court, or take a little trip down the bay or up the river, why are not my + pictures as pleasant and as profitable as those which men travel for + years, at great cost of time, and trouble, and money, to behold? + </p> + <p> + For my part, I do not believe that any man can see softer skies than I see + in Prue’s eyes; nor hear sweeter music than I hear in Prue’s + voice; nor find a more heaven-lighted temple than I know Prue’s mind + to be. And when I wish to please myself with a lovely image of peace and + contentment, I do not think of the plain of Sharon, nor of the valley of + Enna, nor of Arcadia, nor of Claude’s pictures; but, feeling that + the fairest fortune of my life is the right to be named with her, I + whisper gently, to myself, with a smile—for it seems as if my very + heart smiled within me, when I think of her—“Prue and I.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A WORD TO THE GENTLE READER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> MY CHATEAUX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> SEA FROM SHORE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> TITBOTTOM’S SPECTACLES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A CRUISE IN THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> FAMILY PORTRAITS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> OUR COUSIN THE CURATE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + DINNER-TIME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Within this hour it will be dinner-time; + I’ll view the manners of the town, + Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings.” + <i>Comedy of Errors</i>. +</pre> + <p> + In the warm afternoons of the early summer, it is my pleasure to stroll + about Washington Square and along the Fifth Avenue, at the hour when the + diners-out are hurrying to the tables of the wealthy and refined. I gaze + with placid delight upon the cheerful expanse of white waistcoat that + illumes those streets at that hour, and mark the variety of emotions that + swell beneath all that purity. A man going out to dine has a singular + cheerfulness of aspect. Except for his gloves, which fit so well, and + which he has carefully buttoned, that he may not make an awkward pause in + the hall of his friend’s house, I am sure he would search his pocket + for a cent to give the wan beggar at the corner. It is impossible just + now, my dear woman; but God bless you! + </p> + <p> + It is pleasant to consider that simple suit of black. If my man be young + and only lately cognizant of the rigors of the social law, he is a little + nervous at being seen in his dress suit—body coat and black trowsers—before + sunset. For in the last days of May the light lingers long over the + freshly leaved trees in the Square, and lies warm along the Avenue. All + winter the sun has not been permitted to see dress-coats. They come out + only with the stars, and fade with ghosts, before the dawn. Except, haply, + they be brought homeward before breakfast in an early twilight of + hackney-coach. Now, in the budding and bursting summer, the sun takes his + revenge, and looks aslant over the tree-tops and the chimneys upon the + most unimpeachable garments. A cat may look upon a king. + </p> + <p> + I know my man at a distance. If I am chatting with the nursery maids + around the fountain, I see him upon the broad walk of Washington Square, + and detect him by the freshness of his movement his springy gait. Then the + white waistcoat flashes in the sun. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, happy youth,” I exclaim aloud, to the great alarm of + the nursery maids, who suppose me to be an innocent insane person suffered + to go at large, unattended,—“go on, and be happy with fellow + waistcoats over fragrant wines.” + </p> + <p> + It is hard to describe the pleasure in this amiable spectacle of a man + going out to dine. I, who am a quiet family man, and take a quiet family + cut at four o’clock; or, when I am detained down town by a false + quantity in my figures, who run into Delmonico’s and seek comfort in + a cutlet, am rarely invited to dinner and have few white waistcoats. + Indeed, my dear Prue tells me that I have but one in the world, and I + often want to confront my eager young friends as they bound along, and ask + abruptly, “What do you think of a man whom one white waistcoat + suffices?” + </p> + <p> + By the time I have eaten my modest repast, it is the hour for the + diners-out to appear. If the day is unusually soft and sunny, I hurry my + simple meal a little, that I may not lose any of my favorite spectacle. + Then I saunter out. If you met me you would see that I am also clad in + black. But black is my natural color, so that it begets no false theories + concerning my intentions. Nobody, meeting me in full black, supposes that + I am going to dine out. That sombre hue is professional with me. It + belongs to book-keepers as to clergymen, physicians, and undertakers. We + wear it because we follow solemn callings. Saving men’s bodies and + souls, or keeping the machinery of business well wound, are such sad + professions that it is becoming to drape dolefully those who adopt them. + </p> + <p> + I wear a white cravat, too, but nobody supposes that it is in any danger + of being stained by Lafitte. It is a limp cravat with a craven tie. It has + none of the dazzling dash of the white that my young friends sport, or, I + should say, sported; for the white cravat is now abandoned to the sombre + professions of which I spoke. My young friends suspect that the flunkeys + of the British nobleman wear such ties, and they have, therefore, + discarded them. I am sorry to remark, also, an uneasiness, if not + downright skepticism, about the white waistcoat. Will it extend to shirts, + I ask myself with sorrow. + </p> + <p> + But there is something pleasanter to contemplate during these quiet + strolls of mine, than the men who are going to dine out, and that is, the + women. They roll in carriages to the happy houses which they shall honor, + and I strain my eyes in at the carriage window to see their cheerful faces + as they pass. I have already dined; upon beef and cabbage, probably, if it + is boiled day. I I am not expected at the table to which Aurelia is + hastening, yet no guest there shall enjoy more than I enjoy,—nor so + much, if he considers the meats the best part of the dinner. The beauty of + the beautiful Aurelia I see and worship as she drives by. The vision of + many beautiful Aurelias driving to dinner, is the mirage of that pleasant + journey of mine along the avenue. I do not envy the Persian poets, on + those afternoons, nor long to be an Arabian traveller. For I can walk that + street, finer than any of which the Ispahan architects dreamed; and I can + see sultanas as splendid as the enthusiastic and exaggerating Orientals + describe. + </p> + <p> + But not only do I see and enjoy Aurelia’s beauty I delight in her + exquisite attire. In these warm days she does not wear so much as the + lightest shawl. She is clad only in spring sunshine. It glitters in the + soft darkness of her hair. It touches the diamonds, the opals, the pearls, + that cling to her arms, and neck, and fingers. They flash back again, and + the gorgeous silks glisten, and the light laces flutter, until the stately + Aurelia seems to me, in tremulous radiance, swimming by. + </p> + <p> + I doubt whether you who are to have the inexpressible pleasure of dining + with her, and even of sitting by her side, will enjoy more than I. For my + pleasure is inexpressible, also. And it is in this greater than yours, + that I see all the beautiful ones who are to dine at various tables, while + you only see your own circle, although that, I will not deny, is the most + desirable of all. + </p> + <p> + Beside, although my person is not present at your dinner, my fancy is. I + see Aurelia’s carriage stop, and behold white-gloved servants + opening wide doors. There is a brief glimpse of magnificence for the dull + eyes of the loiterers outside; then the door closes. But my fancy went in + with Aurelia. With her, it looks at the vast mirror, and surveys her form + at length in the Psyche-glass. It gives the final shake to the skirt, the + last flirt to the embroidered handkerchief, carefully held, and adjusts + the bouquet, complete as a tropic nestling in orange leaves. It descends + with her, and marks the faint blush upon her cheek at the thought of her + exceeding beauty; the consciousness of the most beautiful woman, that the + most beautiful woman is entering the room. There is the momentary hush, + the subdued greeting, the quick glance of the Aurelias who have arrived + earlier, and who perceive in a moment the hopeless perfection of that + attire; the courtly gaze of gentlemen, who feel the serenity of that + beauty. All this my fancy surveys; my fancy, Aurelia’s invisible + cavalier. + </p> + <p> + You approach with hat in hand and the thumb of your left hand in your + waistcoat pocket. You are polished and cool, and have an irreproachable + repose of manner. There are no improper wrinkles in your cravat; your + shirt-bosom does not bulge; the trowsers are accurate about your admirable + boot. But you look very stiff and brittle. You are a little bullied by + your unexceptionable shirt-collar, which interdicts perfect freedom of + movement in your head. You are elegant, undoubtedly, but it seems as if + you might break and fall to pieces, like a porcelain vase, if you were + roughly shaken. + </p> + <p> + Now, here, I have the advantage of you. My fancy quietly surveying the + scene, is subject to none of these embarrassments. My fancy will not utter + commonplaces. That will not say to the superb lady, who stands with her + flowers, incarnate May, “What a beautiful day, Miss Aurelia.” + That will not feel constrained to say something, when it has nothing to + say; nor will it be obliged to smother all the pleasant things that occur, + because they would be too flattering to express. My fancy perpetually + murmurs in Aurelia’s ear, “Those flowers would not be fair in + your hand, if you yourself were not fairer. That diamond necklace would be + gaudy, if your eyes were not brighter. That queenly movement would be + awkward, if your soul were not queenlier.” + </p> + <p> + You could not say such things to Aurelia, although, if you are worthy to + dine at her side, they are the very things you are longing to say. What + insufferable stuff you are talking about the weather, and the opera, and + Alboni’s delicious voice, and Newport, and Saratoga! They are all + very pleasant subjects, but do you suppose Ixion talked Thessalian + politics when he was admitted to dine with Juno? + </p> + <p> + I almost begin to pity you, and to believe that a scarcity of white + waistcoats is true wisdom. For now dinner is announced, and you, O rare + felicity, are to hand down Aurelia. But you run the risk of tumbling her + expansive skirt, and you have to drop your hat upon a chance chair, and + wonder, <i>en passant</i> who will wear it home, which is annoying. My + fancy runs no such risk; is not at all solicitous about its hat, and + glides by the side of Aurelia, stately as she. There! you stumble on the + stair, and are vexed at your own awkwardness, and are sure you saw the + ghost of a smile glimmer along that superb face at your side. My fancy + doesn’t tumble down stairs, and what kind of looks it sees upon + Aurelia’s face, are its own secret. + </p> + <p> + Is it any better, now you are seated at table? Your companion eats little + because she wishes little. You eat little because you think it is elegant + to do so. It is a shabby, second-hand elegance, like your brittle + behavior. It is just as foolish for you to play with the meats, when you + ought to satisfy your healthy appetite generously, as it is for you, in + the drawing-room, to affect that cool indifference when you have real and + noble interests. + </p> + <p> + I grant you that fine manners, if you please, are a fine art. But is not + monotony the destruction of art? Your manners, O happy Ixion, banqueting + with Juno, are Egyptian. They have no perspective, no variety. They have + no color, no shading. They are all on a dead level; they are flat. Now, + for you are a man of sense, you are conscious that those wonderful eyes of + Aurelia see straight through all this net-work of elegant manners in which + you have entangled yourself, and that consciousness is uncomfortable to + you. It is another trick in the game for me, because those eyes do not pry + into my fancy. How can they, since Aurelia does not know of my existence? + </p> + <p> + Unless, indeed, she should remember the first time I saw her. It was only + last year, in May. I had dined, somewhat hastily, in consideration of the + fine day, and of my confidence that many would be wending dinnerwards that + afternoon. I saw my Prue comfortably engaged in seating the trowsers of + Adoniram, our eldest boy—an economical care to which my darling Prue + is not unequal, even in these days and in this town—and then hurried + toward the avenue. It is never much thronged at that hour. The moment is + sacred to dinner. As I paused at the corner of Twelfth Street, by the + church, you remember, I saw an apple-woman, from whose stores I determined + to finish my dessert, which had been imperfect at home. But, mindful of + meritorious and economical Prue, I was not the man to pay exorbitant + prices for apples, and while still haggling with the wrinkled Eve who had + tempted me, I became suddenly aware of a carriage approaching, and, + indeed, already close by. I raised my eyes, still munching an apple which + I held in one hand, while the other grasped my walking-stick (true to my + instincts of dinner guests, as young women to a passing wedding or old + ones to a funeral), and beheld Aurelia! + </p> + <p> + Old in this kind of observation as I am, there was something so graciously + alluring in the look that she cast upon me, as unconsciously, indeed, as + she would have cast it upon the church, that, fumbling hastily for my + spectacles to enjoy the boon more fully, I thoughtlessly advanced upon the + apple-stand, and, in some indescribable manner, tripping, down we all fell + into the street, old woman, apples, baskets, stand, and I, in promiscuous + confusion. As I struggled there, somewhat bewildered, yet sufficiently + self-possessed to look after the carriage, I beheld that beautiful woman + looking at us through the back-window (you could not have done it; the + integrity of your shirt-collar would have interfered,) and smiling + pleasantly, so that her going around the corner was like a gentle sunset, + so seemed she to disappear in her own smiling; or—if you choose, in + view of the apple difficulties—like a rainbow after a storm. + </p> + <p> + If the beautiful Aurelia recalls that event, she may know of my existence; + not otherwise. And even then she knows me only as a funny old gentleman, + who, in his eagerness to look at her, tumbled over an apple-woman. + </p> + <p> + My fancy from that moment followed her. How grateful I was to the wrinkled + Eve’s extortion, and to the untoward tumble, since it procured me + the sight of that smile. I took my sweet revenge from that. For I knew + that the beautiful Aurelia entered the house of her host with beaming + eyes, and my fancy heard her sparkling story. You consider yourself happy + because you are sitting by her and helping her to a lady-finger, or a + macaroon, for which she smiles. But I was her theme for ten mortal + minutes. She was my bard, my blithe historian. She was the Homer of my + luckless Trojan fall. She set my mishap to music, in telling it. Think + what it is to have inspired Urania; to have called a brighter beam into + the eyes of Miranda, and do not think so much of passing Aurelia the + mottoes, my dear young friend. + </p> + <p> + There was the advantage of not going to that dinner. Had I been invited, + as you were, I should have pestered Prue about the buttons on my white + waistcoat, instead of leaving her placidly piecing adolescent trowsers. + She would have been flustered, fearful of being too late, of tumbling the + garment, of soiling it, fearful of offending me in some way, (admirable + woman!) I, in my natural impatience, might have let drop a thoughtless + word, which would have been a pang in her heart and a tear in her eye, for + weeks afterward. + </p> + <p> + As I walked nervously up the avenue (for I am unaccustomed to prandial + recreations), I should not have had that solacing image of quiet Prue, and + the trowsers, as the back-ground in the pictures of the gay figures I + passed, making each, by contrast, fairer. I should have been wondering + what to say and do at the dinner. I should surely have been very warm, and + yet not have enjoyed the rich, waning sunlight. Need I tell you that I + should not have stopped for apples, but instead of economically tumbling + into the street with apples and apple-women, whereby I merely rent my + trowsers across the knee, in a manner that Prue can readily, and at little + cost, repair. I should, beyond peradventure, have split a new dollar-pair + of gloves in the effort of straining my large hands into them, which + would, also, have caused me additional redness in the face, and renewed + fluttering. + </p> + <p> + Above all, I should not have seen Aurelia passing in her carriage, nor + would she have smiled at me, nor charmed my memory with her radiance, nor + the circle at dinner with the sparkling Iliad of my woes. Then at the + table, I should not have sat by her. You would have had that pleasure; I + should have led out the maiden aunt from the country, and have talked + poultry, when I talked at all. Aurelia would not have remarked me. + Afterward, in describing the dinner to her virtuous parents, she would + have concluded, “and one old gentleman, whom I didn’t know.” + </p> + <p> + No, my polished friend, whose elegant repose of manner I yet greatly + commend, I am content, if you are. How much better it was that I was not + invited to that dinner, but was permitted, by a kind fate, to furnish a + subject for Aurelia’s wit. + </p> + <p> + There is one other advantage in sending your fancy to dinner, instead of + going yourself. It is, that then the occasion remains wholly fair in your + memory. You, who devote yourself to dining out, and who are to be daily + seen affably sitting down to such feasts, as I know mainly by hearsay—by + the report of waiters, guests, and others who were present—you + cannot escape the little things that spoil the picture, and which the + fancy does not see. + </p> + <p> + For instance, in handing you the <i>potage à la Bisque</i>, at the very + commencement of this dinner to-day, John, the waiter, who never did such a + thing before, did this time suffer the plate to tip, so that a little of + that rare soup dripped into your lap—just enough to spoil those + trowsers, which is nothing to you, because you can buy a great many more + trowsers, but which little event is inharmonious with the fine porcelain + dinner service, with the fragrant wines, the glittering glass, the + beautiful guests, and the mood of mind suggested by all of these. There + is, in fact, if you will pardon a free use of the vernacular, there is a + grease-spot upon your remembrance of this dinner. + </p> + <p> + Or, in the same way, and with the same kind of mental result, you can + easily imagine the meats a little tough; a suspicion of smoke somewhere in + the sauces; too much pepper, perhaps, or too little salt; or there might + be the graver dissonance of claret not properly attempered, or a choice + Rhenish below the average mark, or the spilling of some of that Arethusa + Madeira, marvellous for its innumerable circumnavigations of the globe, + and for being as dry as the conversation of the host. These things are not + up to the high level of the dinner; for wherever Aurelia dines, all + accessories should be as perfect in their kind as she, the principal, is + in hers. + </p> + <p> + That reminds me of a possible dissonance worse than all. Suppose that soup + had trickled down the unimaginable <i>berthe</i> of Aurelia’s dress + (since it might have done so), instead of wasting itself upon your + trowsers! Could even the irreproachable elegance of your manners have + contemplated, unmoved, a grease-spot upon your remembrance of the peerless + Aurelia? + </p> + <p> + You smile, of course, and remind me that that lady’s manners are so + perfect that, if she drank poison, she would wipe her mouth after it as + gracefully as ever. How much more then, you say, in the case of such a + slight <i>contretemps</i> as spotting her dress, would she appear totally + unmoved. + </p> + <p> + So she would, undoubtedly. She would be, and look, as pure as ever; but, + my young friend, her dress would not. Once, I dropped a pickled oyster in + the lap of my Prue, who wore, on the occasion, her sea-green silk gown. I + did not love my Prue the less; but there certainly was a very unhandsome + spot upon her dress. And although I know my Prue to be spotless, yet, + whenever I recall that day, I see her in a spotted gown, and I would + prefer never to have been obliged to think of her in such a garment. + </p> + <p> + Can you not make the application to the case, very likely to happen, of + some disfigurement of that exquisite toilette of Aurelia’s? In going + down stairs, for instance, why should not heavy old Mr Carbuncle, who is + coming close behind with Mrs. Peony, both very eager for dinner, tread + upon the hem of that garment which my lips would grow pale to kiss? The + august Aurelia, yielding to natural laws, would be drawn suddenly backward—a + very undignified movement—and the dress would be dilapidated. There + would be apologies, and smiles, and forgiveness, and pinning up the + pieces, nor would there be the faintest feeling of awkwardness or vexation + in Aurelia’s mind. But to you, looking on, and, beneath all that + pure show of waistcoat, cursing old Carbuncle’s carelessness, this + tearing of dresses and repair of the toilette is by no means a poetic and + cheerful spectacle. Nay, the very impatience that it produces in your mind + jars upon the harmony of the moment. + </p> + <p> + You will respond, with proper scorn, that you are not so absurdly + fastidious as to heed the little necessary drawbacks of social meetings, + and that you have not much regard for “the harmony of the occasion” + (which phrase I fear you will repeat in a sneering tone). You will do very + right in saying this; and it is a remark to which I shall give all the + hospitality of my mind, and I do so because I heartily coincide in it. I + hold a man to be very foolish who will not eat a good dinner because the + table-cloth is not clean, or who cavils at the spots upon the sun. But + still a man who does not apply his eye to a telescope or some kind of + prepared medium, does not see those spots, while he has just as much light + and heat as he who does. + </p> + <p> + So it is with me. I walk in the avenue, and eat all the delightful dinners + without seeing the spots upon the table-cloth, and behold all the + beautiful Aurelias without swearing at old Carbuncle. I am the guest who, + for the small price of invisibility, drinks only the best wines, and talks + only to the most agreeable people. That is something, I can tell you, for + you might be asked to lead out old Mrs. Peony. My fancy slips in between + you and Aurelia, sit you never so closely together. It not only hears what + she says, but it perceives what she thinks and feels. It lies like a bee + in her flowery thoughts, sucking all their honey. If there are unhandsome + or unfeeling guests at table, it will not see them. It knows only the good + and fair. As I stroll in the fading light and observe the stately houses, + my fancy believes the host equal to his house, and the courtesy of his + wife more agreeable than her conservatory. It will not believe that the + pictures on the wall and the statues in the corners shame the guests. It + will not allow that they are less than noble. It hears them speak gently + of error, and warmly of worth. It knows that they commend heroism and + devotion, and reprobate insincerity. My fancy is convinced that the guests + are not only feasted upon the choicest fruits of every land and season, + but are refreshed by a consciousness of greater loveliness and grace in + human character. Now you, who actually go to the dinner, may not entirely + agree with the view my fancy takes of that entertainment. Is it not, + therefore, rather your loss? Or, to put it in another way, ought I to envy + you the discovery that the guests <i>are</i> shamed by the statues and + pictures;—yes, and by the spoons and forks also, if they should + chance neither to be so genuine nor so useful as those instruments? And, + worse than this, when your fancy wishes to enjoy the picture which mine + forms of that feast, it cannot do so, because you have foolishly + interpolated the fact between the dinner and your fancy. + </p> + <p> + Of course, by this time it is late twilight, and the spectacle I enjoyed + is almost over. But not quite, for as I return slowly along the streets, + the windows are open, and only a thin haze of lace or muslin separates me + from the Paradise within. + </p> + <p> + I see the graceful cluster of girls hovering over the piano, and the quiet + groups of the elders in easy chairs, around little tables. I cannot hear + what is said, nor plainly see the faces. But some hoyden evening wind, + more daring than I, abruptly parts the cloud to look in, and out comes a + gush of light, music, and fragrance, so that I shrink away into the dark, + that I may not seem, even by chance, to have invaded that privacy. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there is singing. It is Aurelia, who does not cope with the + Italian Prima Donna, nor sing indifferently to-night, what was sung, + superbly last evening at the opera. She has a strange, low, sweet voice, + as if she only sang in the twilight. It is the ballad of “Allan + Percy” that she sings. There is no dainty applause of kid gloves, + when it is ended, but silence follows the singing, like a tear. + </p> + <p> + Then you, my young friend, ascend into the drawing-room, and, after a + little graceful gossip, retire; or you wait, possibly, to hand Aurelia + into her carriage, and to arrange a waltz for to-morrow evening. She + smiles, you bow, and it is over. But it is not yet over with me. My fancy + still follows her, and, like a prophetic dream, rehearses her destiny. + For, as the carriage rolls away into the darkness and I return homewards, + how can my fancy help rolling away also, into the dim future, watching her + go down the years? + </p> + <p> + Upon my way home I see her in a thousand new situations. My fancy says to + me, “The beauty of this beautiful woman is heaven’s stamp upon + virtue. She will be equal to every chance that shall befall her, and she + is so radiant and charming in the circle of prosperity, only because she + has that irresistible simplicity and fidelity of character, which can also + pluck the sting from adversity. Do you not see, you wan old book-keeper in + faded cravat, that in a poor man’s house this superb Aurelia would + be more stately than sculpture, more beautiful than painting, and more + graceful than the famous vases. Would her husband regret the opera if she + sang ‘Allan Percy’ to him in the twilight? Would he not feel + richer than the Poets, when his eyes rose from their jewelled pages, to + fall again dazzled by the splendor of his wife’s beauty?” + </p> + <p> + At this point in my reflections I sometimes run, rather violently, against + a lamp-post, and then proceed along the street more sedately. + </p> + <p> + It is yet early when I reach home, where my Prue awaits me. The children + are asleep, and the trowsers mended. The admirable woman is patient of my + idiosyncrasies, and asks me if I have had a pleasant walk, and if there + were many fine dinners to-day, as if I had been expected at a dozen + tables. She even asks me if I have seen the beautiful Aurelia (for there + is always some Aurelia,) and inquires what dress she wore. I respond, and + dilate upon what I have seen. Prue listens, as the children listen to her + fairy tales. We discuss the little stories that penetrate our retirement, + of the great people who actually dine out. Prue, with fine womanly + instinct, declares it is a shame that Aurelia should smile for a moment + upon ——, yes, even upon you, my friend of the irreproachable + manners! + </p> + <p> + “I know him,” says my simple Prue; “I have watched his + cold courtesy, his insincere devotion. I have seen him acting in the boxes + at the opera, much more adroitly than the singers upon the stage. I have + read his determination to marry Aurelia; and I shall not be surprised,” + concludes my tender wife, sadly, “if he wins her at last, by tiring + her out, or, by secluding her by his constant devotion from the homage of + other men, convinces her that she had better marry him, since it is so + dismal to live on unmarried.” + </p> + <p> + And so, my friend, at the moment when the bouquet you ordered is arriving + at Aurelia’s house, and she is sitting before the glass while her + maid arranges the last flower in her hair, my darling Prue, whom you will + never hear of, is shedding warm tears over your probable union, and I am + sitting by, adjusting my cravat and incontinently clearing my throat. + </p> + <p> + It is rather a ridiculous business, I allow; yet you will smile at it + tenderly, rather than scornfully, if you remember that it shows how + closely linked we human creatures are, without knowing it, and that more + hearts than we dream of enjoy our happiness and share our sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Thus, I dine at great tables uninvited, and, unknown, converse with the + famous beauties. If Aurelia is at last engaged, (but who is worthy?) she + will, with even greater care, arrange that wondrous toilette, will teach + that lace a fall more alluring, those gems a sweeter light. But even then, + as she rolls to dinner in her carriage, glad that she is fair, not for her + own sake nor for the world’s, but for that of a single youth (who, I + hope, has not been smoking at the club all the morning), I, sauntering + upon the sidewalk, see her pass, I pay homage to her beauty, and her lover + can do no more; and if, perchance, my garments—which must seem + quaint to her, with their shining knees and carefully brushed elbows; my + white cravat, careless, yet prim; my meditative movement, as I put my + stick under my arm to pare an apple, and not, I hope, this time to fall + into the street,—should remind her, in her spring of youth, and + beauty, and love, that there are age, and care, and poverty, also; then, + perhaps, the good fortune of the meeting is not wholly mine. + </p> + <p> + For, O beautiful Aurelia, two of these things, at least, must come even to + you. There will be a time when you will no longer go out to dinner, or + only very quietly, in the family. I shall be gone then: but other old + book-keepers in white cravats will inherit my tastes, and saunter, on + summer afternoons, to see what I loved to see. + </p> + <p> + They will not pause, I fear, in buying apples, to look at the old lady in + venerable cap, who is rolling by in the carriage. They will worship + another Aurelia. You will not wear diamonds or opals any more, only one + pearl upon your blue-veined finger—your engagement ring. Grave + clergymen and antiquated beaux will hand you down to dinner, and the group + of polished youth, who gather around the yet unborn Aurelia of that day, + will look at you, sitting quietly upon the sofa, and say, softly, “She + must have been very handsome in her time.” + </p> + <p> + All this must be: for consider how few years since it was your grandmother + who was the belle, by whose side the handsome, young men longed to sit and + pass expressive mottoes. Your grandmother was the Aurelia of a + half-century ago, although you cannot fancy her young. She is indissolubly + associated in your mind with caps and dark dresses. You can believe Mary + Queen of Scots, or Nell Gwyn or Cleopatra, to have been young and + blooming, although they belong to old and dead centuries, but not your + grandmother. Think of those who shall believe the same of you—you, + who to-day are the very flower of youth. + </p> + <p> + Might I plead with you, Aurelia—I, who would be too happy to receive + one of those graciously beaming bows that I see you bestow upon young men, + in passing,—I would ask you to bear that thought with you, always, + not to sadden your sunny smile, but to give it a more subtle grace. Wear + in your summer garland this little leaf of rue. It will not be the skull + at the feast, it will rather be the tender thoughtfulness in the face of + the young Madonna. + </p> + <p> + For the years pass like summer clouds, Aurelia, and the children of + yesterday are the wives and mothers of to-day. Even I do sometimes + discover the mild eyes of my Prue fixed pensively upon my face, as if + searching for the bloom which she remembers there in the days, long ago, + when we were young. She will never see it there again, any more than the + flowers she held in her hand, in our old spring rambles. Yet the tear that + slowly gathers as she gazes, is not grief that the bloom has faded from my + cheek, but the sweet consciousness that it can never fade from my heart; + and as her eyes fall upon her work again, or the children climb her lap to + hear the old fairy tales they already know by heart, my wife Prue is + dearer to me than the sweetheart of those days long ago. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY CHATEAUX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan + A stately pleasure-dome decree.” + <i>Coleridge.</i> +</pre> + <p> + I am the owner of great estates. Many of them lie in the West; but the + greater part are in Spain. You may see my western possessions any evening + at sunset when their spires and battlements flash against the horizon. + </p> + <p> + It gives me a feeling of pardonable importance, as a proprietor, that they + are visible, to my eyes at least, from any part of the world in which I + chance to be. In my long voyage around the Cape of Good Hope to India (the + only voyage I ever made, when I was a boy and a supercargo), if I fell + home-sick, or sank into a reverie of all the pleasant homes I had left + behind, I had but to wait until sunset, and then looking toward the west, + I beheld my clustering pinnacles and towers brightly burnished as if to + salute and welcome me. + </p> + <p> + So, in the city, if I get vexed and wearied, and cannot find my wonted + solace in sallying forth at dinner-time to contemplate the gay world of + youth and beauty hurrying to the congress of fashion,—or if I + observe that years are deepening their tracks around the eyes of my wife, + Prue, I go quietly up to the housetop, toward evening, and refresh myself + with a distant prospect of my estates. It is as dear to me as that of Eton + to the poet Gray; and, if I sometimes wonder at such moments whether I + shall find those realms as fair as they appear, I am suddenly reminded + that the night air may be noxious, and descending, I enter the little + parlor where Prue sits stitching, and surprise that precious woman by + exclaiming with the poet’s pensive enthusiasm; + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Thought would destroy their Paradise, + No more;—where ignorance is bliss, + ‘Tis folly to be wise.” + </pre> + <p> + Columbus, also, had possessions in the West; and as I read aloud the + romantic story of his life, my voice quivers when I come to the point in + which it is related that sweet odors of the land mingled with the sea-air, + as the admiral’s fleet approached the shores; that tropical birds + flew out and fluttered around the ships, glittering in the sun, the + gorgeous promises of the new country; that boughs, perhaps with blossoms + not all decayed, floated out to welcome the strange wood from which the + craft were hollowed. Then I cannot restrain myself, I think of the + gorgeous visions I have seen before I have even undertaken the journey to + the West, and I cry aloud to Prue: + </p> + <p> + “What sun-bright birds, and gorgeous blossoms, and celestial odors + will float out to us, my Prue, as we approach our western possessions!” + </p> + <p> + The placid Prue raises her eyes to mine with a reproof so delicate that it + could not be trusted to words; and, after a moment, she resumes her + knitting and I proceed. + </p> + <p> + These are my western estates, but my finest castles are in Spain. It is a + country famously romantic, and my castles are all of perfect proportions, + and appropriately set in the most picturesque situations. I have never + been to Spain myself, but I have naturally conversed much with travellers + to that country; although, I must allow, without deriving from them much + substantial information about my property there. The wisest of them told + me that there were more holders of real estate in Spain than in any other + region he had ever heard of, and they are all great proprietors. Every one + of them possesses a multitude of the stateliest castles. From conversation + with them you easily gather that each one considers his own castles much + the largest and in the loveliest positions. And, after I had heard this + said, I verified it, by discovering that all my immediate neighbors in the + city were great Spanish proprietors. + </p> + <p> + One day as I raised my head from entering some long and tedious accounts + in my books, and began to reflect that the quarter was expiring, and that + I must begin to prepare the balance-sheet, I observed my subordinate, in + office but not in years, (for poor old Titbottom will never see sixty + again!) leaning on his hand, and much abstracted. + </p> + <p> + “Are you not well, Titbottom!” asked I. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, but I was just building a castle in Spain,” said + he. + </p> + <p> + I looked at his rusty coat, his faded hands, his sad eye, and white hair, + for a moment, in great surprise, and then inquired, + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that you own property there too?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head silently; and still leaning on his hand, and with an + expression in his eye, as if he were looking upon the most fertile estate + of Andalusia, he went on making his plans; laying out his gardens, I + suppose, building terraces for the vines, determining a library with a + southern exposure, and resolving which should be the tapestried chamber. + </p> + <p> + “What a singular whim,” thought I, as I watched Titbottom and + filled up a cheque for four hundred dollars, my quarterly salary, “that + a man who owns castles in Spain should be deputy book-keeper at nine + hundred dollars a year!” + </p> + <p> + When I went home I ate my dinner silently, and afterward sat for a long + time upon the roof of the house, looking at my western property, and + thinking of Titbottom. + </p> + <p> + It is remarkable that none of the proprietors have ever been to Spain to + take possession and report to the rest of us the state of our property + there. I, of course, cannot go, I am too much engaged. So is Titbottom. + And I find it is the case with all the proprietors. We have so much to + detain us at home that we cannot get away. But it is always so with rich + men. Prue sighed once as she sat at the window and saw Bourne, the + millionaire, the President of innumerable companies, and manager and + director of all the charitable societies in town, going by with wrinkled + brow and hurried step. I asked her why she sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Because I was remembering that my mother used to tell me not to + desire great riches, for they occasioned great cares,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “They do indeed,” answered I, with emphasis, remembering + Titbottom, and the impossibility of looking after my Spanish estates. + </p> + <p> + Prue turned and looked at me with mild surprise; but I saw that her mind + had gone down the street with Bourne. I could never discover if he held + much Spanish stock. But I think he does. All the Spanish proprietors have + a certain expression. Bourne has it to a remarkable degree. It is a kind + of look, as if, in fact, a man’s mind were in Spain. Bourne was an + old lover of Prue’s, and he is not married, which is strange for a + man in his position. + </p> + <p> + It is not easy for me to say how I know so much, as I certainly do, about + my castles in Spain. The sun always shines upon them. They stand lofty and + fair in a luminous, golden atmosphere, a little hazy and dreamy, perhaps, + like the Indian summer, but in which no gales blow and there are no + tempests. All the sublime mountains, and beautiful valleys, and soft + landscape, that I have not yet seen, are to be found in the grounds. They + command a noble view of the Alps; so fine, indeed, that I should be quite + content with the prospect of them from the highest tower of my castle, and + not care to go to Switzerland. + </p> + <p> + The neighboring ruins, too, are as picturesque as those of Italy, and my + desire of standing in the Coliseum, and of seeing the shattered arches of + the Aqueducts stretching along the Campagna and melting into the Alban + Mount, is entirely quenched. The rich gloom of my orange groves is gilded + by fruit as brilliant of complexion and exquisite of flavor as any that + ever dark-eyed Sorrento girls, looking over the high plastered walls of + southern Italy, hand to the youthful travellers, climbing on donkeys up + the narrow lane beneath. + </p> + <p> + The Nile flows through my grounds. The Desert lies upon their edge, and + Damascus stands in my garden. I am given to understand, also, that the + Parthenon has been removed to my Spanish possessions. The Golden-Horn is + my fish-preserve; my flocks of golden fleece are pastured on the plain of + Marathon, and the honey of Hymettus is distilled from the flowers that + grow in the vale of Enna—all in my Spanish domains. + </p> + <p> + From the windows of those castles look the beautiful women whom I have + never seen, whose portraits the poets have painted. They wait for me + there, and chiefly the fair-haired child, lost to my eyes so long ago, now + bloomed into an impossible beauty. The lights that never shone, glance at + evening in the vaulted halls, upon banquets that were never spread. The + bands I have never collected, play all night long, and enchant the + brilliant company, that was never assembled, into silence. + </p> + <p> + In the long summer mornings the children that I never had, play in the + gardens that I never planted. I hear their sweet voices sounding low and + far away, calling, “Father! Father!” I see the lost + fair-haired girl, grown now into a woman, descending the stately stairs of + my castle in Spain, stepping out upon the lawn, and playing with those + children. They bound away together down the garden; but those voices + linger, this time airily calling, “Mother! mother!” + </p> + <p> + But there is a stranger magic than this in my Spanish estates. The lawny + slopes on which, when a child, I played, in my father’s old country + place, which was sold when he failed, are all there, and not a flower + faded, nor a blade of grass sere. The green leaves have not fallen from + the spring woods of half a century ago, and a gorgeous autumn has blazed + undimmed for fifty years, among the trees I remember. + </p> + <p> + Chestnuts are not especially sweet to my palate now, but those with which + I used to prick my fingers when gathering them in New Hampshire woods are + exquisite as ever to my taste, when I think of eating them in Spain. I + never ride horseback now at home; but in Spain, when I think of it, I + bound over all the fences in the country, barebacked upon the wildest + horses. Sermons I am apt to find a little soporific in this country; but + in Spain I should listen as reverently as ever, for proprietors must set a + good example on their estates. + </p> + <p> + Plays are insufferable to me here—Prue and I never go. Prue, indeed, + is not quite sure it is moral; but the theatres in my Spanish castles are + of a prodigious splendor, and when I think of going there, Prue sits in a + front box with me—a kind of royal box—the good woman, attired + in such wise as I have never seen her here, while I wear my white + waistcoat, which in Spain has no appearance of mending, but dazzles with + immortal newness, and is a miraculous fit. + </p> + <p> + Yes, and in those castles in Spain, Prue is not the placid, + breeches-patching helpmate, with whom you are acquainted, but her face has + a bloom which we both remember, and her movement a grace which my Spanish + swans emulate, and her voice a music sweeter than those that orchestras + discourse. She is always there what she seemed to me when I fell in love + with her, many and many years ago. The neighbors called her then a nice, + capable girl; and certainly she did knit and darn with a zeal and success + to which my feet and my legs have testified for nearly half a century. But + she could spin a finer web than ever came from cotton, and in its subtle + meshes my heart was entangled, and there has reposed softly and happily + ever since. The neighbors declared she could make pudding and cake better + than any girl of her age; but stale bread from Prue’s hand was + ambrosia to my palate. + </p> + <p> + “She who makes every thing well, even to making neighbors speak well + of her, will surely make a good wife,” said I to myself when I knew + her; and the echo of a half century answers, “a good wife.” + </p> + <p> + So, when I meditate my Spanish castles, I see Prue in them as my heart saw + her standing by her father’s door. “Age cannot wither her.” + There is a magic in the Spanish air that paralyzes Time. He glides by, + unnoticed and unnoticing. I greatly admire the Alps, which I see so + distinctly from my Spanish windows; I delight in the taste of the southern + fruit that ripens upon my terraces; I enjoy the pensive shade of the + Italian ruins in my gardens; I like to shoot crocodiles, and talk with the + Sphinx upon the shores of the Nile, flowing through my domain; I am glad + to drink sherbet in Damascus, and fleece my flocks on the plains of + Marathon; but I would resign all these for ever rather than part with that + Spanish portrait of Prue for a day. Nay, have I not resigned them all for + ever, to live with that portrait’s changing original? + </p> + <p> + I have often wondered how I should reach my castles. The desire of going + comes over me very strongly sometimes, and I endeavor to see how I can + arrange my affairs, so as to get away. To tell the truth, I am not quite + sure of the route,—I mean, to that particular part of Spain in which + my estates lie. I have inquired very particularly, but nobody seems to + know precisely. One morning I met young Aspen, trembling with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” asked I with interest, for I knew + that he held a great deal of Spanish stock. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said he, “I’m going out to take possession. + I have found the way to my castles in Spain.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” I answered, with the blood streaming into my face; + and, heedless of Prue, pulling my glove until it ripped—“what + is it?” + </p> + <p> + “The direct route is through California,” answered he. + </p> + <p> + “But then you have the sea to cross afterward,” said I, + remembering the map. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” answered Aspen, “the road runs along the + shore of the Sacramento River.” + </p> + <p> + He darted away from me, and I did not meet him again. I was very curious + to know if he arrived safely in Spain, and was expecting every day to hear + news from him of my property there, when, one evening, I bought an extra, + full of California news, and the first thing upon which my eye fell was + this: “Died, in San Francisco, Edward Aspen, Esq., aged 35.” + There is a large body of the Spanish stockholders who believe with Aspen, + and sail for California every week. I have not yet heard of their arrival + out at their castles, but I suppose they are so busy with their own + affairs there, that they have no time to write to the rest of us about the + condition of our property. + </p> + <p> + There was my wife’s cousin, too, Jonathan Bud, who is a good, + honest, youth from the country, and, after a few weeks’ absence, he + burst into the office one day, just as I was balancing my books, and + whispered to me, eagerly: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve found my castle in Spain.” + </p> + <p> + I put the blotting-paper in the leaf deliberately, for I was wiser now + than when Aspen had excited me, and looked at my wife’s cousin, + Jonathan Bud, inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Polly Bacon,” whispered he, winking. + </p> + <p> + I continued the interrogative glance. + </p> + <p> + “She’s going to marry me, and she’ll show me the way to + Spain,” said Jonathan Bud, hilariously. + </p> + <p> + “She’ll make you walk Spanish, Jonathan Bud,” said I. + </p> + <p> + And so she does. He makes no more hilarious remarks. He never bursts into + a room. He does not ask us to dinner. He says that Mrs. Bud does not like + smoking. Mrs. Bud has nerves and babies. She has a way of saying, “Mr. + Bud!” which destroys conversation, and casts a gloom upon society. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to me that Bourne, the millionaire, must have ascertained the + safest and most expeditious route to Spain; so I stole a few minutes one + afternoon, and went into his office. He was sitting at his desk, writing + rapidly, and surrounded by files of papers and patterns, specimens, boxes, + everything that covers the tables of a great merchant. In the outer rooms + clerks were writing. Upon high shelves over their heads, were huge chests, + covered with dust, dingy with age, many of them, and all marked with the + name of the firm, in large black letters—“Bourne & Dye.” + They were all numbered also with the proper year; some of them with a + single capital B, and dates extending back into the last century, when old + Bourne made the great fortune, before he went into partnership with Dye. + Everything was indicative of immense and increasing prosperity. + </p> + <p> + There were several gentlemen in waiting to converse with Bourne (we all + call him so, familiarly, down town), and I waited until they went out. But + others came in. There was no pause in the rush. All kinds of inquiries + were made and answered. At length I stepped up. + </p> + <p> + “A moment, please, Mr. Bourne.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up hastily, wished me good morning which he had done to none of + the others, and which courtesy I attributed to Spanish sympathy. “What + is it, sir?” he asked, blandly, but with wrinkled brow. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bourne, have you any castles in Spain?” said I, without + preface. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me for a few moments without speaking, and without seeming to + see me. His brow gradually smoothed, and his eyes, apparently looking into + the street, were really, I have no doubt, feasting upon the Spanish + landscape. + </p> + <p> + “Too many, too many,” said he at length, musingly, shaking his + head, and without addressing me. + </p> + <p> + I suppose he felt himself too much extended—as we say in Wall + Street. He feared, I thought, that he had too much impracticable property + elsewhere, to own so much in Spain; so I asked, + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me what you consider the shortest and safest route + thither, Mr. Bourne? for, of course, a man who drives such an immense + trade with all parts of the world, will know all that I have come to + inquire.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” answered he wearily, “I have been trying + all my life to discover it; but none of my ships have ever been there—none + of my captains have any report to make. They bring me, as they brought my + father, gold dust from Guinea; ivory, pearls, and precious stones, from + every part of the earth; but not a fruit, not a solitary flower, from one + of my castles in Spain. I have sent clerks, agents, and travellers of all + kinds, philosophers, pleasure-hunters, and invalids, in all sorts of + ships, to all sorts of places, but none of them ever saw or heard of my + castles, except one young poet, and he died in a mad-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bourne, will you take five thousand at ninety-seven?” + hastily demanded a man, whom, as he entered, I recognized as a broker. + “We’ll make a splendid thing of it.” + </p> + <p> + Bourne nodded assent, and the broker disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Happy man!” muttered the merchant, as the broker went out; + “he has no castles in Spain.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Bourne,” said I, + retiring. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you came,” returned he; “but I assure you, + had I known the route you hoped to ascertain from me, I should have sailed + years and years ago. People sail for the North-west Passage, which is + nothing when you have found it. Why don’t the English Admiralty fit + out expeditions to discover all our castles in Spain?” + </p> + <p> + He sat lost in thought. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nearly post-time, sir,” said the clerk. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bourne did not heed him. He was still musing; and I turned to go, + wishing him good morning. When I had nearly reached the door, he called me + back, saying, as if continuing his remarks— + </p> + <p> + “It is strange that you, of all men, should come to ask me this + question. If I envy any man, it is you, for I sincerely assure you that I + supposed you lived altogether upon your Spanish estates. I once thought I + knew the way to mine. I gave directions for furnishing them, and ordered + bridal bouquets, which were never used, but I suppose they are there + still.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment, then said slowly—“How is your wife?” + </p> + <p> + I told him that Prue was well—that she was always remarkably well. + Mr. Bourne shook me warmly by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said he. “Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + I knew why he thanked me; I knew why he thought that I lived altogether + upon my Spanish estates; I knew a little bit about those bridal bouquets. + Mr. Bourne, the millionaire, was an old lover of Prue’s. There is + something very odd about these Spanish castles. When I think of them, I + somehow see the fair-haired girl whom I knew when I was not out of short + jackets. When Bourne meditates them, he sees Prue and me quietly at home + in their best chambers. It is a very singular thing that my wife should + live in another man’s castle in Spain. + </p> + <p> + At length I resolved to ask Titbottom if he had ever heard of the best + route to our estates. He said that he owned castles, and sometimes there + was an expression in his face, as if he saw them. I hope he did. I should + long ago have asked him if he had ever observed the turrets of my + possessions in the West, without alluding to Spain, if I had not feared he + would suppose I was mocking his poverty. I hope his poverty has not turned + his head, for he is very forlorn. + </p> + <p> + One Sunday I went with him a few miles into the country. It was a soft, + bright day, the fields and hills lay turned to the sky, as if every leaf + and blade of grass were nerves, bared to the touch of the sun. I almost + felt the ground warm under my feet. The meadows waved and glittered, the + lights and shadows were exquisite, and the distant hills seemed only to + remove the horizon farther away. As we strolled along, picking wild + flowers, for it was in summer, I was thinking what a fine day it was for a + trip to Spain, when Titbottom suddenly exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Thank God! I own this landscape.” + </p> + <p> + “You,” returned I. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” I answered, “I thought this was part of Bourne’s + property?” + </p> + <p> + Titbottom smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Does Bourne own the sun and sky? Does Bourne own that sailing + shadow yonder? Does Bourne own the golden lustre of the grain, or the + motion of the wood, or those ghosts of hills, that glide pallid along the + horizon? Bourne owns the dirt and fences; I own the beauty that makes the + landscape, or otherwise how could I own castles in Spain?” + </p> + <p> + That was very true. I respected Titbottom more than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” said he, after a long pause, “that I + fancy my castles lie just beyond those distant hills. At all events, I can + see them distinctly from their summits.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled quietly as he spoke, and it was then I asked: + </p> + <p> + “But, Titbottom, have you never discovered the way to them?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! yes,” answered he, “I know the way well + enough; but it would do no good to follow it. I should give out before I + arrived. It is a long and difficult journey for a man of my years and + habits—and income,” he added slowly. + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he seated himself upon the ground; and while he pulled long + blades of grass, and, putting them between his thumbs, whistled shrilly, + he said: + </p> + <p> + “I have never known but two men who reached their estates in Spain.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said I, “how did they go?” + </p> + <p> + “One went over the side of a ship, and the other out of a third + story window,” said Titbottom, fitting a broad blade between his + thumbs and blowing a demoniacal blast. + </p> + <p> + “And I know one proprietor who resides upon his estates constantly,” + continued he. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Our old friend Slug, whom you may see any day at the asylum, just + coming in from the hunt, or going to call upon his friend the Grand Lama, + or dressing for the wedding of the Man in the Moon, or receiving an + ambassador from Timbuctoo. Whenever I go to see him, Slug insists that I + am the Pope, disguised as a journeyman carpenter, and he entertains me in + the most distinguished manner. He always insists upon kissing my foot, and + I bestow upon him, kneeling, the apostolic benediction. This is the only + Spanish proprietor in possession, with whom I am acquainted.” + </p> + <p> + And, so saying, Titbottom lay back upon the ground, and making a spy-glass + of his hand, surveyed the landscape through it. This was a marvellous + book-keeper of more than sixty! + </p> + <p> + “I know another man who lived in his Spanish castle for two months, + and then was tumbled out head first. That was young Stunning who married + old Buhl’s daughter. She was all smiles, and mamma was all sugar, + and Stunning was all bliss, for two months. He carried his head in the + clouds, and felicity absolutely foamed at his eyes. He was drowned in + love; seeing, as usual, not what really was, but what he fancied. He lived + so exclusively in his castle, that he forgot the office down town, and one + morning there came a fall, and Stunning was smashed.” + </p> + <p> + Titbottom arose, and stooping over, contemplated the landscape, with his + head down between his legs. + </p> + <p> + “It’s quite a new effect, so,” said the nimble + book-keeper. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I, “Stunning failed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, smashed all up, and the castle in Spain came down about his + ears with a tremendous crash. The family sugar was all dissolved into the + original cane in a moment. Fairy-times are over, are they? Heigh-ho! the + falling stones of Stunning’s castle have left their marks all over + his face. I call them his Spanish scars.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Titbottom,” said I, “what is the matter + with you this morning, your usual sedateness is quite gone?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s only the exhilarating air of Spain,” he answered. + “My castles are so beautiful that I can never think of them, nor + speak of them, without excitement; when I was younger I desired to reach + them even more ardently than now, because I heard that the philosopher’s + stone was in the vault of one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said I, yielding to sympathy, “and I have good + reason to believe that the fountain of eternal youth flows through the + garden of one of mine. Do you know whether there are any children upon + your grounds?” + </p> + <p> + “‘The children of Alice call Bartrum father!’” + replied Titbottom, solemnly, and in a low voice, as he folded his faded + hands before him, and stood erect, looking wistfully over the landscape. + The light wind played with his thin white hair, and his sober, black suit + was almost sombre in the sunshine. The half bitter expression, which I had + remarked upon his face during part of our conversation, had passed away, + and the old sadness had returned to his eye. He stood, in the pleasant + morning, the very image of a great proprietor of castles in Spain. + </p> + <p> + “There is wonderful music there,” he said: “sometimes I + awake at night, and hear it. It is full of the sweetness of youth, and + love, and a new world. I lie and listen, and I seem to arrive at the great + gates of my estates. They swing open upon noiseless hinges, and the tropic + of my dreams receives me. Up the broad steps, whose marble pavement + mingled light and shadow print with shifting mosaic, beneath the boughs of + lustrous oleanders, and palms, and trees of unimaginable fragrance, I pass + into the vestibule, warm with summer odors, and into the presence-chamber + beyond, where my wife awaits me. But castle, and wife, and odorous woods, + and pictures, and statues, and all the bright substance of my household, + seem to reel and glimmer in the splendor, as the music fails. + </p> + <p> + “But when it swells again, I clasp the wife to my heart, and we move + on with a fair society, beautiful women, noble men, before whom the + tropical luxuriance of that world bends and bows in homage; and, through + endless days and nights of eternal summer, the stately revel of our life + proceeds. Then, suddenly, the music stops. I hear my watch ticking under + the pillow. I see dimly the outline of my little upper room. Then I fall + asleep, and in the morning some one of the boarders at the breakfast-table + says: + </p> + <p> + “‘Did you hear the serenade last night, Mr. Titbottom.’” + </p> + <p> + I doubted no longer that Titbottom was a very extensive proprietor. The + truth is, that he was so constantly engaged in planning and arranging his + castles, that he conversed very little at the office, and I had + misinterpreted his silence. As we walked homeward, that day, he was more + than ever tender and gentle. “We must all have something to do in + this world,” said he, “and I, who have so much leisure—for + you know I have no wife nor children to work for—know not what I + should do, if I had not my castles in Spain to look after.” + </p> + <p> + When I reached home, my darling Prue was sitting in the small parlor, + reading. I felt a little guilty for having been so long away, and upon my + only holiday, too. So I began to say that Titbottom invited me to go to + walk, and that I had no idea we had gone so far, and that—— + </p> + <p> + “Don’t excuse yourself,” said Prue, smiling as she laid + down her book; “I am glad you have enjoyed yourself. You ought to go + out sometimes, and breathe the fresh air, and run about the fields, which + I am not strong enough to do. Why did you not bring home Mr. Titbottom to + tea? He is so lonely, and looks so sad. I am sure he has very little + comfort in this life,” said my thoughtful Prue, as she called Jane + to set the tea-table. + </p> + <p> + “But he has a good deal of comfort in Spain, Prue,” answered + I. + </p> + <p> + “When was Mr. Titbottom in Spain,” inquired my wife. + </p> + <p> + “Why, he is there more than half the time,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + Prue looked quietly at me and smiled. “I see it has done you good to + breathe the country air,” said she. “Jane, get some of the + blackberry jam, and call Adoniram and the children.” + </p> + <p> + So we went in to tea. We eat in the back parlor, for our little house and + limited means do not allow us to have things upon the Spanish scale. It is + better than a sermon to hear my wife Prue talk to the children; and when + she speaks to me it seems sweeter than psalm singing; at least, such as we + have in our church. I am very happy. + </p> + <p> + Yet I dream my dreams, and attend to my castles in Spain. I have so much + property there, that I could not, in conscience, neglect it. All the years + of my youth, and the hopes of my manhood, are stored away, like precious + stones, in the vaults; and I know that I shall find everything convenient, + elegant, and beautiful, when I come into possession. + </p> + <p> + As the years go by, I am not conscious that my interest diminishes. If I + see that age is subtly sifting his snow in the dark hair of my Prue, I + smile, contented, for her hair, dark and heavy as when I first saw it, is + all carefully treasured in my castles in Spain. If I feel her arm more + heavily leaning upon mine, as we walk around the squares, I press it + closely to my side, for I know that the easy grace of her youth’s + motion will be restored by the elixir of that Spanish air. If her voice + sometimes falls less clearly from her lips, it is no less sweet to me for + the music of her voice’s prime fills, freshly as ever, those Spanish + halls. If the light I love fades a little from her eyes, I know that the + glances she gave me, in our youth, are the eternal sunshine of my castles + in Spain. + </p> + <p> + I defy time and change. Each year laid upon our heads, is a hand of + blessing. I have no doubt that I shall find the shortest route to my + possessions as soon as need be. Perhaps, when Adoniram is married, we + shall all go out to one of my castles to pass the honey-moon. + </p> + <p> + Ah! if the true history of Spain could be written what a book were there! + The most purely romantic ruin in the world is the Alhambra. But of the + Spanish castles, more spacious and splendid than any possible Alhambra, + and for ever unruined, no towers are visible, no pictures have been + painted, and only a few ecstatic songs have been sung. The pleasure-dome + of Kubla Khan, which Coleridge saw in Xanadu (a province with which I am + not familiar), and a fine Castle of Indolence belonging to Thomson, and + the Palace of art which Tennyson built as a “lordly pleasure-house” + for his soul, are among the best statistical accounts of those Spanish + estates. Turner, too, has done for them much the same service that Owen + Jones has done for the Alhambra. In the vignette to Moore’s + Epicurean you will find represented one of the most extensive castles in + Spain; and there are several exquisite studies from others, by the same + artists, published in Rogers’s Italy. + </p> + <p> + But I confess I do not recognize any of these as mine, and that fact makes + me prouder of my own castles, for, if there be such boundless variety of + magnificence in their aspect and exterior, imagine the life that is led + there, a life not unworthy such a setting. + </p> + <p> + If Adoniram should be married within a reasonable time, and we should make + up that little family party to go out, I have considered already what + society I should ask to meet the bride. Jephthah’s daughter and the + Chevalier Bayard, I should say—and fair Rosamond with Dean Swift—King + Solomon and the Queen of Sheba would come over, I think, from his famous + castle—Shakespeare and his friend the Marquis of Southampton might + come in a galley with Cleopatra; and, if any guest were offended by her + presence, he should devote himself to the Fair One with Golden Locks. + Mephistophiles is not personally disagreeable, and is exceedingly + well-bred in society, I am told; and he should come <i>tête-à-tête</i> + with Mrs. Rawdon Crawley. Spenser should escort his Faerie Queen, who + would preside at the tea-table. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Samuel Weller I should ask as Lord of Misrule, and Dr. Johnson as the + Abbot of Unreason. I would suggest to Major Dobbin to accompany Mrs. Fry; + Alcibiades would bring Homer and Plato in his purple-sailed galley; and I + would have Aspasia, Ninon de l’Enclos, and Mrs. Battle, to make up a + table of whist with Queen Elizabeth. I shall order a seat placed in the + oratory for Lady Jane Grey and Joan of Arc. I shall invite General + Washington to bring some of the choicest cigars from his plantation for + Sir Walter Raleigh; and Chaucer, Browning, and Walter Savage Landor, + should talk with Goethe, who is to bring Tasso on one arm and Iphigenia on + the other. + </p> + <p> + Dante and Mr. Carlyle would prefer, I suppose, to go down into the dark + vaults under the castle. The Man in the Moon, the Old Harry, and William + of the Wisp would be valuable additions, and the Laureate Tennyson might + compose an official ode upon the occasion: or I would ask “They” + to say all about it. + </p> + <p> + Of course there are many other guests whose names I do not at the moment + recall. But I should invite, first of all, Miles Coverdale, who knows + every thing about these places and this society, for he was at Blithedale, + and he has described “a select party” which he attended at a + castle in the air. + </p> + <p> + Prue has not yet looked over the list. In fact I am not quite sure that + she knows my intention. For I wish to surprise her, and I think it would + be generous to ask Bourne to lead her out in the bridal quadrille. I think + that I shall try the first waltz with the girl I sometimes seem to see in + my fairest castle, but whom I very vaguely remember. Titbottom will come + with old Burton and Jaques. But I have not prepared half my invitations. + Do you not guess it, seeing that I did not name, first of all, Elia, who + assisted at the “Rejoicings upon the new year’s coming of age”? + </p> + <p> + And yet, if Adoniram should never marry?—or if we could not get to + Spain?—or if the company would not come? + </p> + <p> + What then? Shall I betray a secret? I have already entertained this party + in my humble little parlor at home; and Prue presided as serenely as + Semiramis over her court. Have I not said that I defy time, and shall + space hope to daunt me? I keep books by day, but by night books keep me. + They leave me to dreams and reveries. Shall I confess, that sometimes when + I have been sitting, reading to my Prue, Cymbeline, perhaps, or a + Canterbury tale, I have seemed to see clearly before me the broad highway + to my castles in Spain; and as she looked up from her work, and smiled in + sympathy, I have even fancied that I was already there. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SEA FROM SHORE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Come unto these yellow sands.” + <i>The Tempest.</i> + + “Argosies of magic sails, + Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales.” + <i>Tennyson</i> +</pre> + <p> + In the month of June, Prue and I like to walk upon the Battery toward + sunset, and watch the steamers, crowded with passengers, bound for the + pleasant places along the coast where people pass the hot months. Sea-side + lodgings are not very comfortable, I am told; but who would not be a + little pinched in his chamber, if his windows looked upon the sea? + </p> + <p> + In such praises of the ocean do I indulge at such times, and so + respectfully do I regard the sailors who may chance to pass, that Prue + often says, with her shrewd smiles, that my mind is a kind of Greenwich + Hospital, full of abortive marine hopes and wishes, broken-legged + intentions, blind regrets, and desires, whose hands have been shot away in + some hard battle of experience, so that they cannot grasp the results + towards which they reach. + </p> + <p> + She is right, as usual. Such hopes and intentions do lie, ruined and + hopeless now, strewn about the placid contentment of my mental life, as + the old pensioners sit about the grounds at Greenwich, maimed and musing + in the quiet morning sunshine. Many a one among them thinks what a Nelson + he would have been if both his legs had not been prematurely carried away; + or in what a Trafalgar of triumph he would have ended, if, unfortunately, + he had not happened to have been blown blind by the explosion of that + unlucky magazine. + </p> + <p> + So I dream, sometimes, of a straight scarlet collar, stiff with gold lace, + around my neck, instead of this limp white cravat; and I have even + brandished my quill at the office so cutlass-wise, that Titbottom has + paused in his additions and looked at me as if he doubted whether I should + come out quite square in my petty cash. Yet he understands it. Titbottom + was born in Nantucket. + </p> + <p> + That is the secret of my fondness for the sea; I was born by it. Not more + surely do Savoyards pine for the mountains, or Cockneys for the sound of + Bow bells, than those who are born within sight and sound of the ocean to + return to it and renew their fealty. In dreams the children of the sea + hear its voice. + </p> + <p> + I have read in some book of travels that certain tribes of Arabs have no + name for the ocean, and that when they came to the shore for the first + time, they asked with eager sadness, as if penetrated by the conviction of + a superior beauty, “what is that desert of water more beautiful than + the land?” And in the translations of German stories which Adoniram + and the other children read, and into which I occasionally look in the + evening when they are gone to bed—for I like to know what interests + my children—I find that the Germans, who do not live near the sea, + love the fairy lore of water, and tell the sweet stories of Undine and + Melusina, as if they had especial charm for them, because their country is + inland. + </p> + <p> + We who know the sea have less fairy feeling about it, but our realities + are romance. My earliest remembrances are of a long range of old, half + dilapidated stores; red brick stores with steep wooden roofs, and stone + window-frames and door-frames, which stood upon docks built as if for + immense trade with all quarters of the globe. + </p> + <p> + Generally there were only a few sloops moored to the tremendous posts, + which I fancied could easily hold fast a Spanish Armada in a tropical + hurricane. But sometimes a great ship, an East Indiaman, with rusty, + seamed, blistered sides, and dingy sails, came slowly moving up the + harbor, with an air of indolent self-importance and consciousness of + superiority, which inspired me with profound respect. If the ship had ever + chanced to run down a row-boat, or a sloop, or any specimen of smaller + craft, I should only have wondered at the temerity of any floating thing + in crossing the path of such supreme majesty. The ship was leisurely + chained and cabled to the old dock, and then came the disembowelling. + </p> + <p> + How the stately monster had been fattening upon foreign spoils! How it had + gorged itself (such galleons did never seem to me of the feminine gender) + with the luscious treasures of the tropics! It had lain its lazy length + along the shores of China, and sucked in whole flowery harvests of tea. + The Brazilian sun flashed through the strong wicker prisons, bursting with + bananas and nectarean fruits that eschew the temperate zone. Steams of + camphor, of sandal wood, arose from the hold. Sailors chanting cabalistic + strains, that had to my ear a shrill and monotonous pathos, like the + uniform rising and falling of an autumn wind, turned cranks that lifted + the bales, and boxes, and crates, and swung them ashore. + </p> + <p> + But to my mind, the spell of their singing raised the fragrant freight, + and not the crank. Madagascar and Ceylon appeared at the mystic bidding of + the song. The placid sunshine of the docks was perfumed with India. The + universal calm of southern seas poured from the bosom of the ship over the + quiet, decaying old northern port. + </p> + <p> + Long after the confusion of unloading was over, and the ship lay as if all + voyages were ended, I dared to creep timorously along the edge of the + dock, and at great risk of falling in the black water of its huge shadow, + I placed my hand upon the hot hulk, and so established a mystic and + exquisite connection with Pacific islands, with palm groves and all the + passionate beauties they embower; with jungles, Bengal tigers, pepper, and + the crushed feet of Chinese fairies. I touched Asia, the Cape of Good Hope + and the Happy Islands. I would not believe that the heat I felt was of our + northern sun; to my finer sympathy it burned with equatorial fervors. + </p> + <p> + The freight was piled in the old stores. I believe that many of them + remain, but they have lost their character. When I knew them, not only was + I younger, but partial decay had overtaken the town; at least the bulk of + its India trade had shifted to New York and Boston. But the appliances + remained. There was no throng of busy traffickers, and after school, in + the afternoon, I strolled by and gazed into the solemn interiors. + </p> + <p> + Silence reigned within,—silence, dimness, and piles of foreign + treasure. Vast coils of cable, like tame boa-constrictors, served as seats + for men with large stomachs, and heavy watch-seals, and nankeen trowsers, + who sat looking out of the door toward the ships, with little other sign + of life than an occasional low talking, as if in their sleep. Huge + hogsheads perspiring brown sugar and oozing slow molasses, as if nothing + tropical could keep within bounds, but must continually expand, and exude, + and overflow, stood against the walls, and had an architectural + significance, for they darkly reminded me of Egyptian prints, and in the + duskiness of the low vaulted store seemed cyclopean columns incomplete. + Strange festoons and heaps of bags, square piles of square boxes cased in + mats, bales of airy summer stuffs, which, even in winter, scoffed at cold, + and shamed it by audacious assumption of eternal sun, little specimen + boxes of precious dyes that even now shine through my memory, like old + Venetian schools unpainted,—these were all there in rich confusion. + </p> + <p> + The stores had a twilight of dimness, the air was spicy with mingled + odors. I liked to look suddenly in from the glare of sunlight outside, and + then the cool sweet dimness was like the palpable breath of the far off + island-groves; and if only some parrot or macaw hung within, would flaunt + with glistening plumage in his cage, and as the gay hue flashed in a + chance sunbeam, call in his hard, shrill voice, as if thrusting sharp + sounds upon a glistening wire from out that grateful gloom, then the + enchantment was complete, and without moving, I was circumnavigating the + globe. + </p> + <p> + From the old stores and the docks slowly crumbling, touched, I know not + why or how, by the pensive air of past prosperity, I rambled out of town + on those well remembered afternoons, to the fields that lay upon hillsides + over the harbor, and there sat, looking out to sea, fancying some distant + sail proceeding to the glorious ends of the earth, to be my type and + image, who would so sail, stately and successful, to all the glorious + ports of the Future. Going home, I returned by the stores, which black + porters were closing. But I stood long looking in, saturating my + imagination, and as it appeared, my clothes, with the spicy suggestion. + For when I reached home my thrifty mother—another Prue—came + snuffing and smelling about me. + </p> + <p> + “Why! my son, (<i>snuff, snuff,</i>) where have you been? (<i>snuff, + snuff.</i>) Has the baker been making (<i>snuff</i>) ginger-bread? You + smell as if you’d been in (<i>snuff, snuff,</i>) a bag of cinnamon.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve only been on the wharves, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear, I hope you haven’t stuck up your clothes with + molasses. Wharves are dirty places, and dangerous. You must take care of + yourself, my son. Really this smell is (<i>snuff, snuff</i>,) very strong.” + </p> + <p> + But I departed from the maternal presence, proud and happy. I was + aromatic. I bore about me the true foreign air. Whoever smelt me smelt + distant countries. I had nutmeg, spices, cinnamon, and cloves, without the + jolly red-nose. I pleased myself with being the representative of the + Indies. I was in good odor with myself and all the world. + </p> + <p> + I do not know how it is, but surely Nature makes kindly provision. An + imagination so easily excited as mine could not have escaped + disappointment if it had had ample opportunity and experience of the lands + it so longed to see. Therefore, although I made the India voyage, I have + never been a traveller, and saving the little time I was ashore in India, + I did not lose the sense of novelty and romance, which the first sight of + foreign lands inspires. + </p> + <p> + That little time was all my foreign travel. I am glad of it. I see now + that I should never have found the country from which the East Indiaman of + my early days arrived. The palm groves do not grow with which that hand + laid upon the ship placed me in magic conception. As for the lovely Indian + maid whom the palmy arches bowered, she has long since clasped some native + lover to her bosom, and, ripened into mild maternity, how should I know + her now? + </p> + <p> + “You would find her quite as easily now as then,” says my + Prue, when I speak of it. She is right again, as usual, that precious + woman; and it is therefore I feel that if the chances of life have moored + me fast to a book-keeper’s desk, they have left all the lands I + longed to see fairer and fresher in my mind than they could ever be in my + memory. Upon my only voyage I used to climb into the top and search the + horizon for the shore. But now in a moment of calm thought I see a more + Indian India than ever mariner discerned, and do not envy the youths who + go there and make fortunes, who wear grass-cloth jackets, drink iced beer, + and eat curry; whose minds fall asleep, and whose bodies have liver + complaints. + </p> + <p> + Unseen by me for ever, nor ever regretted, shall wave the Egyptian palms + and the Italian pines. Untrodden by me, the Forum shall still echo with + the footfall of imperial Rome, and the Parthenon unrifled of its marbles, + look, perfect, across the Egean blue. + </p> + <p> + My young friends return from their foreign tours elate with the smiles of + a nameless Italian, or Parisian belle. I know not such cheap delights; I + am a suitor of Vittoria Colonna; I walk with Tasso along the terraced + garden of the Villa d’Este, and look to see Beatrice smiling down + the rich gloom of the cypress shade. You staid at the <i>Hôtel Europa</i> + in Venice, at <i>Danielli’s</i> or the <i>Leone bianco</i>; I am the + guest of Marino Faliero, and I whisper to his wife as we climb the giant + staircase in the summer moonlight, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah! senza amaro + Andare sul mare, + Col sposo del mare, + Non puo consolare.” + </pre> + <p> + It is for the same reason that I did not care to dine with you and + Aurelia, that I am content not to stand in St. Peter’s. Alas! if I + could see the end of it, it would not be St. Peter’s. For those of + us whom Nature means to keep at home, she provides entertainment. One man + goes four thousand miles to Italy, and does not see it, he is so + short-sighted. Another is so far-sighted that he stays in his room and + sees more than Italy. + </p> + <p> + But for this very reason that it washes the shores of my possible Europe + and Asia, the sea draws me constantly to itself. Before I came to New + York, while I was still a clerk in Boston, courting Prue, and living out + of town, I never knew of a ship sailing for India or even for England and + France, but I went up to the State House cupola or to the observatory on + some friend’s house in Roxbury, where I could not be interrupted, + and there watched the departure. + </p> + <p> + The sails hung ready; the ship lay in the stream; busy little boats and + puffing steamers darted about it, clung to its sides, paddled away from + it, or led the way to sea, as minnows might pilot a whale. The anchor was + slowly swung at the bow; I could not hear the sailors’ song, but I + knew they were singing. I could not see the parting friends, but I knew + farewells were spoken. I did not share the confusion, although I knew what + bustle there was, what hurry, what shouting, what creaking, what fall of + ropes and iron, what sharp oaths, low laughs, whispers, sobs. But I was + cool, high, separate. To me it was + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A painted ship + Upon a painted ocean.” + </pre> + <p> + The sails were shaken out, and the ship began to move. It was a fair + breeze, perhaps, and no steamer was needed to tow her away. She receded + down the bay. Friends turned back—I could not see them—and + waved their hands, and wiped their eyes, and went home to dinner. Farther + and farther from the ships at anchor, the lessening vessel became single + and solitary upon the water. The sun sank in the west; but I watched her + still. Every flash of her sails, as she tacked and turned, thrilled my + heart. + </p> + <p> + Yet Prue was not on board. I had never seen one of the passengers or the + crew. I did not know the consignees, nor the name of the vessel. I had + shipped no adventure, nor risked any insurance, nor made any bet, but my + eyes clung to her as Ariadne’s to the fading sail of Theseus. The + ship was freighted with more than appeared upon her papers, yet she was + not a smuggler. She bore all there was of that nameless lading, yet the + next ship would carry as much. She was freighted with fancy. My hopes, and + wishes, and vague desires, were all on board. It seemed to me a treasure + not less rich than that which filled the East Indiaman at the old dock in + my boyhood. + </p> + <p> + When, at length, the ship was a sparkle upon the horizon, I waved my hand + in last farewell, I strained my eyes for a last glimpse. My mind had gone + to sea, and had left noise behind. But now I heard again the multitudinous + murmur of the city, and went down rapidly, and threaded the short, narrow, + streets to the office. Yet, believe it, every dream of that day, as I + watched the vessel, was written at night to Prue. She knew my heart had + not sailed away. + </p> + <p> + Those days are long past now, but still I walk upon the Battery and look + towards the Narrows and know that beyond them, separated only by the sea, + are many of whom I would so gladly know, and so rarely hear. The sea rolls + between us like the lapse of dusky ages. They trusted themselves to it, + and it bore them away far and far as if into the past. Last night I read + of Antony, but I have not heard from Christopher these many months, and by + so much farther away is he, so much older and more remote, than Antony. As + for William, he is as vague as any of the shepherd kings of ante-Pharaonic + dynasties. + </p> + <p> + It is the sea that has done it, it has carried them off and put them away + upon its other side. It is fortunate the sea did not put them upon its + underside. Are they hale and happy still? Is their hair gray, and have + they mustachios? Or have they taken to wigs and crutches? Are they popes + or cardinals yet? Do they feast with Lucrezia Borgia, or preach red + republicanism to the Council of Ten? Do they sing, <i>Behold how brightly + breaks the morning</i> with Masaniello? Do they laugh at Ulysses and skip + ashore to the Syrens? Has Mesrour, chief of the Eunuchs, caught them with + Zobeide in the Caliph’s garden, or have they made cheese cakes + without pepper? Friends of my youth, where in your wanderings have you + tasted the blissful Lotus, that you neither come nor send us tidings? + </p> + <p> + Across the sea also came idle rumors, as false reports steal into history + and defile fair fames. Was it longer ago than yesterday that I walked with + my cousin, then recently a widow, and talked with her of the countries to + which she meant to sail? She was young, and dark-eyed, and wore great + hoops of gold, barbaric gold, in her ears. The hope of Italy, the thought + of living there, had risen like a dawn in the darkness of her mind. I + talked and listened by rapid turns. + </p> + <p> + Was it longer ago than yesterday that she told me of her splendid plans, + how palaces tapestried with gorgeous paintings should be cheaply hired, + and the best of teachers lead her children to the completest and most + various knowledge; how,—and with her slender pittance!—she + should have a box at the opera, and a carriage, and liveried servants, and + in perfect health and youth, lead a perfect life in a perfect climate? + </p> + <p> + And now what do I hear? Why does a tear sometimes drop so audibly upon my + paper, that Titbottom looks across with a sort of mild rebuking glance of + inquiry, whether it is kind to let even a single tear fall, when an ocean + of tears is pent up in hearts that would burst and overflow if but one + drop should force its way out? Why across the sea came faint gusty + stories, like low voices in the wind, of a cloistered garden and sunny + seclusion—and a life of unknown and unexplained luxury. What is this + picture of a pale face showered with streaming black hair, and large sad + eyes looking upon lovely and noble children playing in the sunshine—and + a brow pained with thought straining into their destiny? Who is this + figure, a man tall and comely, with melting eyes and graceful motion, who + comes and goes at pleasure, who is not a husband, yet has the key of the + cloistered garden? + </p> + <p> + I do not know. They are secrets of the sea. The pictures pass before my + mind suddenly and unawares, and I feel the tears rising that I would + gladly repress. Titbottom looks at me, then stands by the window of the + office and leans his brow against the cold iron bars, and looks down into + the little square paved court. I take my hat and steal out of the office + for a few minutes, and slowly pace the hurrying streets. Meek-eyed Alice! + magnificent Maud! sweet baby Lilian! why does the sea imprison you so far + away, when will you return, where do you linger? The water laps idly about + docks,—lies calm, or gaily heaves. Why does it bring me doubts and + fears now, that brought such bounty of beauty in the days long gone? + </p> + <p> + I remember that the day when my dark haired cousin, with hoops of barbaric + gold in her ears, sailed for Italy, was quarter-day, and we balanced the + books at the office. It was nearly noon, and in my impatience to be away, + I had not added my columns with sufficient care. The inexorable hand of + the office clock pointed sternly towards twelve, and the remorseless + pendulum ticked solemnly to noon. + </p> + <p> + To a man whose pleasures are not many, and rather small, the loss of such + an event as saying farewell and wishing God-speed to a friend going to + Europe, is a great loss. It was so to me, especially, because there was + always more to me, in every departure, than the parting and the farewell. + I was gradually renouncing this pleasure, as I saw small prospect of + ending before noon, when Titbottom, after looking at me a moment, came to + my side of the desk, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I should like to finish that for you.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him: poor Titbottom! he had no friends to wish God-speed upon + any journey. I quietly wiped my pen, took down my hat, and went out. It + was in the days of sail packets and less regularity, when going to Europe + was more of an epoch in life. How gaily my cousin stood upon the deck and + detailed to me her plan! How merrily the children shouted and sang! How + long I held my cousin’s little hand in mine, and gazed into her + great eyes, remembering that they would see and touch the things that were + invisible to me for ever, but all the more precious and fair! She kissed + me—I was younger then—there were tears, I remember, and + prayers, and promises, a waving handkerchief,—a fading sail. + </p> + <p> + It was only the other day that I saw another parting of the same kind. I + was not a principal, only a spectator; but so fond am I of sharing, afar + off, as it were, and unseen, the sympathies of human beings, that I cannot + avoid often going to the dock upon steamer-days and giving myself to that + pleasant and melancholy observation. There is always a crowd, but this day + it was almost impossible to advance through the masses of people. The + eager faces hurried by; a constant stream poured up the gangway into the + steamer, and the upper deck, to which I gradually made my way, was crowded + with the passengers and their friends. + </p> + <p> + There was one group upon which my eyes first fell, and upon which my + memory lingers. A glance, brilliant as daybreak—a voice, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Her voice’s music,—call it the well’s bubbling, the bird’s + warble,” + </pre> + <p> + a goddess girdled with flowers, and smiling farewell upon a circle of + worshippers, to each one of whom that gracious calmness made the smile + sweeter, and the farewell more sad—other figures, other flowers, an + angel face—all these I saw in that group as I was swayed up and down + the deck by the eager swarm of people. The hour came, and I went on shore + with the rest. The plank was drawn away—the captain raised his hand—the + huge steamer slowly moved—a cannon was fired—the ship was + gone. + </p> + <p> + The sun sparkled upon the water as they sailed away. In five minutes the + steamer was as much separated from the shore as if it had been at sea a + thousand years. + </p> + <p> + I leaned against a post upon the dock and looked around. Ranged upon the + edge of the wharf stood that band of worshippers, waving handkerchiefs and + straining their eyes to see the last smile of farewell—did any eager + selfish eye hope to see a tear? They to whom the handkerchiefs were waved + stood high upon the stern, holding flowers. Over them hung the great flag, + raised by the gentle wind into the graceful folds of a canopy,—say + rather a gorgeous gonfalon waved over the triumphant departure, over that + supreme youth, and bloom, and beauty, going out across the mystic ocean to + carry a finer charm and more human splendor into those realms of my + imagination beyond the sea. + </p> + <p> + “You will return, O youth and beauty!” I said to my dreaming + and foolish self, as I contemplated those fair figures, “richer than + Alexander with Indian spoils. All that historic association, that copious + civilization, those grandeurs and graces of art, that variety and + picturesqueness of life, will mellow and deepen your experience even as + time silently touches those old pictures into a more persuasive and + pathetic beauty, and as this increasing summer sheds ever softer lustre + upon the landscape. You will return conquerors and not conquered. You will + bring Europe, even as Aurelian brought Zenobia captive, to deck your + homeward triumph. I do not wonder that these clouds break away, I do not + wonder that the sun presses out and floods all the air, and land, and + water, with light that graces with happy omens your stately farewell.” + </p> + <p> + But if my faded face looked after them with such earnest and longing + emotion,—I, a solitary old man, unknown to those fair beings, and + standing apart from that band of lovers, yet in that moment bound more + closely to them than they knew,—how was it with those whose hearts + sailed away with that youth and beauty? I watched them closely from behind + my post. I knew that life had paused with them; that the world stood + still. I knew that the long, long summer would be only a yearning regret. + I knew that each asked himself the mournful question, “Is this + parting typical—this slow, sad, sweet recession?” And I knew + that they did not care to ask whether they should meet again, nor dare to + contemplate the chances of the sea. + </p> + <p> + The steamer swept on, she was near Staten Island, and a final gun boomed + far and low across the water. The crowd was dispersing, but the little + group remained. Was it not all Hood had sung? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I saw thee, lovely Inez, + Descend along the shore + With bands of noble gentlemen, + And banners waved before; + And gentle youths and maidens gay, + And snowy plumes they wore;— + It would have been a beauteous dream, + If it had been no more!” + </pre> + <p> + “O youth!” I said to them without speaking, “be it + gently said, as it is solemnly thought, should they return no more, yet in + your memories the high hour of their loveliness is for ever enshrined. + Should they come no more they never will be old, nor changed, to you. You + will wax and wane, you will suffer, and struggle, and grow old; but this + summer vision will smile, immortal, upon your lives, and those fair faces + shall shed, for ever, from under that slowly waving flag, hope and peace.” + </p> + <p> + It is so elsewhere; it is the tenderness of Nature. Long, long ago we lost + our first-born, Prue and I. Since then, we have grown older and our + children with us. Change comes, and grief, perhaps, and decay. We are + happy, our children are obedient and gay. But should Prue live until she + has lost us all, and laid us, gray and weary, in our graves, she will have + always one babe in her heart. Every mother who has lost an infant, has + gained a child of immortal youth. Can you find comfort here, lovers, whose + mistress has sailed away? + </p> + <p> + I did not ask the question aloud, I thought it only, as I watched the + youths, and turned away while they still stood gazing. One, I observed, + climbed a post and waved his black hat before the white-washed side of the + shed over the dock, whence I supposed he would tumble into the water. + Another had tied a handkerchief to the end of a somewhat baggy umbrella, + and in the eagerness of gazing, had forgotten to wave it, so that it hung + mournfully down, as if overpowered with grief it could not express. The + entranced youth still held the umbrella aloft. It seemed to me as if he + had struck his flag; or as if one of my cravats were airing in that + sunlight. A negro carter was joking with an apple-woman at the entrance of + the dock. The steamer was out of sight. + </p> + <p> + I found that I was belated and hurried back to my desk. Alas! poor lovers; + I wonder if they are watching still? Has he fallen exhausted from the post + into the water? Is that handkerchief, bleached and rent, still pendant + upon that somewhat baggy umbrella? + </p> + <p> + “Youth and beauty went to Europe to-day,” said I to Prue, as I + stirred my tea at evening. As I spoke, our youngest daughter brought me + the sugar. She is just eighteen, and her name should be Hebe. I took a + lump of sugar and looked at her. She had never seemed so lovely, and as I + dropped the lump in my cup, I kissed her. I glanced at Prue as I did so. + The dear woman smiled, but did not answer my exclamation. + </p> + <p> + Thus, without travelling, I travel, and share the emotions of those I do + not know. But sometimes the old longing comes over me as in the days when + I timidly touched the huge East Indiaman, and magnetically sailed around + the world. + </p> + <p> + It was but a few days after the lovers and I waved farewell to the + steamer, and while the lovely figures standing under the great gonfalon + were as vivid in my mind as ever, that a day of premature sunny sadness, + like those of the Indian summer, drew me away from the office early in the + afternoon: for fortunately it is our dull season now, and even Titbottom + sometimes leaves the office by five o’clock. Although why he should + leave it, or where he goes, or what he does, I do not well know. Before I + knew him, I used sometimes to meet him with a man whom I was afterwards + told was Bartleby, the scrivener. Even then it seemed to me that they + rather clubbed their loneliness than made society for each other. Recently + I have not seen Bartleby; but Titbottom seems no more solitary because he + is alone. + </p> + <p> + I strolled into the Battery as I sauntered about. Staten Island looked so + alluring, tender-hued with summer and melting in the haze, that I resolved + to indulge myself in a pleasure-trip. It was a little selfish, perhaps, to + go alone, but I looked at my watch, and saw that if I should hurry home + for Prue the trip would be lost; then I should be disappointed, and she + would be grieved. + </p> + <p> + Ought I not rather (I like to begin questions, which I am going to answer + affirmatively, with <i>ought</i>,) to take the trip and recount my + adventures to Prue upon, my return, whereby I should actually enjoy the + excursion and the pleasure of telling her; while she would enjoy my story + and be glad that I was pleased? Ought I wilfully to deprive us both of + this various enjoyment by aiming at a higher, which, in losing, we should + lose all? + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, just as I was triumphantly answering “Certainly not!” + another question marched into my mind, escorted by a very defiant <i>ought</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Ought I to go when I have such a debate about it?” + </p> + <p> + But while I was perplexed, and scoffing at my own scruples, the ferry-bell + suddenly rang, and answered all my questions. Involuntarily I hurried on + board. The boat slipped from the dock. I went up on deck to enjoy the view + of the city from the bay, but just as I sat down, and meant to have said + “how beautiful!” I found myself asking: + </p> + <p> + “Ought I to have come?” + </p> + <p> + Lost in perplexing debate, I saw little of the scenery of the bay; but the + remembrance of Prue and the gentle influence of the day plunged me into a + mood of pensive reverie which nothing tended to destroy, until we suddenly + arrived at the landing. + </p> + <p> + As I was stepping ashore, I was greeted by Mr. Bourne, who passes the + summer on the island, and who hospitably asked if I were going his way. + His way was toward the southern end of the island, and I said yes. His + pockets were full of papers and his brow of wrinkles; so when we reached + the point where he should turn off, I asked him to let me alight, although + he was very anxious to carry me wherever I was going. + </p> + <p> + “I am only strolling about,” I answered, as I clambered + carefully out of the wagon. + </p> + <p> + “Strolling about?” asked he, in a bewildered manner; “‘do + people stroll about, now-a-days?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” I answered, smiling, as I pulled my trowsers down + over my boots, for they had dragged up, as I stepped out of the wagon, + “and beside, what can an old book-keeper do better in the dull + season than stroll about this pleasant island, and watch the ships at sea?” + </p> + <p> + Bourne looked at me with his weary eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I’d give five thousand dollars a year for a dull season,” + said he, “but as for strolling, I’ve forgotten how.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, his eyes wandered dreamily across the fields and woods, and + were fastened upon the distant sails. + </p> + <p> + “It is pleasant,” he said musingly, and fell into silence. But + I had no time to spare, so I wished him good afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “I hope your wife is well,” said Bourne to me, as I turned + away. Poor Bourne! He drove on alone in his wagon. + </p> + <p> + But I made haste to the most solitary point upon the southern shore, and + there sat, glad to be so near the sea. There was that warm, sympathetic + silence in the air, that gives to Indian-summer days almost a human + tenderness of feeling. A delicate haze, that seemed only the kindly air + made visible, hung over the sea. The water lapped languidly among the + rocks, and the voices of children in a boat beyond, rang musically, and + gradually receded, until they were lost in the distance. + </p> + <p> + It was some time before I was aware of the outline of a large ship, drawn + vaguely upon the mist, which I supposed, at first, to be only a kind of + mirage. But the more steadfastly I gazed, the more distinct it became, and + I could no longer doubt that I saw a stately ship lying at anchor, not + more than half a mile from the land. + </p> + <p> + “It is an extraordinary place to anchor,” I said to myself, + “or can she be ashore?” + </p> + <p> + There were no signs of distress; the sails were carefully clewed up, and + there were no sailors in the tops, nor upon the shrouds. A flag, of which + I could not see the device or the nation, hung heavily at the stern, and + looked as if it had fallen asleep. My curiosity began to be singularly + excited. The form of the vessel seemed not to be permanent; but within a + quarter of an hour, I was sure that I had seen half a dozen different + ships. As I gazed, I saw no more sails nor masts, but a long range of + oars, flashing like a golden fringe, or straight and stiff, like the legs + of a sea-monster. + </p> + <p> + “It is some bloated crab, or lobster, magnified by the mist,” + I said to myself, complacently. But, at the same moment, there was a + concentrated flashing and blazing in one spot among the rigging, and it + was as if I saw a beatified ram, or, more truly, a sheep-skin, splendid as + the hair of Berenice. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the golden fleece?” I thought. “But, surely, + Jason and the Argonauts have gone home long since. Do people go on + gold-fleecing expeditions now?” I asked myself, in perplexity. + “Can this be a California steamer?” + </p> + <p> + How could I have thought it a steamer? Did I not see those sails, “thin + and sere?” Did I not feel the melancholy of that solitary bark? It + had a mystic aura; a boreal brilliancy shimmered in its wake, for it was + drifting seaward. A strange fear curdled along my veins. That summer sun + shone cool. The weary, battered ship was gashed, as if gnawed by ice. + There was terror in the air, as a “skinny hand so brown” waved + to me from the deck. I lay as one bewitched. The hand of the ancient + mariner seemed to be reaching for me, like the hand of death. + </p> + <p> + Death? Why, as I was inly praying Prue’s forgiveness for my solitary + ramble and consequent demise, a glance like the fulness of summer splendor + gushed over me; the odor of flowers and of eastern gums made all the + atmosphere. I breathed the orient, and lay drunk with balm, while that + strange ship, a golden galley now, with glittering draperies festooned + with flowers, paced to the measured beat of oars along the calm, and + Cleopatra smiled alluringly from the great pageant’s heart. + </p> + <p> + Was this a barge for summer waters, this peculiar ship I saw? It had a + ruined dignity, a cumbrous grandeur, although its masts were shattered, + and its sails rent. It hung preternaturally still upon the sea, as if + tormented and exhausted by long driving and drifting. I saw no sailors, + but a great Spanish ensign floated over, and waved, a funereal plume. I + knew it then. The armada was long since scattered; but, floating far + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “on desolate rainy seas,” + </pre> + <p> + lost for centuries, and again restored to sight, here lay one of the fated + ships of Spain. The huge galleon seemed to fill all the air, built up + against the sky, like the gilded ships of Claude Lorraine against the + sunset. + </p> + <p> + But it fled, for now a black flag fluttered at the mast-head—a long + low vessel darted swiftly where the vast ship lay; there came a shrill + piping whistle, the clash of cutlasses, fierce ringing oaths, sharp pistol + cracks, the thunder of command, and over all the gusty yell of a demoniac + chorus, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My name was Robert Kidd, when I sailed.” + </pre> + <p> + —There were no clouds longer, but under a serene sky I saw a bark + moving with festal pomp, thronged with grave senators in flowing robes, + and one with ducal bonnet in the midst, holding a ring. The smooth bark + swam upon a sea like that of southern latitudes. I saw the Bucentoro and + the nuptials of Venice and the Adriatic. + </p> + <p> + Who where those coming over the side? Who crowded the boats, and sprang + into the water, men in old Spanish armor, with plumes and swords, and + bearing a glittering cross? Who was he standing upon the deck with folded + arms and gazing towards the shore, as lovers on their mistresses and + martyrs upon heaven? Over what distant and tumultuous seas had this small + craft escaped from other centuries and distant shores? What sounds of + foreign hymns, forgotten now, were these, and what solemnity of + debarkation? Was this grave form, Columbus? + </p> + <p> + Yet these were not so Spanish as they seemed just now. This group of + stern-faced men with high peaked hats, who knelt upon the cold deck and + looked out upon a shore which, I could see by their joyless smile of + satisfaction, was rough, and bare, and forbidding. In that soft afternoon, + standing in mournful groups upon the small deck, why did they seem to me + to be seeing the sad shores of wintry New England? That phantom-ship could + not be the May Flower! + </p> + <p> + I gazed long upon the shifting illusion. + </p> + <p> + “If I should board this ship,” I asked myself, “where + should I go? whom should I meet? what should I see? Is not this the vessel + that shall carry me to my Europe, my foreign countries, my impossible + India, the Atlantis that I have lost?” + </p> + <p> + As I sat staring at it I could not but wonder whether Bourne had seen this + sail when he looked upon the water? Does he see such sights every day, + because he lives down here? Is it not perhaps a magic yacht of his; and + does he slip off privately after business hours to Venice, and Spain, and + Egypt, perhaps to El Dorado? Does he run races with Ptolemy, Philopater + and Hiero of Syracuse, rare regattas on fabulous seas? + </p> + <p> + Why not? He is a rich, man, too, and why should not a New York merchant do + what a Syracuse tyrant and an Egyptian prince did? Has Bourne’s + yacht those sumptuous chambers, like Philopater’s galley, of which + the greater part was made of split cedar, and of Milesian cypress; and has + he twenty doors put together with beams of citron-wood, with many + ornaments? Has the roof of his cabin a carved golden face, and is his sail + linen with a purple fringe? + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is so,” I said to myself, as I looked wistfully + at the ship, which began to glimmer and melt in the haze. + </p> + <p> + “It certainly is not a fishing smack?” I asked, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + No, it must be Bourne’s magic yacht; I was sure of it. I could not + help laughing at poor old Hiero, whose cabins were divided into many + rooms, with floors composed of mosaic work, of all kinds of stones + tessellated. And, on this mosaic, the whole story of the Iliad was + depicted in a marvellous manner. He had gardens “of all sorts of + most wonderful beauty, enriched with all sorts of plants, and shadowed by + roofs of lead or tiles. And, besides this, there were tents roofed with + boughs of white ivy and of the vine—the roots of which derived their + moisture from casks full of earth, and were watered in the same manner as + the gardens. There were temples, also, with doors of ivory and + citron-wood, furnished in the most exquisite manner, with pictures and + statues, and with goblets and vases of every form and shape imaginable.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Bourne!” I said. “I suppose his is finer than + Hiero’s, which is a thousand years old. Poor Bourne! I don’t + wonder that his eyes are weary, and that he would pay so dearly for a day + of leisure. Dear me! is it one of the prices that must be paid for wealth, + the keeping up a magic yacht?” + </p> + <p> + Involuntarily, I had asked the question aloud. + </p> + <p> + “The magic yacht is not Bourne’s,” answered a familiar + voice. I looked up, and Titbottom stood by my side. “Do you not know + that all Bourne’s money would not buy the yacht?” asked he. + “He cannot even see it. And if he could, it would be no magic yacht + to him, but only a battered and solitary hulk.” + </p> + <p> + The haze blew gently away, as Titbottom spoke and there lay my Spanish + galleon, my Bucentoro, my Cleopatra’s galley, Columbus’s Santa + Maria, and the Pilgrims’ May Flower, an old bleaching wreck upon the + beach. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose any true love is in vain?” asked Titbottom + solemnly, as he stood bareheaded, and the soft sunset wind played with his + few hairs. “Could Cleopatra smile upon Antony, and the moon upon + Endymion, and the sea not love its lovers?” + </p> + <p> + The fresh air breathed upon our faces as he spoke. I might have sailed in + Hiero’s ship, or in Roman galleys, had I lived long centuries ago, + and been born a nobleman. But would it be so sweet a remembrance, that of + lying on a marble couch, under a golden-faced roof, and within doors of + citron-wood and ivory, and sailing in that state to greet queens who are + mummies now, as that of seeing those fair figures, standing under the + great gonfalon, themselves as lovely as Egyptian belles, and going to see + more than Egypt dreamed? + </p> + <p> + The yacht was mine, then, and not Bourne’s. I took Titbottom’s + arm, and we sauntered toward the ferry. What sumptuous sultan was I, with + this sad vizier? My languid odalisque, the sea, lay at my feet as we + advanced, and sparkled all over with a sunset smile. Had I trusted myself + to her arms, to be borne to the realms that I shall never see, or sailed + long voyages towards Cathay, I am not sure I should have brought a more + precious present to Prue, than the story of that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Ought I to have gone alone?” I asked her, as I ended. + </p> + <p> + “I ought not to have gone with you,” she replied, “for I + had work to do. But how strange that you should see such things at Staten + Island. I never did, Mr. Titbottom,” said she, turning to my deputy, + whom I had asked to tea. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” answered Titbottom, with a kind of wan and quaint + dignity, so that I could not help thinking he must have arrived in that + stray ship from the Spanish armada, “neither did Mr. Bourne.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TITBOTTOM’S SPECTACLES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In my mind’s eye, Horatio.” + <i>Hamlet</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Prue and I do not entertain much; our means forbid it. In truth, other + people entertain for us. We enjoy that hospitality of which no account is + made. We see the show, and hear the music, and smell the flowers, of great + festivities, tasting, as it were, the drippings from rich dishes. + </p> + <p> + Our own dinner service is remarkably plain, our dinners, even on state + occasions, are strictly in keeping, and almost our only guest is + Titbottom. I buy a handful of roses as I come up from the office, perhaps, + and Prue arranges them so prettily in a glass dish for the centre of the + table, that, even when I have hurried out to see Aurelia step into her + carriage to go out to dine, I have thought that the bouquet she carried + was not more beautiful because it was more costly. + </p> + <p> + I grant that it was more harmonious with her superb beauty and her rich + attire. And I have no doubt that if Aurelia knew the old man, whom she + must have seen so often watching her, and his wife, who ornaments her sex + with as much sweetness, although with less splendor, than Aurelia herself, + she would also acknowledge that the nosegay of roses was as fine and fit + upon their table, as her own sumptuous bouquet is for herself. I have so + much faith in the perception of that lovely lady. + </p> + <p> + It is my habit,—I hope I may say, my nature,—to believe the + best of people, rather than the worst. If I thought that all this + sparkling setting of beauty,—this fine fashion,—these blazing + jewels, and lustrous silks, and airy gauzes, embellished with + gold-threaded embroidery and wrought in a thousand exquisite elaborations, + so that I cannot see one of those lovely girls pass me by, without + thanking God for the vision,—if I thought that this was all, and + that, underneath her lace flounces and diamond bracelets, Aurelia was a + sullen, selfish woman, then I should turn sadly homeward, for I should see + that her jewels were flashing scorn upon the object they adorned, that her + laces were of a more exquisite loveliness than the woman whom they merely + touched with a superficial grace. It would be like a gaily decorated + mausoleum,—bright to see, but silent and dark within. + </p> + <p> + “Great excellences, my dear Prue,” I sometimes allow myself to + say, “lie concealed in the depths of character, like pearls at the + bottom of the sea. Under the laughing, glancing surface, how little they + are suspected! Perhaps love is nothing else than the sight of them by one + person. Hence every man’s mistress is apt to be an enigma to + everybody else. + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt that when Aurelia is engaged, people will say she + is a most admirable girl, certainly; but they cannot understand why any + man should be in love with her. As if it were at all necessary that they + should! And her lover, like a boy who finds a pearl in the public street, + and wonders as much that others did not see it as that he did, will + tremble until he knows his passion is returned; feeling, of course, that + the whole world must be in love with this paragon, who cannot possibly + smile upon anything so unworthy as he. + </p> + <p> + “I hope, therefore, my dear Mrs. Prue,” I continue, and my + wife looks up, with pleased pride, from her work, as if I were such an + irresistible humorist, “you will allow me to believe that the depth + may be calm, although the surface is dancing. If you tell me that Aurelia + is but a giddy girl, I shall believe that you think so. But I shall know, + all the while, what profound dignity, and sweetness, and peace, lie at the + foundation of her character.” + </p> + <p> + I say such things to Titbottom, during the dull season at the office. And + I have known him sometimes to reply, with a kind of dry, sad humor, not as + if he enjoyed the joke, but as if the joke must be made, that he saw no + reason why I should be dull because the season was so. + </p> + <p> + “And what do I know of Aurelia, or any other girl?” he says to + me with that abstracted air; “I, whose Aurelias were of another + century, and another zone.” + </p> + <p> + Then he falls into a silence which it seems quite profane to interrupt. + But as we sit upon our high stools, at the desk, opposite each other, I + leaning upon my elbows, and looking at him, he, with sidelong face, + glancing out of the window, as if it commanded a boundless landscape, + instead of a dim, dingy office court, I cannot refrain from saying: + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + He turns slowly, and I go chatting on,—a little too loquacious + perhaps, about those young girls. But I know that Titbottom regards such + an excess as venial, for his sadness is so sweet that you could believe it + the reflection of a smile from long, long years ago. + </p> + <p> + One day, after I had been talking for a long time, and we had put up our + books, and were preparing to leave, he stood for some time by the window, + gazing with a drooping intentness, as if he really saw something more than + the dark court, and said slowly: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you would have different impressions of things, if you saw + them through my spectacles.” + </p> + <p> + There was no change in his expression. He still looked from the window, + and I said: + </p> + <p> + “Titbottom, I did not know that you used glasses. I have never seen + you wearing spectacles.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t often wear them. I am not very fond of looking + through them. But sometimes an irresistible necessity compels me to put + them on, and I cannot help seeing.” + </p> + <p> + Titbottom sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Is it so grievous a fate to see?” inquired I. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; through my spectacles,” he said, turning slowly, and + looking at me with wan solemnity. + </p> + <p> + It grew dark as we stood in the office talking, and, taking our hats, we + went out together. The narrow street of business was deserted. The heavy + iron shutters were gloomily closed over the windows. From one or two + offices struggled the dim gleam of an early candle, by whose light some + perplexed accountant sat belated, and hunting for his error. A careless + clerk passed, whistling. But the great tide of life had ebbed. We heard + its roar far away, and the sound stole into that silent street like the + murmur of the ocean into an inland dell. + </p> + <p> + “You will come and dine with us, Titbottom?” + </p> + <p> + He assented by continuing to walk with me, and I think we were both glad + when we reached the house, and Prue came to meet us, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Do you know I hoped you would bring Mr. Titbottom to dine?” + </p> + <p> + Titbottom smiled gently, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “He might have brought his spectacles with him, and have been a + happier man for it.” + </p> + <p> + Prue looked a little puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” I said, “you must know that our friend, Mr. + Titbottom, is the happy possessor of a pair of wonderful spectacles. I + have never seen them, indeed; and, from what he says, I should be rather + afraid of being seen by them. Most short-sighted persons are very glad to + have the help of glasses; but Mr. Titbottom seems to find very little + pleasure in his.” + </p> + <p> + “It is because they make him too far-sighted, perhaps,” + interrupted Prue quietly, as she took the silver soup-ladle from the + sideboard. + </p> + <p> + We sipped our wine after dinner, and Prue took her work. Can a man be too + far-sighted? I did not ask the question aloud. The very tone in which Prue + had spoken, convinced me that he might. + </p> + <p> + “At least,” I said, “Mr. Titbottom will not refuse to + tell us the history of his mysterious spectacles. I have known plenty of + magic in eyes (and I glanced at the tender blue eyes of Prue), but I have + not heard of any enchanted glasses.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you must have seen the glass in which your wife looks every + morning, and, I take it, that glass must be daily enchanted,” said + Titbottom, with a bow of quaint respect to my wife. + </p> + <p> + I do not think I have seen such a blush upon Prue’s cheek since—well, + since a great many years ago. + </p> + <p> + “I will gladly tell you the history of my spectacles,” began + Titbottom. “It is very simple; and I am not at all sure that a great + many other people have not a pair of the same kind. I have never, indeed, + heard of them by the gross, like those of our young friend, Moses, the you + of the Vicar of Wakefield. In fact, I think a gross would be quite enough + to supply the world. It is a kind of article for which the demand does not + increase with use If we should all wear spectacles like mine, we should + never smile any more. Or—I am not quite sure—we should all be + very happy.” + </p> + <p> + “A very important difference,” said Prue, counting her + stitches. + </p> + <p> + “You know my grandfather Titbottom was a West Indian. A large + proprietor, and an easy man he basked in the tropical sun, leading his + quiet, luxurious life. He lived much alone, and was what people call + eccentric—by which I understand, that he was very much himself, and, + refusing the influence of other people, they had their revenges, and + called him names. It is a habit not exclusively tropical. I think I have + seen the same thing even in this city. + </p> + <p> + “But he was greatly beloved—my bland and bountiful + grandfather. He was so large-hearted and open-handed. He was so friendly, + and thoughtful, and genial, that even his jokes had the air of graceful + benedictions. He did not seem to grow old, and he was one of those who + never appear to have been very young. He flourished in a perennial + maturity, an immortal middle-age. + </p> + <p> + “My grandfather lived upon one of the small islands—St. Kitt’s, + perhaps—and his domain extended to the sea. His house, a rambling + West Indian mansion, was surrounded with deep, spacious piazzas, covered + with luxurious lounges, among which one capacious chair was his peculiar + seat. They tell me, he used sometimes to sit there for the whole day, his + great, soft, brown eyes fastened upon the sea, watching the specks of + sails that flashed upon the horizon, while the evanescent expressions + chased each other over his placid face as if it reflected the calm and + changing sea before him. + </p> + <p> + “His morning costume was an ample dressing-gown of + gorgeously-flowered silk, and his morning was very apt to last all day. He + rarely read; but he would pace the great piazza for hours, with his hands + buried in the pockets of his dressing-gown, and an air of sweet reverie, + which any book must be a very entertaining one to produce. + </p> + <p> + “Society, of course, he saw little. There was some slight + apprehension that, if he were bidden to social entertainments, he might + forget his coat, or arrive without some other essential part of his dress; + and there is a sly tradition in the Titbottom family, that once, having + been invited to a ball in honor of a new governor of the island, my grand + father Titbottom sauntered into the hall towards midnight, wrapped in the + gorgeous flowers of his dressing-gown, and with his hands buried in the + pockets, as usual. There was great excitement among the guests, and + immense deprecation of gubernatorial ire. Fortunately, it happened that + the governor and my grandfather were old friends, and there was no + offence. But, as they were conversing together, one of the distressed + managers cast indignant glances at the brilliant costume of my + grandfather, who summoned him, and asked courteously: + </p> + <p> + “‘Did you invite me, or my coat?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You, in a proper coat,’ replied the manager. + </p> + <p> + “The governor smiled approvingly, and looked at my grandfather. + </p> + <p> + “‘My friend,’ said he to the manager, ‘I beg your + pardon, I forgot.’ + </p> + <p> + “The next day, my grandfather was seen promenading in full ball + dress along the streets of the little town. + </p> + <p> + “‘They ought to know,’ said he, ‘that I have a + proper coat, and that not contempt, nor poverty, but forgetfulness, sent + me to a ball in my dressing-gown.’ + </p> + <p> + “He did not much frequent social festivals after this failure, but + he always told the story with satisfaction and a quiet smile. + </p> + <p> + “To a stranger, life upon those little islands is uniform even to + weariness. But the old native dons, like my grandfather, ripen in the + prolonged sunshine, like the turtle upon the Bahama banks, nor know of + existence more desirable. Life in the tropics, I take to be a placid + torpidity. + </p> + <p> + “During the long, warm mornings of nearly half a century, my + grandfather Titbottom had sat in his dressing-gown, and gazed at the sea. + But one calm June day, as he slowly paced the piazza after breakfast, his + dreamy glance was arrested by a little vessel, evidently nearing the + shore. He called for his spyglass, and, surveying the craft, saw that she + came from the neighboring island. She glided smoothly, slowly, over the + summer sea. The warm morning air was sweet with perfumes, and silent with + heat. The sea sparkled languidly, and the brilliant blue sky hung + cloudlessly over. Scores of little island vessels had my grandfather seen + coming over the horizon, and cast anchor in the port. Hundreds of summer + mornings had the white sails flashed and faded, like vague faces through + forgotten dreams. But this time he laid down the spyglass, and leaned + against a column of the piazza, and watched the vessel with an intentness + that he could not explain. She came nearer and nearer, a graceful spectre + in the dazzling morning. + </p> + <p> + “‘Decidedly, I must step down and see about that vessel,’ + said my grandfather Titbottom. + </p> + <p> + “He gathered his ample dressing-gown about him, and stepped from the + piazza, with no other protection from the sun than the little smoking-cap + upon his head. His face wore a calm, beaming smile, as if he loved the + whole world. He was not an old man; but there was almost a patriarchal + pathos in his expression, as he sauntered along in the sunshine towards + the shore. A group of idle gazers was collected, to watch the arrival. The + little vessel furled her sails, and drifted slowly landward, and, as she + was of very light draft, she came close to the shelving shore. A long + plank was put out from her side, and the debarkation commenced. + </p> + <p> + “My grandfather Titbottom stood looking on, to see the passengers as + they passed. There were but a few of them, and mostly traders from the + neighboring island. But suddenly the face of a young girl appeared over + the side of the vessel, and she stepped upon the plank to descend. My + grandfather Titbottom instantly advanced, and, moving briskly, reached the + top of the plank at the same moment, and with the old tassel of his cap + flashing in the sun, and one hand in the pocket of his dressing-gown, with + the other he handed the young lady carefully down the plank. That young + lady was afterwards my grandmother Titbottom. + </p> + <p> + “For, over the gleaming sea which he had watched so long, and which + seemed thus to reward his patient gaze, came his bride that sunny morning. + </p> + <p> + “‘Of course, we are happy,’ he used to say to her, after + they were married: ‘For you are the gift of the sun I have loved so + long and so well.’ And my grandfather Titbottom would lay his hand + so tenderly upon the golden hair of his young bride, that you could fancy + him a devout Parsee, caressing sunbeams. + </p> + <p> + “There were endless festivities upon occasion of the marriage; and + my grandfather did not go to one of them in his dressing-gown. The gentle + sweetness of his wife melted every heart into love and sympathy. He was + much older than she, without doubt. But age, as he used to say with a + smile of immortal youth, is a matter of feeling, not of years. + </p> + <p> + “And if, sometimes, as she sat by his side on the piazza, her fancy + looked through her eyes upon that summer sea, and saw a younger lover, + perhaps some one of those graceful and glowing heroes who occupy the + foreground of all young maidens’ visions by the sea, yet she could + not find one more generous and gracious, nor fancy one more worthy and + loving than my grandfather Titbottom. + </p> + <p> + “And if, in the moonlit midnight, while he lay calmly sleeping, she + leaned out of the window, and sank into vague reveries of sweet + possibility, and watched the gleaming path of the moonlight upon the + water, until the dawn glided over it—it was only that mood of + nameless regret and longing, which underlies all human happiness; or it + was the vision of that life of cities and the world, which she had never + seen, but of which she had often read, and which looked very fair and + alluring across the sea, to a girlish imagination, which knew that it + should never see that reality. + </p> + <p> + “These West Indian years were the great days of the family,” + said Titbottom, with an air of majestic and regal regret, pausing, and + musing, in our little parlor, like a late Stuart in exile, remembering + England. + </p> + <p> + Prue raised her eyes from her work, and looked at him with subdued + admiration; for I have observed that, like the rest of her sex, she has a + singular sympathy with the representative of a reduced family. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it is their finer perception, which leads these tender-hearted + women to recognize the divine right of social superiority so much more + readily than we; and yet, much as Titbottom was enhanced in my wife’s + admiration by the discovery that his dusky sadness of nature and + expression was, as it were, the expiring gleam and late twilight of + ancestral splendors, I doubt if Mr. Bourne would have preferred him for + book-keeper a moment sooner upon that account. In truth, I have observed, + down town, that the fact of your ancestors doing nothing, is not + considered good proof that you can do anything. + </p> + <p> + But Prue and her sex regard sentiment more than action, and I understand + easily enough why she is never tired of hearing me read of Prince Charlie. + If Titbottom had been only a little younger, a little handsomer, a little + more gallantly dressed—in fact, a little more of a Prince Charlie, I + am sure her eyes would not have fallen again upon her work so tranquilly, + as he resumed his story. + </p> + <p> + “I can remember my grandfather Titbottom, although I was a very + young child, and he was a very old man. My young mother and my young + grandmother are very distinct figures in my memory, ministering to the old + gentleman, wrapped in his dressing-gown, and seated upon the piazza. I + remember his white hair, and his calm smile, and how, not long before he + died, he called me to him, and laying his hand upon my head, said to me: + </p> + <p> + “‘My child, the world is not this great sunny piazza, nor life + the fairy stories which the women tell you here, as you sit in their laps. + I shall soon be gone, but I want to leave with you some memento of my love + for you, and I know of nothing more valuable than these spectacles, which + your grandmother brought from her native island, when she arrived here one + fine summer morning, long ago. I cannot tell whether, when you grow older, + you will regard them as a gift of the greatest value, or as something that + you had been happier never to have possessed.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But, grandpapa, I am not short-sighted.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘My son, are you not human?’ said the old gentleman; + and how shall I ever forget the thoughtful sadness with which, at the same + time, he handed me the spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “Instinctively I put them on, and looked at my grandfather. But I + saw no grandfather, no piazza, no flowered dressing-gown; I saw only a + luxuriant palm-tree, waving broadly over a tranquil landscape; pleasant + homes clustered around it; gardens teeming with fruit and flowers; flocks + quietly feeding; birds wheeling and chirping. I heard children’s + voices, and the low lullaby of happy mothers. The sound of cheerful + singing came wafted from distant fields upon the light breeze. Golden + harvests glistened out of sight, and I caught their rustling whispers of + prosperity. A warm, mellow atmosphere bathed the whole. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen copies of the landscapes of the Italian, painter + Claude, which seemed to me faint reminiscences of that calm and happy + vision. But all this peace and prosperity seemed to flow from the + spreading palm as from a fountain. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know how long I looked, but I had, apparently, no power, + as I had no will, to remove the spectacles. What a wonderful island must + Nevis be, thought I, if people carry such pictures in their pockets, only + by buying a pair of spectacles! What wonder that my dear grandmother + Titbottom has lived such a placid life, and has blessed us all with her + sunny temper, when she has lived surrounded by such images of peace! + </p> + <p> + “My grandfather died. But still, in the warm morning sunshine upon + the piazza, I felt his placid presence, and as I crawled into his great + chair, and drifted on in reverie through the still tropical day, it was as + if his soft dreamy eye had passed into my soul. My grandmother cherished + his memory with tender regret. A violent passion of grief for his loss was + no more possible than for the pensive decay of the year. + </p> + <p> + “We have no portrait of him, but I see always, when I remember him, + that peaceful and luxuriant palm. And I think that to have known one good + old man—one man who, through the chances and rubs of a long life, + has carried his heart in his hand, like a palm branch, waving all discords + into peace, helps our faith in God, in ourselves, and in each other, more + than many sermons. I hardly know whether to be grateful to my grandfather + for the spectacles; and yet when I remember that it is to them I owe the + pleasant image of him which I cherish I seem to myself sadly ungrateful. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said Titbottom to Prue, solemnly, “my memory is + a long and gloomy gallery, and only remotely, at its further end, do I see + the glimmer of soft sunshine, and only there are the pleasant pictures + hung. They seem to me very happy along whose gallery the sunlight streams + to their very feet, striking all the pictured walls into unfading + splendor.” + </p> + <p> + Prue had laid her work in her lap, and as Titbottom paused a moment, and I + turned towards her, I found her mild eyes fastened upon my face, and + glistening with many tears. I knew that the tears meant that she felt + herself to be one of those who seemed to Titbottom very happy. + </p> + <p> + “Misfortunes of many kinds came heavily upon the family after the + head was gone. The great house was relinquished. My parents were both + dead, and my grandmother had entire charge of me. But from the moment that + I received the gift of the spectacles, I could not resist their + fascination, and I withdrew into myself, and became a solitary boy. There + were not many companions for me of my own age, and they gradually left me, + or, at least, had not a hearty sympathy with me; for, if they teased me, I + pulled out my spectacles and surveyed them so seriously that they acquired + a kind of awe of me, and evidently regarded my grandfather’s gift as + a concealed magical weapon which might be dangerously drawn upon them at + any moment. Whenever, in our games, there were quarrels and high words, + and I began to feel about my dress and to wear a grave look, they all took + the alarm, and shouted, ‘Look out for Titbottom’s spectacles,’ + and scattered like a flock of scared sheep. + </p> + <p> + “Nor could I wonder at it. For, at first, before they took the + alarm, I saw strange sights when I looked at them through the glasses. + </p> + <p> + “If two were quarrelling about a marble, or a ball, I had only to go + behind a tree where I was concealed and look at them leisurely. Then the + scene changed, and it was no longer a green meadow with boys playing, but + a spot which I did not recognise, and forms that made me shudder, or + smile. It was not a big boy bullying a little one, but a young wolf with + glistening teeth and a lamb cowering before him; or, it was a dog faithful + and famishing—or a star going slowly into eclipse—or a rainbow + fading—or a flower blooming—or a sun rising—or a waning + moon. + </p> + <p> + “The revelations of the spectacles determined my feeling for the + boys, and for all whom I saw through them. No shyness, nor awkwardness, + nor silence, could separate me from those who looked lovely as lilies to + my illuminated eyes. But the vision made me afraid. If I felt myself + warmly drawn to any one, I struggled with the fierce desire of seeing him + through the spectacles, for I feared to find him something else than I + fancied. I longed to enjoy the luxury of ignorant feeling, to love without + knowing, to float like a leaf upon the eddies of life, drifted now to a + sunny point, now to a solemn shade—now over glittering ripples, now + over gleaming calms,—and not to determined ports, a trim vessel with + an inexorable rudder. + </p> + <p> + “But sometimes, mastered after long struggles, as if the unavoidable + condition of owning the spectacles were using them, I seized them and + sauntered into the little town. Putting them to my eyes I peered into the + houses and at the people who passed me. Here sat a family at breakfast, + and I stood at the window looking in. O motley meal! fantastic vision! The + good mother saw her lord sitting opposite, a grave, respectable being, + eating muffins. But I saw only a bank-bill, more or less crumbled and + tattered, marked with a larger or lesser figure. If a sharp wind blew + suddenly, I saw it tremble and flutter; it was thin, flat, impalpable. I + removed my glasses, and looked with my eyes at the wife. I could have + smiled to see the humid tenderness with which she regarded her strange <i>vis-à-vis</i>. + Is life only a game of blindman’s-buff? of droll cross-purposes? + </p> + <p> + “Or I put them on again, and then looked at the wives. How many + stout trees I saw,—how many tender flowers,—how many placid + pools; yes, and how many little streams winding out of sight, shrinking + before the large, hard, round eyes opposite, and slipping off into + solitude and shade, with a low, inner song for their own solace. + </p> + <p> + “In many houses I thought to see angels, nymphs, or, at least, + women, and could only find broomsticks, mops, or kettles, hurrying about, + rattling and tinkling, in a state of shrill activity. I made calls upon + elegant ladies, and after I had enjoyed the gloss of silk, and the + delicacy of lace, and the glitter of jewels, I slipped on my spectacles, + and saw a peacock’s feather, flounced, and furbelowed, and + fluttering; or an iron rod, thin, sharp, and hard; nor could I possibly + mistake the movement of the drapery for any flexibility of the thing + draped. + </p> + <p> + “Or, mysteriously chilled, I saw a statue of perfect form, or + flowing movement, it might be alabaster, or bronze, or marble,—but + sadly often it was ice; and I knew that after it had shone a little, and + frozen a few eyes with its despairing perfection, it could not be put away + in the niches of palaces for ornament and proud family tradition, like the + alabaster, or bronze, or marble statues, but would melt, and shrink, and + fall coldly away in colorless and useless water, be absorbed in the earth + and utterly forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “But the true sadness was rather in seeing those who, not having the + spectacles, thought that the iron rod was flexible, and the ice statue + warm. I saw many a gallant heart, which seemed to me brave and loyal as + the crusaders, pursuing, through days and nights, and a long life of + devotion, the hope of lighting at least a smile in the cold eyes, if not a + fire in the icy heart. I watched the earnest, enthusiastic sacrifice. I + saw the pure resolve, the generous faith, the fine scorn of doubt, the + impatience of suspicion. I watched the grace, the ardor, the glory of + devotion. Through those strange spectacles how often I saw the noblest + heart renouncing all other hope, all other ambition, all other life, than + the possible love of some one of those statues. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! me, it was terrible, but they had not the love to give. The + face was so polished and smooth, because there was no sorrow in the heart,—and + drearily, often, no heart to be touched. I could not wonder that the noble + heart of devotion was broken, for it had dashed itself against a stone. I + wept, until my spectacles were dimmed, for those hopeless lovers; but + there was a pang beyond tears for those icy statues. + </p> + <p> + “Still a boy, I was thus too much a man in knowledge,—I did + not comprehend the sights I was compelled to see. I used to tear my + glasses away from my eyes, and, frightened at myself, run to escape my own + consciousness. Reaching the small house where we then lived, I plunged + into my grandmother’s room, and, throwing myself upon the floor, + buried my face in her lap; and sobbed myself to sleep with premature + grief. + </p> + <p> + “But when I awakened, and felt her cool hand upon my hot forehead, + and heard the low sweet song, or the gentle story, or the tenderly told + parable from the Bible, with which she tried to soothe me, I could not + resist the mystic fascination that lured me, as I lay in her lap, to steal + a glance at her through the spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “Pictures of the Madonna have not her rare and pensive beauty. Upon + the tranquil little islands her life had been eventless, and all the fine + possibilities of her nature were like flowers that never bloomed. Placid + were all her years; yet I have read of no heroine, of no woman great in + sudden crises, that it did not seem to me she might have been. The wife + and widow of a man who loved his home better than the homes of others, I + have yet heard of no queen, no belle, no imperial beauty whom in grace, + and brilliancy, and persuasive courtesy, she might not have surpassed. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said Titbottom to my wife, whose heart hung upon his + story; “your husband’s young friend, Aurelia, wears sometimes + a camelia in her hair, and no diamond in the ball-room seems so costly as + that perfect flower, which women envy, and for whose least and withered + petal men sigh; yet, in the tropical solitudes of Brazil, how many a + camelia bud drops from the bush that no eye has ever seen, which, had it + flowered and been noticed, would have gilded all hearts with its memory. + </p> + <p> + “When I stole these furtive glances at my grandmother, half fearing + that they were wrong, I saw only a calm lake, whose shores were low, and + over which the sun hung unbroken, so that the least star was clearly + reflected. It had an atmosphere of solemn twilight tranquillity, and so + completely did its unruffled surface blend with the cloudless, + star-studded sky, that, when I looked through my spectacles at my + grandmother, the vision seemed to me all heaven and stars. + </p> + <p> + “Yet, as I gazed and gazed, I felt what stately cities might well + have been built upon those shores, and have flashed prosperity over the + calm, like coruscations of pearls. I dreamed of gorgeous fleets, + silken-sailed, and blown by perfumed winds, drifting over those depthless + waters and through those spacious skies. I gazed upon the twilight, the + inscrutable silence, like a God-fearing discoverer upon a new and vast sea + bursting upon him through forest glooms, and in the fervor of whose + impassioned gaze, a millenial and poetic world arises, and man need no + longer die to be happy. + </p> + <p> + “My companions naturally deserted me, for I had grown wearily grave + and abstracted: and, unable to resist the allurements of my spectacles, I + was constantly lost in the world, of which those companions were part, yet + of which they knew nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I grew cold and hard, almost morose; people seemed to me so blind + and unreasonable. They did the wrong thing. They called green, yellow; and + black, white. Young men said of a girl, ‘What a lovely, simple + creature!’ I looked, and there was only a glistening wisp of straw, + dry and hollow. Or they said, ‘What a cold, proud beauty!’ I + looked, and lo! a Madonna, whose heart held the world. Or they said, + ‘What a wild, giddy girl!’ and I saw a glancing, dancing + mountain stream, pure as the virgin snows whence it flowed, singing + through sun and shade, over pearls and gold dust, slipping along unstained + by weed or rain, or heavy foot of cattle, touching the flowers with a dewy + kiss,—a beam of grace, a happy song, a line of light, in the dim and + troubled landscape. + </p> + <p> + “My grandmother sent me to school, but I looked at the master, and + saw that he was a smooth round ferule, or an improper noun, or a vulgar + fraction, and refused to obey him. Or he was a piece of string, a rag, a + willow-wand, and I had a contemptuous pity. But one was a well of cool, + deep water, and looking suddenly in, one day, I saw the stars. + </p> + <p> + “That one gave me all my schooling. With him I used to walk by the + sea, and, as we strolled and the waves plunged in long legions before us, + I looked at him through the spectacles, and as his eyes dilated with the + boundless view, and his chest heaved with an impossible desire, I saw + Xerxes and his army, tossed and glittering, rank upon rank, multitude upon + multitude, out of sight, but ever regularly advancing, and with confused + roar of ceaseless music, prostrating themselves in abject homage. Or, as + with arms outstretched and hair streaming on the wind, he chanted full + lines of the resounding Iliad, I saw Homer pacing the Aegean sands of the + Greek sunsets of forgotten times. + </p> + <p> + “My grandmother died, and I was thrown into the world without + resources, and with no capital but my spectacles. I tried to find + employment, but everybody was shy of me. There was a vague suspicion that + I was either a little crazed, or a good deal in league with the prince of + darkness. My companions, who would persist in calling a piece of painted + muslin, a fair and fragrant flower, had no difficulty; success waited for + them around every corner, and arrived in every ship. + </p> + <p> + “I tried to teach, for I loved children. But if anything excited a + suspicion of my pupils, and putting on my spectacles, I saw that I was + fondling a snake, or smelling at a bud with a worm in it, I sprang up in + horror and ran away; or, if it seemed to me through the glasses, that a + cherub smiled upon me, or a rose was blooming in my button-hole, then I + felt myself imperfect and impure, not fit to be leading and training what + was so essentially superior to myself, and I kissed the children and left + them weeping and wondering. + </p> + <p> + “In despair I went to a great merchant on the island, and asked him + to employ me. + </p> + <p> + “‘My dear young friend,’ said he, ‘I understand + that you have some singular secret, some charm, or spell, or amulet, or + something, I don’t know what, of which people are afraid. Now you + know, my dear,’ said the merchant, swelling up, and apparently + prouder of his great stomach than of his large fortune, ‘I am not of + that kind. I am not easily frightened. You may spare yourself the pain of + trying to impose upon me. People who propose to come to time before I + arrive, are accustomed to arise very early in the morning,’ said he, + thrusting his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and spreading the + fingers like two fans, upon his bosom. ‘I think I have heard + something of your secret. You have a pair of spectacles, I believe, that + you value very much, because your grandmother brought them as a marriage + portion to your grandfather. Now, if you think fit to sell me those + spectacles, I will pay you the largest market price for them. What do you + say?’ + </p> + <p> + “I told him I had not the slightest idea of selling my spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “‘My young friend means to eat them, I suppose,’ said + he, with a contemptuous smile. + </p> + <p> + “I made no reply, but was turning to leave the office, when the + merchant called after me— + </p> + <p> + “‘My young friend, poor people should never suffer themselves + to get into pets. Anger is an expensive luxury, in which only men of a + certain income can indulge. A pair of spectacles and a hot temper are not + the most promising capital for success in life, Master Titbottom.’ + </p> + <p> + “I said nothing, but put my hand upon the door to go out, when the + merchant said, more respectfully— + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, you foolish boy, if you will not sell your spectacles, + perhaps you will agree to sell the use of them to me. That is, you shall + only put them on when I direct you, and for my purposes. Hallo! you little + fool!’ cried he, impatiently, as he saw that I intended to make no + reply. + </p> + <p> + “But I had pulled out my spectacles and put them on for my own + purposes, and against his wish and desire. I looked at him, and saw a + huge, bald-headed wild boar, with gross chaps and a leering eye—only + the more ridiculous for the high-arched, gold-bowed spectacles, that + straddled his nose One of his fore-hoofs was thrust into the safe, where + his bills receivable were hived, and the other into his pocket, among the + loose change and bills there. His ears were pricked forward with a brisk, + sensitive smartness. In a world where prize pork was the best excellence, + he would have carried off all the premiums. + </p> + <p> + “I stepped into the next office in the street, and a mild-faced; + genial man, also a large and opulent merchant, asked me my business in + such a tone, that I instantly looked through my spectacles, and saw a land + flowing with milk and honey. There I pitched my tent, and staid till the + good man died, and his business was discontinued. + </p> + <p> + “But while there,” said Titbottom, and his voice trembled away + into a sigh, “I first saw Preciosa. Despite the spectacles, I saw + Preciosa. For days, for weeks, for months, I did not take my spectacles + with me. I ran away from them, I threw them up on high shelves, I tried to + make up my mind to throw them into the sea, or down the well. I could not, + I would not, I dared not, look at Preciosa through the spectacles. It was + not possible for me deliberately to destroy them; but I awoke in the + night, and could almost have cursed my dear old grandfather for his gift. + </p> + <p> + “I sometimes escaped from the office, and sat for whole days with + Preciosa. I told her the strange things I had seen with my mystic glasses. + The hours were not enough for the wild romances which I raved in her ear. + She listened, astonished and appalled. Her blue eyes turned upon me with + sweet deprecation. She clung to me, and then withdrew, and fled fearfully + from the room. + </p> + <p> + “But she could not stay away. She could not resist my voice, in + whose tones burnt all the love that filled my heart and brain. The very + effort to resist the desire of seeing her as I saw everybody else, gave a + frenzy and an unnatural tension to my feeling and my manner. I sat by her + side, looking into her eyes, smoothing her hair, folding her to my heart, + which was sunken deep and deep—why not for ever?—in that dream + of peace. I ran from her presence, and shouted, and leaped with joy, and + sat the whole night through, thrilled into happiness by the thought of her + love and loveliness, like a wind harp, tightly strung, and answering the + airiest sigh of the breeze with music. + </p> + <p> + “Then came calmer days—the conviction of deep love settled + upon our lives—as after the hurrying, heaving days of spring, comes + the bland and benignant summer. + </p> + <p> + “‘It is no dream, then, after all, and we are happy,’ I + said to her, one day; and there came no answer, for happiness is + speechless. + </p> + <p> + “‘We are happy, then,’ I said to myself, ‘there is + no excitement now. How glad I am that I can now look at her through my + spectacles.’ + </p> + <p> + “I feared least some instinct should warn me to beware. I escaped + from her arms, and ran home and seized the glasses, and bounded back again + to Preciosa. As I entered the room I was heated, my head was swimming with + confused apprehensions, my eyes must have glared. Preciosa was frightened, + and rising from her seat, stood with an inquiring glance of surprise in + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But I was bent with frenzy upon my purpose. I was merely aware that + she was in the room. I saw nothing else. I heard nothing. I cared for + nothing, but to see her through that magic glass, and feel at once all the + fulness of blissful perfection which that would reveal. Preciosa stood + before the mirror, but alarmed at my wild and eager movements, unable to + distinguish what I had in my hands, and seeing me raise them suddenly to + my face, she shrieked with terror, and fell fainting upon the floor, at + the very moment that I placed the glasses before my eyes, and beheld—<i>myself</i>, + reflected in the mirror, before which she had been standing. + </p> + <p> + “Dear madam,” cried Titbottom, to my wife, springing up and + falling back again in his chair, pale and trembling, while Prue ran to him + and took his hand, and I poured out a glass of water—“I saw + myself.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for many minutes. Prue laid her hand gently upon the + head of our guest, whose eyes were closed, and who breathed softly like an + infant in sleeping. Perhaps, in all the long years of anguish since that + hour, no tender hand had touched his brow, nor wiped away the damps of a + bitter sorrow. Perhaps the tender, maternal fingers of my wife soothed his + weary head with the conviction that he felt the hand of his mother playing + with the long hair of her boy in the soft West India morning. Perhaps it + was only the natural relief of expressing a pent-up sorrow. + </p> + <p> + When he spoke again, it was with the old subdued tone, and the air of + quaint solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “These things were matters of long, long ago, and I came to this + country soon after. I brought with me, premature age, a past of melancholy + memories, and the magic spectacles. I had become their slave. I had + nothing more to fear. Having seen myself, I was compelled to see others, + properly to understand my relations to them. The lights that cheer the + future of other men had gone out for me; my eyes were those of an exile + turned backwards upon the receding shore, and not forwards with hope upon + the ocean. + </p> + <p> + “I mingled with men, but with little pleasure. There are but many + varieties of a few types. I did not find those I came to clearer-sighted + than those I had left behind. I heard men called shrewd and wise, and + report said they were highly intelligent and successful. My finest sense + detected no aroma of purity and principle; but I saw only a fungus that + had fattened and spread in a night. They went to the theatres to see + actors upon the stage. I went to see actors in the boxes, so consummately + cunning, that others did not know they were acting, and they did not + suspect it themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you wonder it did not make me misanthropical. My dear + friends, do not forget that I had seen myself. That made me compassionate + not cynical. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I could not value highly the ordinary standards of + success and excellence. When I went to church and saw a thin, blue, + artificial flower, or a great sleepy cushion expounding the beauty of + holiness to pews full of eagles, half-eagles, and three-pences, however + adroitly concealed they might be in broadcloth and boots: or saw an onion + in an Easter bonnet weeping over the sins of Magdalen, I did not feel as + they felt who saw in all this, not only propriety but piety. + </p> + <p> + “Or when at public meetings an eel stood up on end, and wriggled and + squirmed lithely in every direction, and declared that, for his part, he + went in for rainbows and hot water—how could I help seeing that he + was still black and loved a slimy pool? + </p> + <p> + “I could not grow misanthropical when I saw in the eyes of so many + who were called old, the gushing fountains of eternal youth, and the light + of an immortal dawn, or when I saw those who were esteemed unsuccessful + and aimless, ruling a fair realm of peace and plenty, either in their own + hearts, or in another’s—a realm and princely possession for + which they had well renounced a hopeless search and a belated triumph. + </p> + <p> + “I knew one man who had been for years a byword for having sought + the philosopher’s stone. But I looked at him through the spectacles + and saw a satisfaction in concentrated energies, and a tenacity arising + from devotion to a noble dream which was not apparent in the youths who + pitied him in the aimless effeminacy of clubs, nor in the clever gentlemen + who cracked their thin jokes upon him over a gossiping dinner. + </p> + <p> + “And there was your neighbor over the way, who passes for a woman + who has failed in her career, because she is an old maid. People wag + solemn heads of pity, and say that she made so great a mistake in not + marrying the brilliant and famous man who was for long years her suitor. + It is clear that no orange flower will ever bloom for her. The young + people make their tender romances about her as they watch her, and think + of her solitary hours of bitter regret and wasting longing, never to be + satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “When I first came to town I shared this sympathy, and pleased my + imagination with fancying her hard struggle with the conviction that she + had lost all that made life beautiful. I supposed that if I had looked at + her through my spectacles, I should see that it was only her radiant + temper which so illuminated her dress, that we did not see it to be heavy + sables. + </p> + <p> + “But when, one day, I did raise my glasses, and glanced at her, I + did not see the old maid whom we all pitied for a secret sorrow, but a + woman whose nature was a tropic, in which the sun shone, and birds sang, + and flowers bloomed for ever. There were no regrets, no doubts and half + wishes, but a calm sweetness, a transparent peace. I saw her blush when + that old lover passed by, or paused to speak to her, but it was only the + sign of delicate feminine consciousness. She knew his love, and honored + it, although she could not understand it nor return it. I looked closely + at her, and I saw that although all the world had exclaimed at her + indifference to such homage, and had declared it was astonishing she + should lose so fine a match, she would only say simply and quietly— + </p> + <p> + “‘If Shakespeare loved me and I did not love him, how could I + marry him?’ + </p> + <p> + “Could I be misanthropical when I saw such fidelity, and dignity, + and simplicity? + </p> + <p> + “You may believe that I was especially curious to look at that old + lover of hers, through my glasses. He was no longer young, you know, when + I came, and his fame and fortune were secure. Certainly I have heard of + few men more beloved, and of none more worthy to be loved. He had the easy + manner of a man of the world, the sensitive grace of a poet, and the + charitable judgment of a wide-traveller. He was accounted the most + successful and most unspoiled of men. Handsome, brilliant, wise, tender, + graceful, accomplished, rich, and famous, I looked at him, without the + spectacles, in surprise, and admiration, and wondered how your neighbor + over the way had been so entirely untouched by his homage. I watched their + intercourse in society, I saw her gay smile, her cordial greeting; I + marked his frank address, his lofty courtesy. Their manner told no tales. + The eager world was baulked, and I pulled out my spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “I had seen her already, and now I saw him. He lived only in memory, + and his memory was a spacious and stately palace. But he did not oftenest + frequent the banqueting hall, where were endless hospitality and feasting,—nor + did he loiter much in the reception rooms, where a throng of new visitors + was for ever swarming,—nor did he feed his vanity by haunting the + apartment in which were stored the trophies of his varied triumphs,—nor + dream much in the great gallery hung with pictures of his travels. + </p> + <p> + “From all these lofty halls of memory he constantly escaped to a + remote and solitary chamber, into which no one had ever penetrated. But my + fatal eyes, behind the glasses, followed and entered with him, and saw + that the chamber was a chapel. It was dim, and silent, and sweet with + perpetual incense that burned upon an altar before a picture forever + veiled. There, whenever I chanced to look, I saw him kneel and pray; and + there, by day and by night, a funeral hymn was chanted. + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe you will be surprised that I have been content to + remain a deputy book-keeper. My spectacles regulated my ambition, and I + early learned that there were better gods than Plutus. The glasses have + lost much of their fascination now, and I do not often use them. But + sometimes the desire is irresistible. Whenever I am greatly interested, I + am compelled to take them out and see what it is that I admire. + </p> + <p> + “And yet—and yet,” said Titbottom, after a pause, + “I am not sure that I thank my grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + Prue had long since laid away her work, and had heard every word of the + story. I saw that the dear woman had yet one question to ask, and had been + earnestly hoping to hear something that would spare her the necessity of + asking. But Titbottom had resumed his usual tone, after the momentary + excitement, and made no further allusion to himself. We all sat silently; + Titbottom’s eyes fastened musingly upon the carpet, Prue looking + wistfully at him, and I regarding both. + </p> + <p> + It was past midnight, and our guest arose to go. He shook hands quietly, + made his grave Spanish bow to Prue, and, taking his hat, went towards the + front door. Prue and I accompanied him. I saw in her eyes that she would + ask her question, And as Titbottom opened the door, I heard the low words: + </p> + <p> + “And Preciosa?” + </p> + <p> + Titbottom paused. He had just opened the door, and the moonlight streamed + over him as he stood, turning back to us. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen her but once since. It was in church, and she was + kneeling, with her eyes closed, so that she did not see me. But I rubbed + the glasses well, and looked at her, and saw a white lily, whose stem was + broken, but which was fresh, and luminous, and fragrant still.” + </p> + <p> + “That was a miracle,” interrupted Prue. + </p> + <p> + “Madam, it was a miracle,” replied Titbottom, “and for + that one sight I am devoutly grateful for my grandfather’s gift. I + saw, that although a flower may have lost its hold upon earthly moisture, + it may still bloom as sweetly, fed by the dews of heaven.” + </p> + <p> + The door closed, and he was gone. But as Prue put her arm in mine, and we + went up stairs together, she whispered in my ear: + </p> + <p> + “How glad I am that you don’t wear spectacles.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CRUISE IN THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “When I sailed: when I sailed.” + <i>Ballad of Robert Kidd.</i> +</pre> + <p> + With the opening of spring my heart opens. My fancy expands with the + flowers, and, as I walk down town in the May morning, toward the dingy + counting-room, and the old routine, you would hardly believe that I would + not change my feelings for those of the French Barber-Poet Jasmin, who + goes, merrily singing, to his shaving and hair cutting. + </p> + <p> + The first warm day puts the whole winter to flight. It stands in front of + the summer like a young warrior before his host, and, single-handed, + defies and destroys its remorseless enemy. + </p> + <p> + I throw up the chamber-window, to breathe the earliest breath of summer. + </p> + <p> + “The brave young David has hit old Goliath square in the forehead + this morning,” I say to Prue, as I lean out, and bathe in the soft + sunshine. + </p> + <p> + My wife is tying on her cap at the glass, and, not quite disentangled from + her dreams, thinks I am speaking of a street-brawl, and replies that I had + better take care of my own head. + </p> + <p> + “Since you have charge of my heart, I suppose,” I answer + gaily, turning round to make her one of Titbottom’s bows. + </p> + <p> + “But seriously, Prue, how is it about my summer wardrobe?” + </p> + <p> + Prue smiles, and tells me we shall have two months of winter yet, and I + had better stop and order some more coal as I go down town. + </p> + <p> + “Winter—coal!” + </p> + <p> + Then I step back, and taking her by the arm, lead her to the window. I + throw it open even wider than before. The sunlight streams on the great + church-towers opposite, and the trees in the neighboring square glisten, + and wave their boughs gently, as if they would burst into leaf before + dinner. Cages are hung at the open chamber-windows in the street, and the + birds, touched into song by the sun, make Memnon true. Prue’s purple + and white hyacinths are in full blossom, and perfume the warm air, so that + the canaries and the mocking birds are no longer aliens in the city + streets, but are once more swinging in their spicy native groves. + </p> + <p> + A soft wind blows upon us as we stand, listening and looking. Cuba and the + Tropics are in the air. The drowsy tune of a hand-organ rises from the + square, and Italy comes singing in upon the sound. My triumphant eyes meet + Prue’s. They are full of sweetness and spring. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of the summer-wardrobe now?” I ask, and we + go down to breakfast. + </p> + <p> + But the air has magic in it, and I do not cease to dream. If I meet + Charles, who is bound for Alabama, or John, who sails for Savannah, with a + trunk full of white jackets, I do not say to them, as their other friends + say,— + </p> + <p> + “Happy travellers, who cut March and April out of the dismal year!” + </p> + <p> + I do not envy them. They will be sea-sick on the way. The southern winds + will blow all the water out of the rivers, and, desolately stranded upon + mud, they will relieve the tedium of the interval by tying with large + ropes a young gentleman raving with delirium tremens. They will hurry + along, appalled by forests blazing in the windy night; and, housed in a + bad inn, they will find themselves anxiously asking, “Are the cars + punctual in leaving?”—grimly sure that impatient travellers + find all conveyances too slow. The travellers are very warm, indeed, even + in March and April,—but Prue doubts if it is altogether the effect + of the southern climate. + </p> + <p> + Why should they go to the South? If they only wait a little, the South + will come to them. Savannah arrives in April; Florida in May; Cuba and the + Gulf come in with June, and the full splendor of the Tropics burns through + July and August. Sitting upon the earth, do we not glide by all the + constellations, all the awful stars? Does not the flash of Orion’s + scimeter dazzle as we pass? Do we not hear, as we gaze in hushed + midnights, the music of the Lyre; are we not throned with Cassiopea; do we + not play with the tangles of Berenice’s hair, as we sail, as we + sail? + </p> + <p> + When Christopher told me that he was going to Italy, I went into Bourne’s + conservatory, saw a magnolia, and so reached Italy before him. Can + Christopher bring Italy home? But I brought to Prue a branch of magnolia + blossoms, with Mr. Bourne’s kindest regards, and she put them upon + her table, and our little house smelled of Italy for a week afterward. The + incident developed Prue’s Italian tastes, which I had not suspected + to be so strong. I found her looking very often at the magnolias; even + holding them in her hand, and standing before the table with a pensive + air. I suppose she was thinking of Beatrice Cenci, or of Tasso and + Leonora, or of the wife of Marino Faliero, or of some other of those sad + old Italian tales of love and woe So easily Prue went to Italy! + </p> + <p> + Thus the spring comes in my heart as well as in the air, and leaps along + my veins as well as through the trees. I immediately travel. An orange + takes me to Sorrento, and roses, when they blow, to Pæstum. The camelias + in Aurelia’s hair bring Brazil into the happy rooms she treads, and + she takes me to South America as she goes to dinner. The pearls upon her + neck make me free of the Persian gulf. Upon her shawl, like the Arabian + prince upon his carpet, I am transported to the vales of Cashmere; and + thus, as I daily walk in the bright spring days, I go round the world. + </p> + <p> + But the season wakes a finer longing, a desire that could only be + satisfied if the pavilions of the clouds were real, and I could stroll + among the towering splendors of a sultry spring evening. Ah! if I could + leap those flaming battlements that glow along the west—if I could + tread those cool, dewy, serene isles of sunset, and sink with them in the + sea of stars. + </p> + <p> + I say so to Prue, and my wife smiles. + </p> + <p> + “But why is it so impossible,” I ask, “if you go to + Italy upon a magnolia branch?” + </p> + <p> + The smile fades from her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I went a shorter voyage than that,” she answered; “it + was only to Mr. Bourne’s.” + </p> + <p> + I walked slowly out of the house, and overtook Titbottom as I went. He + smiled gravely as he greeted me, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I have been asked to invite you to join a little pleasure party.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is it going?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! anywhere,” answered Titbottom. + </p> + <p> + “And how?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! anyhow,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that everybody is to go wherever he pleases, and in the + way he best can. My dear Titbottom, I have long belonged to that pleasure + party, although I never heard it called by so pleasant a name before.” + </p> + <p> + My companion said only: + </p> + <p> + “If you would like to join, I will introduce you to the party. I + cannot go, but they are all on board.” + </p> + <p> + I answered nothing; but Titbottom drew me along. We took a boat, and put + off to the most extraordinary craft I had ever seen. We approached her + stern, and, as I curiously looked at it, I could think of nothing but an + old picture that hung in my father’s house. It was of the Flemish + school, and represented the rear view of the <i>vrouw</i> of a burgomaster + going to market. The wide yards were stretched like elbows, and even the + studding-sails were spread. The hull was seared and blistered, and, in the + tops, I saw what I supposed to be strings of turnips or cabbages, little + round masses, with tufted crests; but Titbottom assured me they were + sailors. + </p> + <p> + We rowed hard, but came no nearer the vessel. + </p> + <p> + “She is going with the tide and wind,” said I; “we shall + never catch her.” + </p> + <p> + My companion said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “But why have they set the studding-sails?” asked I. + </p> + <p> + “She never takes in any sails,” answered Titbottom. + </p> + <p> + “The more fool she,” thought I, a little impatiently, angry at + not getting nearer to the vessel. But I did not say it aloud. I would as + soon have said it to Prue as to Titbottom. The truth is, I began to feel a + little ill, from the motion of the boat, and remembered, with a shade of + regret, Prue and peppermint. If wives could only keep their husbands a + little nauseated, I am confident they might be very sure of their + constancy. + </p> + <p> + But, somehow, the strange ship was gained, and I found myself among as + singular a company as I have ever seen. There were men of every country, + and costumes of all kinds. There was an indescribable mistiness in the + air, or a premature twilight, in which all the figures looked ghostly and + unreal. The ship was of a model such as I had never seen, and the rigging + had a musty odor, so that the whole craft smelled like a ship-chandler’s + shop grown mouldy. The figures glided rather than walked about, and I + perceived a strong smell of cabbage issuing from the hold. + </p> + <p> + But the most extraordinary thing of all was the sense of resistless motion + which possessed my mind the moment my foot struck the deck. I could have + sworn we were dashing through, the water at the rate of twenty knots an + hour. (Prue has a great, but a little ignorant, admiration of my technical + knowledge of nautical affairs and phrases.) I looked aloft and saw the + sails taut with a stiff breeze, and I heard a faint whistling of the wind + in the rigging, but very faint, and rather, it seemed to me, as if it came + from the creak of cordage in the ships of Crusaders; or of quaint old + craft upon the Spanish main, echoing through remote years—so far + away it sounded. + </p> + <p> + Yet I heard no orders given; I saw no sailors running aloft, and only one + figure crouching over the wheel: He was lost behind his great beard as + behind a snow-drift. But the startling speed with which we scudded along + did not lift a solitary hair of that beard, nor did the old and withered + face of the pilot betray any curiosity or interest as to what breakers, or + reefs, or pitiless shores, might be lying in ambush to destroy us. + </p> + <p> + Still on we swept; and as the traveller in a night-train knows that he is + passing green fields, and pleasant gardens, and winding streams fringed + with flowers, and is now gliding through tunnels or darting along the base + of fearful cliffs, so I was conscious that we were pressing through + various climates and by romantic shores. In vain I peered into the gray + twilight mist that folded all. I could only see the vague figures that + grew and faded upon the haze, as my eye fell upon them, like the + intermittent characters of sympathetic ink when heat touches them. + </p> + <p> + Now, it was a belt of warm, odorous air in which we sailed, and then cold + as the breath of a polar ocean. The perfume of new-mown hay and the breath + of roses, came mingled with the distant music of bells, and the twittering + song of birds, and a low surf-like sound of the wind in summer woods. + There were all sounds of pastoral beauty, of a tranquil landscape such as + Prue loves—and which shall be painted as the background of her + portrait whenever she sits to any of my many artist friends—and that + pastoral beauty shall be called England; I strained my eyes into the cruel + mist that held all that music and all that suggested beauty, but I could + see nothing. It was so sweet that I scarcely knew if I cared to see. The + very thought of it charmed my senses and satisfied my heart. I smelled and + heard the landscape that I could not see. + </p> + <p> + Then the pungent, penetrating fragrance of blossoming vineyards was wafted + across the air; the flowery richness of orange groves, and the sacred odor + of crushed bay leaves, such as is pressed from them when they are strewn + upon the flat pavement of the streets of Florence, and gorgeous priestly + processions tread them under foot. A steam of incense filled the air. I + smelled Italy—as in the magnolia from Bourne’s garden—and, + even while my heart leaped with the consciousness, the odor passed, and a + stretch of burning silence succeeded. + </p> + <p> + It was an oppressive zone of heat—oppressive not only from its + silence, but from the sense of awful, antique forms, whether of art or + nature, that were sitting, closely veiled, in that mysterious obscurity. I + shuddered as I felt that if my eyes could pierce that mist, or if it + should lift and roll away, I should see upon a silent shore low ranges of + lonely hills, or mystic figures and huge temples trampled out of history + by time. + </p> + <p> + This, too, we left. There was a rustling of distant palms, the indistinct + roar of beasts, and the hiss of serpents. Then all was still again. Only + at times the remote sigh of the weary sea, moaning around desolate isles + undiscovered; and the howl of winds that had never wafted human voices, + but had rung endless changes upon the sound of dashing waters, made the + voyage more appalling and the figures around me more fearful. + </p> + <p> + As the ship plunged on through all the varying zones, as climate and + country drifted behind us, unseen in the gray mist, but each, in turn, + making that quaint craft England or Italy, Africa and the Southern seas, I + ventured to steal a glance at the motley crew, to see what impression this + wild career produced upon them. + </p> + <p> + They sat about the deck in a hundred listless postures. Some leaned idly + over the bulwarks, and looked wistfully away from the ship, as if they + fancied they saw all that I inferred but could not see. As the perfume, + and sound, and climate changed, I could see many a longing eye sadden and + grow moist, and as the chime of bells echoed distinctly like the airy + syllables of names, and, as it were, made pictures in music upon the minds + of those quaint mariners—then dry lips moved, perhaps to name a + name, perhaps to breathe a prayer. Others sat upon the deck, vacantly + smoking pipes that required no refilling, but had an immortality of weed + and fire. The more they smoked the more mysterious they became. The smoke + made the mist around them more impenetrable, and I could clearly see that + those distant sounds gradually grew more distant, and, by some of the most + desperate and constant smokers, were heard no more. The faces of such had + an apathy, which, had it been human, would have been despair. + </p> + <p> + Others stood staring up into the rigging, as if calculating when the sails + must needs be rent and the voyage end. But there was no hope in their + eyes, only a bitter longing. Some paced restlessly up and down the deck. + They had evidently been walking a long, long time. At intervals they, too + threw a searching glance into the mist that enveloped the ship, and up + into the sails and rigging that stretched over them in hopeless strength + and order. + </p> + <p> + One of the promenaders I especially noticed. His beard was long and snowy, + like that of the pilot. He had a staff in his hand, and his movement was + very rapid. His body swung forward, as if to avoid something, and his + glance half turned back over his shoulder, apprehensively, as if he were + threatened from behind. The head and the whole figure were bowed as if + under a burden, although I could not see that he had anything upon his + shoulders; and his gait was not that of a man who is walking off the ennui + of a voyage, but rather of a criminal flying, or of a startled traveller + pursued. + </p> + <p> + As he came nearer to me in his walk, I saw that his features were strongly + Hebrew, and there was an air of the proudest dignity, fearfully abased, in + his mien and expression. It was more than the dignity of an individual. I + could have believed that the pride of a race was humbled in his person. + </p> + <p> + His agile eye presently fastened itself upon me, as a stranger. He came + nearer and nearer to me, as he paced rapidly to and fro, and was evidently + several times on the point of addressing me, but, looking over his + shoulder apprehensively, he passed on. At length, with a great effort, he + paused for an instant, and invited me to join him in his walk. Before the + invitation was fairly uttered, he was in motion again. I followed, but I + could not overtake him. He kept just before me, and turned occasionally + with an air of terror, as if he fancied I were dogging him; then glided on + more rapidly. + </p> + <p> + His face was by no means agreeable, but it had an inexplicable + fascination, as if it had been turned upon what no other mortal eyes had + ever seen. Yet I could hardly tell whether it were, probably, an object of + supreme beauty or of terror. He looked at everything as if he hoped its + impression might obliterate some anterior and awful one; and I was + gradually possessed with the unpleasant idea that his eyes were never + closed—that, in fact, he never slept. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, fixing me with his unnatural, wakeful glare, he whispered + something which I could not understand, and then darted forward even more + rapidly, as if he dreaded that, in merely speaking, he had lost time. + </p> + <p> + Still the ship drove on, and I walked hurriedly along the deck, just + behind my companion. But our speed and that of the ship contrasted + strangely with the mouldy smell of old rigging, and the listless and lazy + groups, smoking and leaning on the bulwarks. The seasons, in endless + succession and iteration, passed over the ship. The twilight was summer + haze at the stern, while it was the fiercest winter mist at the bows. But + as a tropical breath, like the warmth of a Syrian day, suddenly touched + the brow of my companion, he sighed, and I could not help saying: + </p> + <p> + “You must be tired.” + </p> + <p> + He only shook his head and quickened his pace. But now that I had once + spoken, it was not so difficult to speak, and I asked him why he did not + stop and rest. + </p> + <p> + He turned for moment, and a mournful sweetness shone in his dark eyes and + haggard, swarthy face. It played flittingly around that strange look of + ruined human dignity, like a wan beam of late sunset about a crumbling and + forgotten temple. He put his hand hurriedly to his forehead, as if he were + trying to remember—like a lunatic, who, having heard only the + wrangle of fiends in his delirium, suddenly in a conscious moment, + perceives the familiar voice of love. But who could this be, to whom mere + human sympathy was so startlingly sweet? + </p> + <p> + Still moving, he whispered with a woful sadness, “I want to stop, + but I cannot. If I could only stop long enough to leap over the bulwarks!” + </p> + <p> + Then he sighed long and deeply, and added, “But I should not drown.” + </p> + <p> + So much had my interest been excited by his face and movement, that I had + not observed the costume of this strange being. He wore a black hat upon + his head. It was not only black, but it was shiny. Even in the midst of + this wonderful scene, I could observe that it had the artificial newness + of a second-hand hat; and, at the same moment, I was disgusted by the odor + of old clothes—very old clothes, indeed. The mist and my sympathy + had prevented my seeing before what a singular garb the figure wore. It + was all second-hand and carefully ironed, but the garments were obviously + collected from every part of the civilized globe. Good heavens! as I + looked at the coat, I had a strange sensation. I was sure that I had once + worn that coat. It was my wedding surtout—long in the skirts—which + Prue had told me, years and years before, she had given away to the + neediest Jew beggar she had ever seen. + </p> + <p> + The spectral figure dwindled in my fancy—the features lost their + antique grandeur, and the restless eye ceased to be sublime from immortal + sleeplessness, and became only lively with mean cunning. The apparition + was fearfully grotesque, but the driving ship and the mysterious company + gradually restored its tragic interest. I stopped and leaned against the + side, and heard the rippling water that I could not see, and flitting + through the mist, with anxious speed, the figure held its way. What was he + flying? What conscience with relentless sting pricked this victim on? + </p> + <p> + He came again nearer and nearer to me in his walk. I recoiled with + disgust, this time, no less than terror. But he seemed resolved to speak, + and, finally, each time, as he passed me, he asked single questions, as a + ship which fires whenever it can bring a gun to bear. + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me to what port we are bound?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied; “but how came you to take passage + without inquiry? To me it makes little difference.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor do I care,” he answered, when he next came near enough; + “I have already been there.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” asked I. + </p> + <p> + “Wherever we are going,” he replied. “I have been there + a great many times, and, oh! I am very tired of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you here at all, then; and why don’t you stop?” + </p> + <p> + There was a singular mixture of a hundred conflicting emotions in his + face, as I spoke. The representative grandeur of a race, which he + sometimes showed in his look, faded into a glance of hopeless and puny + despair. His eyes looked at me curiously, his chest heaved, and there was + clearly a struggle in his mind, between some lofty and mean desire. At + times, I saw only the austere suffering of ages in his strongly-carved + features, and again I could see nothing but the second-hand black hat + above them. He rubbed his forehead with his skinny hand; he glanced over + his shoulder, as if calculating whether he had time to speak to me; and + then, as a splendid defiance flashed from his piercing eyes, so that I + know how Milton’s Satan looked, he said, bitterly, and with hopeless + sorrow, that no mortal voice ever knew before: + </p> + <p> + “I cannot stop: my woe is infinite, like my sin!”—and he + passed into the mist. + </p> + <p> + But, in a few moments, he reappeared. I could now see only the hat, which + sank more and more over his face, until it covered it entirely; and I + heard a querulous voice, which seemed to be quarrelling with itself, for + saying what it was compelled to say, so that the words were even more + appalling than what it had said before: + </p> + <p> + “Old clo’! old clo’!” + </p> + <p> + I gazed at the disappearing figure, in speechless amazement, and was still + looking, when I was tapped upon the shoulder, and, turning round, saw a + German cavalry officer, with a heavy moustache, and a dog-whistle in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Most extraordinary man, your friend yonder,” said the + officer; “I don’t remember to have seen him in Turkey, and yet + I recognize upon his feet the boots that I wore in the great Russian + cavalry charge, where I individually rode down five hundred and thirty + Turks, slew seven hundred, at a moderate computation, by the mere force of + my rush, and, taking the seven insurmountable walls of Constantinople at + one clean flying leap, rode straight into the seraglio, and, dropping the + bridle, cut the sultan’s throat with my bridle-hand, kissed the + other to the ladies of the hareem, and was back again within our lines and + taking a glass of wine with the hereditary Grand Duke Generalissimo before + he knew that I had mounted. Oddly enough, your old friend is now sporting + the identical boots I wore on that occasion.” + </p> + <p> + The cavalry officer coolly curled his moustache with his fingers. I looked + at him in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of boots,” he resumed, “I don’t remember + to have told you of that little incident of the Princess of the Crimea’s + diamonds. It was slight, but curious. I was dining one day with the + Emperor of the Crimea, who always had a cover laid for me at his table, + when he said, in great perplexity, ‘Baron, my boy, I am in straits. + The Shah of Persia has just sent me word that he has presented me with two + thousand pearl-of-Oman necklaces, and I don’t know how to get them + over, the duties are so heavy.’ ‘Nothing easier,’ + replied I; ‘I’ll bring them in my boots.’ ‘Nonsense!’ + said the Emperor of the Crimea. ‘Nonsense! yourself,’ replied + I, sportively: for the Emperor of the Crimea always gives me my joke; and + so after dinner I went over to Persia. The thing was easily enough done. I + ordered a hundred thousand pairs of boots or so, filled them with the + pearls; said at the Custom-house that they were part of my private + wardrobe, and I had left the blocks in to keep them stretched, for I was + particular about my bunions. The officers bowed, and said that their own + feet were tender,—upon which I jokingly remarked that I wished their + consciences were, and so in the pleasantest manner possible the + pearl-of-Oman necklaces were bowed out of Persia, and the Emperor of the + Crimea gave me three thousand of them as my share. It was no trouble. It + was only ordering the boots, and whistling to the infernal rascals of + Persian shoe-makers to hang for their pay.” + </p> + <p> + I could reply nothing to my new acquaintance, but I treasured his stories + to tell to Prue, and at length summoned courage to ask him why he had + taken passage. + </p> + <p> + “Pure fun,” answered he, “nothing else under the sun. + You see, it happened in this way:—I was sitting quietly and swinging + in a cedar of Lebanon, on the very summit of that mountain, when suddenly, + feeling a little warm, I took a brisk dive into the Mediterranean. Now I + was careless, and got going obliquely, and with the force of such a dive I + could not come up near Sicily, as I had intended, but I went clean under + Africa, and came out at the Cape of Good Hope, and as Fortune would have + it, just as this good ship was passing. So I sprang over the side, and + offered the crew to treat all round if they would tell me where I started + from. But I suppose they had just been piped to grog, for not a man + stirred, except your friend yonder, and he only kept on stirring.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going far?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + The cavalry officer looked a little disturbed. “I cannot precisely + tell,” answered he, “in fact, I wish I could;” and he + glanced round nervously at the strange company. + </p> + <p> + “If you should come our way, Prue and I will be very glad to see + you,” said I, “and I can promise you a warm welcome from the + children.” + </p> + <p> + “Many thanks,” said the officer,—and handed me his card, + upon which I read, <i>Le Baron Munchausen</i>. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said a low voice at my side; and, + turning, I saw one of the most constant smokers—a very old man—“I + beg your pardon, but can you tell me where I came from?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to say I cannot,” answered I, as I surveyed a man + with a very bewildered and wrinkled face, who seemed to be intently + looking for something. + </p> + <p> + “Nor where I am going?” + </p> + <p> + I replied that it was equally impossible. He mused a few moments, and then + said slowly, “Do you know, it is a very strange thing that I have + not found anybody who can answer me either of those questions. And yet I + must have come from somewhere,” said he, speculatively—“yes, + and I must be going somewhere, and I should really like to know something + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I observe,” said I, “that you smoke a good deal, and + perhaps you find tobacco clouds your brain a little.” + </p> + <p> + “Smoke! Smoke!” repeated he, sadly, dwelling upon the words; + “why, it all seems smoke to me;” and he looked wistfully + around the deck, and I felt quite ready to agree with him. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what you are here for,” inquired I; “perhaps + your health, or business of some kind; although I was told it was a + pleasure party?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it,” said he; “if I only knew where + we were going, I might be able to say something about it. But where are + you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going home as fast as I can,” replied I warmly, for I + began to be very uncomfortable. The old man’s eyes half closed, and + his mind seemed to have struck a scent. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that where I was going? I believe it is; I wish I knew; + I think that’s what it is called, Where is home?” + </p> + <p> + And the old man puffed a prodigious cloud of smoke, in which he was quite + lost. + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly very smoky,” said he, “I came on board + this ship to go to—in fact, I meant, as I was saying, I took passage + for—.” He smoked silently. “I beg your pardon, but where + did you say I was going?” + </p> + <p> + Out of the mist where he had been leaning over the side, and gazing + earnestly into the surrounding obscurity, now came a pale young man, and + put his arm in mine. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said he, “that you have rather a general + acquaintance, and, as you know many persons, perhaps you know many things. + I am young, you see, but I am a great traveller. I have been all over the + world, and in all kinds of conveyances; but,” he continued, + nervously, starting continually, and looking around, “I haven’t + yet got abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Not got abroad, and yet you have been everywhere?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes; I know,” he replied, hurriedly; “but I mean + that I haven’t yet got away. I travel constantly, but it does no + good—and perhaps you can tell me the secret I want to know. I will + pay any sum for it. I am very rich and very young, and, if money cannot + buy it, I will give as many years of my life as you require.” + </p> + <p> + He moved his hands convulsively, and his hair was wet upon his forehead. + He was very handsome in that mystic light, but his eye burned with + eagerness, and his slight, graceful frame thrilled with the earnestness of + his emotion. The Emperor Hadrian, who loved the boy Antinous, would have + loved the youth. + </p> + <p> + “But what is it that you wish to leave behind?” said I, at + length, holding his arm paternally; “what do you wish to escape?” + </p> + <p> + He threw his arms straight down by his side, clenched his, hands, and + looked fixedly in my eyes. The beautiful head was thrown a little back + upon one shoulder, and the wan faced glowed with yearning desire and utter + abandonment to confidence, so that, without his saying it, I knew that he + had never whispered the secret which he was about to impart to me. Then, + with a long sigh, as if his life were exhaling, he whispered, + </p> + <p> + “Myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my boy, you are bound upon a long journey.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” he replied mournfully; “and I cannot even + get started. If I don’t get off in this ship, I fear I shall never + escape.” His last words were lost in the mist which gradually + removed him from my view. + </p> + <p> + “The youth has been amusing you with some of his wild fancies, I + suppose,” said a venerable man, who might have been twin brother of + that snowy-bearded pilot. “It is a great pity so promising a young + man should be the victim of such vagaries.” + </p> + <p> + He stood looking over the side for some time, and at length added, + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think we ought to arrive soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” asked I. + </p> + <p> + “Why, in Eldorado, of course,” answered he. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is, I became very tired of that long process to find the + Philosopher’s Stone, and, although I was just upon the point of the + last combination which must infallibly have produced the medium, I + abandoned it when I heard Orellana’s account, and found that Nature + had already done in Eldorado precisely what I was trying to do. You see,” + continued the old man abstractedly, “I had put youth, and love, and + hope, besides a great many scarce minerals, into the crucible, and they + all dissolved slowly, and vanished—in vapor. It was curious, but + they left no residuum except a little ashes, which were not strong enough + to make a lye to cure a lame finger. But, as I was saying, Orellana told + us about Eldorado just in time, and I thought, if any ship would carry me + there it must be this. But I am very sorry to find that any one who is in + pursuit of such a hopeless goal as that pale young man yonder, should have + taken passage. It is only age,” he said, slowly stroking his white + beard, “that teaches us wisdom, and persuades us to renounce the + hope of escaping ourselves; and just as we are discovering the Philosopher’s + Stone, relieves our anxiety by pointing the way to Eldorado.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we really going there?” asked I, in some trepidation. + </p> + <p> + “Can there be any doubt of it?” replied the old man. “Where + should we be going, if not there? However, let us summon the passengers + and ascertain.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, the venerable man beckoned to the various groups that were + clustered, ghost-like, in the mist that enveloped the ship. They seemed to + draw nearer with listless curiosity, and stood or sat near us, smoking as + before, or, still leaning on the side, idly gazing. But the restless + figure who had first accosted me, still paced the deck, flitting in and + out of the obscurity; and as he passed there was the same mien of humbled + pride, and the air of a fate of tragic grandeur, and still the same faint + odor of old clothes, and the low querulous cry, “Old clo!’ old + clo’!” + </p> + <p> + The ship dashed on. Unknown odors and strange sounds still filled the air, + and all the world went by us as we flew, with no other noise than the low + gurgling of the sea around the side. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said the reverend passenger for Eldorado, “I + hope there is no misapprehension as to our destination?” + </p> + <p> + As he said this, there was a general movement of anxiety and curiosity. + Presently the smoker, who had asked me where he was going, said, + doubtfully: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—it seems to me—I mean I wish + somebody would distinctly say where we are going.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can throw a light upon this subject,” said a person + whom I had not before remarked. He was dressed like a sailor, and had a + dreamy eye. “It is very clear to me where we are going. I have been + taking observations for some time, and I am glad to announce that we are + on the eve of achieving great fame; and I may add,” said he, + modestly, “that my own good name for scientific acumen will be amply + vindicated. Gentlemen, we are undoubtedly going into the Hole.” + </p> + <p> + “What hole is that?” asked M. le Baron Munchausen, a little + contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, it will make you more famous than you ever were before,” + replied the first speaker, evidently much enraged. + </p> + <p> + “I am persuaded we are going into no such absurd place,” said + the Baron, exasperated. + </p> + <p> + The sailor with the dreamy eye was fearfully angry. He drew himself up + stiffly and said: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you lie!” + </p> + <p> + M. le Baron Munchausen took it in very good part. He smiled and held out + his hand: + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said he, blandly, “that is precisely what I + have always heard. I am glad you do me no more than justice. I fully + assent to your theory: and your words constitute me the proper + historiographer of the expedition. But tell me one thing, how soon, after + getting into the Hole, do you think we shall get out?” + </p> + <p> + “The result will prove,” said the marine gentleman, handing + the officer his card, upon which was written, <i>Captain Symmes</i>. The + two gentlemen then walked aside; and the groups began to sway to and fro + in the haze as if not quite contented. + </p> + <p> + “Good God,” said the pale youth, running up to me and + clutching my arm, “I cannot go into any Hole alone with myself. I + should die—I should kill myself. I thought somebody was on board, + and I hoped you were he, who would steer us to the fountain of oblivion.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, that is in the Hole,” said M. le Baron, who came + out of the mist at that moment, leaning upon the Captain’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “But can I leave myself outside?” asked the youth, nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” interposed the old Alchemist; “you may be + sure that you will not get into the Hole, until you have left yourself + behind.” + </p> + <p> + The pale young man grasped his hand, and gazed into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And then I can drink and be happy,” murmured he, as he leaned + over the side of the ship and listened to the rippling water, as if it had + been the music of the fountain of oblivion. + </p> + <p> + “Drink! drink!” said the smoking old man. “Fountain! + fountain! Why, I believe that is what I am after. I beg your pardon,” + continued he, addressing the Alchemist. “But can you tell me if I am + looking for a fountain?” + </p> + <p> + “The fountain of youth, perhaps,” replied the Alchemist. + </p> + <p> + “The very thing!” cried the smoker, with a shrill laugh, while + his pipe fell from his mouth, and was shattered upon the deck, and the old + man tottered away into the mist, chuckling feebly to himself, “Youth! + youth!” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll find that in the Hole, too,” said the Alchemist, + as he gazed after the receding figure. + </p> + <p> + The crowd now gathered more nearly around us. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen,” continued the Alchemist, “where shall + we go, or, rather, where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + A man in a friar’s habit, with the cowl closely drawn about his + head, now crossed himself, and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “I have but one object. I should not have been here if I had not + supposed we were going to find Prester John, to whom I have been appointed + father confessor, and at whose court I am to live splendidly, like a + cardinal at Rome. Gentlemen, if you will only agree that we shall go + there, you shall all be permitted to hold my train when I proceed to be + enthroned as Bishop of Central Africa.” + </p> + <p> + While he was speaking, another old man came from the bows of the ship, a + figure which had been so immoveable in its place that I supposed it was + the ancient figure-head of the craft, and said in a low, hollow voice, and + a quaint accent: + </p> + <p> + “I have been looking for centuries, and I cannot see it. I supposed + we were heading for it. I thought sometimes I saw the flash of distant + spires, the sunny gleam of upland pastures, the soft undulation of purple + hills. Ah! me. I am sure I heard the singing of birds, and the faint low + of cattle. But I do not know: we come no nearer; and yet I felt its + presence in the air. If the mist would only lift, we should see it lying + so fair upon the sea, so graceful against the sky. I fear we may have + passed it. Gentlemen,” said he, sadly, “I am afraid we may + have lost the island of Atlantis for ever.” + </p> + <p> + There was a look of uncertainty in the throng upon the deck. + </p> + <p> + “But yet,” said a group of young men in every kind of costume, + and of every country and time, “we have a chance at the Encantadas, + the Enchanted Islands. We were reading of them only the other day, and the + very style of the story had the music of waves. How happy we shall be to + reach a land where there is no work, nor tempest, nor pain, and we shall + be for ever happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I am content here,” said a laughing youth, with heavily + matted curls. “What can be better than this? We feel every climate, + the music and the perfume of every zone, are ours. In the starlight I woo + the mermaids, as I lean over the side, and no enchanted island will show + us fairer forms. I am satisfied. The ship sails on. We cannot see but we + can dream. What work or pain have we here? I like the ship; I like the + voyage; I like my company, and am content.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he put something into his mouth, and, drawing a white + substance from his pocket, offered it to his neighbor, saying, “Try + a bit of this lotus; you will find it very soothing to the nerves, and an + infallible remedy for home-sickness.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said M. le Baron Munchausen, “I have no + fear. The arrangements are well made; the voyage has been perfectly + planned, and each passenger will discover what he took passage to find, in + the Hole into which we are going, under the auspices of this worthy + Captain.” + </p> + <p> + He ceased, and silence fell upon the ship’s company. Still on we + swept; it seemed a weary way. The tireless pedestrians still paced to and + fro, and the idle smokers puffed. The ship sailed on, and endless music + and odor chased each other through the misty air. Suddenly a deep sigh + drew universal attention to a person who had not yet spoken. He held a + broken harp in his hand, the strings fluttered loosely in the air, and the + head of the speaker, bound with a withered wreath of laurels, bent over + it. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said he, “I will not eat your lotus, nor sail + into the Hole. No magic root can cure the home-sickness I feel; for it is + no regretful remembrance, but an immortal longing. I have roamed farther + than I thought the earth extended. I have climbed mountains; I have + threaded rivers; I have sailed seas; but nowhere have I seen the home for + which my heart aches. Ah! my friends, you look very weary; let us go home.” + </p> + <p> + The pedestrian paused a moment in his walk, and the smokers took their + pipes from their mouths. The soft air which blew in that moment across the + deck, drew a low sound from the broken harp-strings, and a light shone in + the eyes of the old man of the figure-head, as if the mist had lifted for + an instant, and he had caught a glimpse of the lost Atlantis. + </p> + <p> + “I really believe that is where I wish to go,” said the seeker + of the fountain of youth. “I think I would give up drinking at the + fountain if I could get there. I do not know,” he murmured, + doubtfully; “it is not sure; I mean, perhaps, I should not have + strength to get to the fountain, even if I were near it.” + </p> + <p> + “But is it possible to get home?” inquired the pale young man. + “I think I should be resigned if I could get home.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said the dry, hard voice of Prester John’s + confessor, as his cowl fell a little back, and a sudden flush burned upon + his gaunt face; “if there is any chance of home, I will give up the + Bishop’s palace in Central Africa.” + </p> + <p> + “But Eldorado is my home,” interposed the old Alchemist. + </p> + <p> + “Or is home Eldorado?” asked the poet, with the withered + wreath, turning towards the Alchemist. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange company and a wondrous voyage. Here were all kinds of + men, of all times and countries, pursuing the wildest hopes, the most + chimerical desires. One took me aside to request that I would not let it + be known, but that he inferred from certain signs we were nearing Utopia. + Another whispered gaily in my ear that he thought the water was gradually + becoming of a ruby color—the hue of wine; and he had no doubt we + should wake in the morning and find ourselves in the land of Cockaigne. A + third, in great anxiety, stated to me that such continuous mists were + unknown upon the ocean; that they were peculiar to rivers, and that, + beyond question, we were drifting along some stream, probably the Nile, + and immediate measures ought to be taken that we did riot go ashore at the + foot of the mountains of the moon. Others were quite sure that we were in + the way of striking the great southern continent; and a young man, who + gave his name as Wilkins, said we might be quite at ease for presently + some friends of his would come flying over from the neighboring islands + and tell us all we wished. + </p> + <p> + Still I smelled the mouldy rigging, and the odor of cabbage was strong + from the hold. + </p> + <p> + O Prue, what could the ship be, in which such fantastic characters were + sailing toward impossible bournes—characters which in every age have + ventured all the bright capital of life in vague speculations and romantic + dreams? What could it be but the ship that haunts the sea for ever, and, + with all sails set, drives onward before a ceaseless gale, and is not + hailed, nor ever comes to port? + </p> + <p> + I know the ship is always full; I know the gray-beard still watches at the + prow for the lost Atlantis, and still the alchemist believes that Eldorado + is at hand. Upon his aimless quest, the dotard still asks where he is + going, and the pale youth knows that he shall never fly himself. Yet they + would gladly renounce that wild chase and the dear dreams of years, could + they find what I have never lost. They were ready to follow the poet home, + if he would have told them where it lay. + </p> + <p> + I know where it lies. I breathe the soft air of the purple uplands which + they shall never tread. I hear the sweet music of the voices they long for + in vain. I am no traveller; my only voyage is to the office and home + again. William and Christopher, John and Charles sail to Europe and the + South, but I defy their romantic distances. When the spring comes and the + flowers blow, I drift through the year belted with summer and with spice. + </p> + <p> + With the changing months I keep high carnival in all the zones. I sit at + home and walk with Prue, and if the sun that stirs the sap quickens also + the wish to wander, I remember my fellow-voyagers on that romantic craft, + and looking round upon my peaceful room, and pressing more closely the arm + of Prue, I feel that I have reached the port for which they hopelessly + sailed. And when winds blow fiercely and the night-storm rages, and the + thought of lost mariners and of perilous voyages touches the soft heart of + Prue, I hear a voice sweeter to my ear than that of the syrens to the + tempest-tost sailor: “Thank God! Your only cruising is in the Flying + Dutchman!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FAMILY PORTRAITS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Look here upon this picture, and on this.” + <i>Hamlet</i> +</pre> + <p> + We have no family pictures, Prue and I, only a portrait of my grandmother + hangs upon our parlor wall. It was taken at least a century ago, and + represents the venerable lady, whom I remember in my childhood in + spectacles and comely cap, as a young and blooming girl. + </p> + <p> + She is sitting upon an old-fashioned sofa, by the side of a prim aunt of + hers, and with her back to the open window. Her costume is quaint, but + handsome. It consists of a cream-colored dress made high in the throat, + ruffled around the neck, and over the bosom and the shoulders. The waist + is just under her shoulders, and the sleeves are tight, tighter than any + of our coat sleeves, and also ruffled at the wrist. Around the plump and + rosy neck, which I remember as shrivelled and sallow, and hidden under a + decent lace handkerchief, hangs, in the picture, a necklace of large ebony + beads. There are two curls upon the forehead, and the rest of the hair + flows away in ringlets down the neck. + </p> + <p> + The hands hold an open book: the eyes look up from it with tranquil + sweetness, and, through the open window behind, you see a quiet landscape—a + hill, a tree, the glimpse of a river, and a few peaceful summer clouds. + </p> + <p> + Often in my younger days, when my grandmother sat by the fire, after + dinner, lost in thought—perhaps remembering the time when the + picture was really a portrait—I have curiously compared her wasted + face with the blooming beauty of the girl, and tried to detect the + likeness. It was strange how the resemblance would sometimes start out: + how, as I gazed and gazed upon her old face, age disappeared before my + eager glance, as snow melts in the sunshine, revealing the flowers of a + forgotten spring. + </p> + <p> + It was touching, to see my grandmother steal quietly up to her portrait, + on still summer mornings when every one had left the house,—and I, + the only child, played, disregarded,—and look at it wistfully and + long. + </p> + <p> + She held her hand over her eyes to shade them from the light that streamed + in at the window, and I have seen her stand at least a quarter of an hour + gazing steadfastly at the picture. She said nothing, she made no motion, + she shed no tear, but when she turned away there was always a pensive + sweetness in her face that made it not less lovely than the face of her + youth. + </p> + <p> + I have learned since, what her thoughts must have been—how that + long, wistful glance annihilated time and space, how forms and faces + unknown to any other, rose in sudden resurrection around her—how she + loved, suffered, struggled and conquered again; how many a jest that I + shall never hear, how many a game that I shall never play, how many a song + that I shall never sing, were all renewed and remembered as my grandmother + contemplated her picture. + </p> + <p> + I often stand, as she stood, gazing earnestly at the picture, so long and + so silently, that Prue looks up from her work and says she shall be + jealous of that beautiful belle, my grandmother, who yet makes her think + more kindly of those remote old times. “Yes, Prue, and that is the + charm of a family portrait.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, again; but,” says Titbottom when he hears the remark, + “how, if one’s grandmother were a shrew, a termagant, a + virago?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! in that case—” I am compelled to say, while Prue + looks up again, half archly, and I add gravely—“you, for + instance, Prue.” + </p> + <p> + Then Titbottom smiles one of his sad smiles, and we change the subject. + </p> + <p> + Yet, I am always glad when Minim Sculpin, our neighbor, who knows that my + opportunities are few, comes to ask me to step round and see the family + portraits. + </p> + <p> + The Sculpins, I think, are a very old family. Titbottom says they date + from the deluge. But I thought people of English descent preferred to stop + with William the Conqueror, who came from France. + </p> + <p> + Before going with Minim, I always fortify myself with a glance at the + great family Bible, in which Adam, Eve, and the patriarchs, are + indifferently well represented. + </p> + <p> + “Those are the ancestors of the Howards, the Plantagenets, and the + Montmorencis,” says Prue, surprising me with her erudition. “Have + you any remoter ancestry, Mr. Sculpin?” she asks Minim, who only + smiles compassionately upon the dear woman, while I am buttoning my coat. + </p> + <p> + Then we step along the street, and I am conscious of trembling a little, + for I feel as if I were going to court. Suddenly we are standing before + the range of portraits. + </p> + <p> + “This,” says Minim, with unction, “is Sir Solomon + Sculpin, the founder of the family.” + </p> + <p> + “Famous for what?” I ask, respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “For founding the family,” replies Minim gravely, and I have + sometimes thought a little severely. + </p> + <p> + “This,” he says, pointing to a dame in hoops and diamond + stomacher, “this is Lady Sheba Sculpin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes. Famous for what?” I inquire. + </p> + <p> + “For being the wife of Sir Solomon.” + </p> + <p> + Then, in order, comes a gentleman in a huge, curling wig, looking + indifferently like James the Second, or Louis the Fourteenth, and holding + a scroll in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “The Right Honorable Haddock Sculpin, Lord Privy Seal, etc., etc.” + </p> + <p> + A delicate beauty hangs between, a face fair, and loved, and lost, + centuries ago—a song to the eye—a poem to the heart—the + Aurelia of that old society. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Dorothea Sculpin, who married young Lord Pop and Cock, and + died prematurely in Italy.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Lady Dorothea! whose great grandchild, in the tenth remove, died last + week, an old man of eighty! + </p> + <p> + Next the gentle lady hangs a fierce figure, flourishing a sword, with an + anchor embroidered on his coat-collar, and thunder and lightning, sinking + ships flames and tornadoes in the background. + </p> + <p> + “Rear Admiral Sir Shark Sculpin, who fell in the great action off + Madagascar.” + </p> + <p> + So Minim goes on through the series, brandishing his ancestors about my + head, and incontinently knocking me into admiration. + </p> + <p> + And when we reach the last portrait and our own times, what is the natural + emotion? Is it not to put Minim against the wall, draw off at him with my + eyes and mind, scan him, and consider his life, and determine how much of + the Eight Honorable Haddock’s integrity, and the Lady Dorothy’s + loveliness, and the Admiral Shark’s valor, reappears in the modern + man? After all this proving and refining, ought not the last child of a + famous race to be its flower and epitome? Or, in the case that he does not + chance to be so, is it not better to conceal the family name? + </p> + <p> + I am told, however, that in the higher circles of society, it is better + not to conceal the name, however unworthy the man or woman may be who + bears it. Prue once remonstrated with a lady about the marriage of a + lovely young girl with a cousin of Minim’s; but the only answer she + received was, “Well, he may not be a perfect man, but then he is a + Sculpin,” which consideration apparently gave great comfort to the + lady’s mind. + </p> + <p> + But even Prue grants that Minim has some reason for his pride. Sir Solomon + was a respectable man, and Sir Shark a brave one; and the Right Honorable + Haddock a learned one; the Lady Sheba was grave and gracious in her way; + and the smile of the fair Dorothea lights with soft sunlight those + long-gone summers. The filial blood rushes more gladly from Minim’s + heart as he gazes; and admiration for the virtues of his kindred inspires + and sweetly mingles with good resolutions of his own. + </p> + <p> + Time has its share, too, in the ministry, and the influence. The hills + beyond the river lay yesterday, at sunset, lost in purple gloom; they + receded into airy distances of dreams and faery; they sank softly into + night, the peaks of the delectable mountains. But I knew, as I gazed + enchanted, that the hills, so purple-soft of seeming, were hard, and gray, + and barren in the wintry twilight; and that in the distance was the magic + that made them fair. + </p> + <p> + So, beyond the river of time that flows between, walk the brave men and + the beautiful women of our ancestry, grouped in twilight upon the shore. + Distance smooths away defects, and, with gentle darkness, rounds every + form into grace. It steals the harshness from their speech, and every word + becomes a song. Far across the gulf that ever widens, they look upon us + with eyes whose glance is tender, and which light us to success. We + acknowledge our inheritance; we accept our birthright; we own that their + careers have pledged us to noble action. Every great life is an incentive + to all other lives; but when the brave heart, that beats for the world, + loves us with the warmth of private affection, then the example of heroism + is more persuasive, because more personal. + </p> + <p> + This is the true pride of ancestry. It is founded in the tenderness with + which the child regards the father, and in the romance that time sheds + upon history. + </p> + <p> + “Where be all the bad people buried?” asks every man, with + Charles Lamb, as he strolls among the rank grave-yard grass, and brushes + it aside to read of the faithful husband, and the loving wife, and the + dutiful child. + </p> + <p> + He finds only praise in the epitaphs, because the human heart is kind; + because it yearns with wistful tenderness after all its brethren who have + passed into the cloud, and will only speak well of the departed. No + offence is longer an offence when the grass is green over the offender. + Even faults then seem characteristic and individual. Even Justice is + appeased when the drop falls. How the old stories and plays teem with the + incident of the duel in which one gentleman falls, and, in dying, forgives + and is forgiven. We turn the page with a tear. How much better had there + been no offence, but how well that death wipes it out. + </p> + <p> + It is not observed in history that families improve with time. It is + rather discovered that the whole matter is like a comet, of which the + brightest part, is the head; and the tail, although long and luminous, is + gradually shaded into obscurity. + </p> + <p> + Yet, by a singular compensation, the pride of ancestry increases in the + ratio of distance. Adam was valiant, and did so well at Poictiers that he + was knighted—a hearty, homely country gentleman, who lived humbly to + the end. But young Lucifer, his representative in the twentieth remove, + has a tinder-like conceit because old Sir Adam was so brave and humble. + Sir Adam’s sword is hung up at home, and Lucifer has a box at the + opera. On a thin finger he has a ring, cut with a match fizzling, the + crest of the Lucifers. But if he should be at a Poictiers, he would run + away. Then history would be sorry—not only for his cowardice, but + for the shame it brings upon old Adam’s name. + </p> + <p> + So, if Minim Sculpin is a bad young man, he not only shames himself, but + he disgraces that illustrious line of ancestors, whose characters are + known. His neighbor, Mudge, has no pedigree of this kind, and when he + reels homeward, we do not suffer the sorrow of any fair Lady Dorothy in + such a descendant—we pity him for himself alone. But genius and + power are so imperial and universal, that when Minim Sculpin falls, we are + grieved not only for him, but for that eternal truth and beauty which + appeared in the valor of Sir Shark, and the loveliness of Lady Dorothy. + His neighbor Mudge’s grandfather may have been quite as valorous and + virtuous as Sculpin’s; but we know of the one, and we do not know of + the other. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, Prue, I say to my wife, who has, by this time, fallen as + soundly asleep as if I had been preaching a real sermon, do not let Mrs. + Mudge feel hurt, because I gaze so long and earnestly upon the portrait of + the fair Lady Sculpin, and, lost in dreams, mingle in a society which + distance and poetry immortalize. + </p> + <p> + But let the love of the family portraits belong to poetry and not to + politics. It is good in the one way, and bad in the other. + </p> + <p> + The <i>sentiment</i> of ancestral pride is an integral part of human + nature. Its <i>organization</i> in institutions is the real object of + enmity to all sensible men, because it is a direct preference of derived + to original power, implying a doubt that the world at every period is able + to take care of itself. + </p> + <p> + The family portraits have a poetic significance; but he is a brave child + of the family who dares to show them. They all sit in passionless and + austere judgment upon himself. Let him not invite us to see them, until he + has considered whether they are honored or disgraced by his own career—until + he has looked in the glass of his own thought and scanned his own + proportions. + </p> + <p> + The family portraits are like a woman’s diamonds; they may flash + finely enough before the world, but she herself trembles lest their lustre + eclipse her eyes. It is difficult to resist the tendency to depend upon + those portraits, and to enjoy vicariously through them a high + consideration. But, after all, what girl is complimented when you + curiously regard her because her mother was beautiful? What attenuated + consumptive, in whom self-respect is yet unconsumed, delights in your + respect for him, founded in honor for his stalwart ancestor? + </p> + <p> + No man worthy the name rejoices in any homage which his own effort and + character have not deserved. You intrinsically insult him when you make + him the scapegoat of your admiration for his ancestor. But when his + ancestor is his accessory, then your homage would flatter Jupiter. All + that Minim Sculpin does by his own talent is the more radiantly set and + ornamented by the family fame. The imagination is pleased when Lord John + Russell is Premier of England and a whig, because the great Lord William + Russell, his ancestor, died in England for liberty. + </p> + <p> + In the same way Minim’s sister Sara adds to her own grace the sweet + memory of the Lady Dorothy. When she glides, a sunbeam, through that quiet + house, and in winter makes summer by her presence; when she sits at the + piano, singing in the twilight, or stands leaning against the Venus in the + corner of the room—herself more graceful—then, in glancing + from her to the portrait of the gentle Dorothy, you feel that the long + years between them have been lighted by the same sparkling grace, and + shadowed by the same pensive smile—for this is but one Sara and one + Dorothy, out of all that there are in the world. + </p> + <p> + As we look at these two, we must own that <i>noblesse oblige</i> in a + sense sweeter than we knew, and be glad when young Sculpin invites us to + see the family portraits. Could a man be named Sidney, and not be a better + man, or Milton, and be a churl? + </p> + <p> + But it is apart from any historical association that I like to look at the + family portraits. The Sculpins were very distinguished heroes, and judges, + and founders of families; but I chiefly linger upon their pictures, + because they were men and women. Their portraits remove the vagueness from + history, and give it reality. Ancient valor and beauty cease to be names + and poetic myths, and become facts. I feel that they lived, and loved, and + suffered in those old days. The story of their lives is instantly full of + human sympathy in my mind, and I judge them more gently, more generously. + </p> + <p> + Then I look at those of us who are the spectators of the portraits. I know + that we are made of the same flesh and blood, that time is preparing us to + be placed in his cabinet and upon canvass, to be curiously studied by the + grandchildren of unborn Prues. I put out my hands to grasp those of my + fellows around the pictures. “Ah! friends, we live not only for + ourselves. Those whom we shall never see, will look to us as models, as + counsellors. We shall be speechless then. We shall only look at them from + the canvass, and cheer or discourage them by their idea of our lives and + ourselves. Let us so look in the portrait, that they shall love our + memories—that they shall say, in turn, ‘they were kind and + thoughtful, those queer old ancestors of ours; let us not disgrace them.’” + </p> + <p> + If they only recognize us as men and women like themselves, they will be + the better for it, and the family portraits will be family blessings. + </p> + <p> + This is what my grandmother did. She looked at her own portrait, at the + portrait of her youth, with much the same feeling that I remember Prue as + she was when I first saw her, with much the same feeling that I hope our + grandchildren will remember us. + </p> + <p> + Upon those still summer mornings, though she stood withered and wan in a + plain black silk gown, a close cap, and spectacles, and held her shrunken + and blue-veined hand to shield her eyes, yet, as she gazed with that long + and longing glance, upon the blooming beauty that had faded from her form + forever, she recognized under that flowing hair and that rosy cheek—the + immortal fashions of youth and health—and beneath those many ruffles + and that quaint high waist, the fashions of the day—the same true + and loving woman. If her face was pensive as she turned away, it was + because truth and love are, in their essence, forever young; and it is the + hard condition of nature that they cannot always appear so. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OUR COUSIN THE CURATE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Why, let the stricken deer go weep, + The heart ungalled play; + For some must watch while some must sleep; + Thus runs the world away.” + </pre> + <p> + Prue and I have very few relations: Prue, especially, says that she never + had any but her parents, and that she has none now but her children. She + often wishes she had some large aunt in the country, who might come in + unexpectedly with bags and bundles, and encamp in our little house for a + whole winter. + </p> + <p> + “Because you are tired of me, I suppose, Mrs. Prue?” I reply + with dignity, when she alludes to the imaginary large aunt. + </p> + <p> + “You could take aunt to the opera, you know, and walk with her on + Sundays,” says Prue, as she knits and calmly looks me in the face, + without recognizing my observation. + </p> + <p> + Then I tell Prue in the plainest possible manner that, if her large aunt + should come up from the country to pass the winter, I should insist upon + her bringing her oldest daughter, with whom I would flirt so desperately + that the street would be scandalized, and even the corner grocery should + gossip over the iniquity. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Prue, how I should pity you,” I say triumphantly to my + wife. + </p> + <p> + “Poor oldest daughter, how I should pity her,” replies Prue, + placidly counting her stitches. + </p> + <p> + So the happy evening passes, as we gaily mock each other, and wonder how + old the large aunt should be, and how many bundles she ought to bring with + her. + </p> + <p> + “I would have her arrive by the late train at midnight,” says + Prue; “and when she had eaten some supper and had gone to her room, + she should discover that she had left the most precious bundle of all in + the cars, without whose contents she could not sleep, nor dress, and you + would start to hunt for it.” + </p> + <p> + And the needle clicks faster than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and when I am gone to the office in the morning, and am busy + about important affairs—yes, Mrs. Prue, important affairs,” I + insist, as my wife half raises her head incredulously—“then + our large aunt from the country would like to go shopping, and would want + you for her escort. And she would cheapen tape at all the shops, and even + to the great Stewart himself, she would offer a shilling less for the + gloves. Then the comely clerks of the great Stewart would look at you, + with their brows lifted, as if they said, Mrs. Prue, your large aunt had + better stay in the country.” + </p> + <p> + And the needle clicks more slowly, as if the tune were changing. + </p> + <p> + The large aunt will never come, I know; nor shall I ever flirt with the + oldest daughter. I should like to believe that our little house will teem + with aunts and cousins when Prue and I are gone; but how can I believe it, + when there is a milliner within three doors, and a hair-dresser combs his + wigs in the late dining-room of my opposite neighbor? The large aunt from + the country is entirely impossible, and as Prue feels it and I feel it, + the needles seem to click a dirge for that late lamented lady. + </p> + <p> + “But at least we have one relative, Prue.” + </p> + <p> + The needles stop: only the clock ticks upon the mantel to remind us how + ceaselessly the stream of time flows on that bears us away from our cousin + the curate. + </p> + <p> + When Prue and I are most cheerful, and the world looks fair—we talk + of our cousin the curate. When the world seems a little cloudy, and we + remember that though we have lived and loved together, we may not die + together—we talk of our cousin the curate. When we plan little plans + for the boys and dream dreams for the girls—we talk of our cousin + the curate. When I tell Prue of Aurelia whose character is every day + lovelier—we talk of our cousin the curate. There is no subject which + does not seem to lead naturally to our cousin the curate. As the soft air + steals in and envelopes everything in the world, so that the trees, and + the hills, and the rivers, the cities, the crops, and the sea, are made + remote, and delicate, and beautiful; by its pure baptism, so over all the + events of our little lives, comforting, refining, and elevating, falls + like a benediction the remembrance of our cousin the curate. + </p> + <p> + He was my only early companion. He had no brother, I had none: and we + became brothers to each other. He was always beautiful. His face was + symmetrical and delicate; his figure was slight and graceful. He looked as + the sons of kings ought to look: as I am sure Philip Sidney looked when he + was a boy. His eyes were blue, and as you looked at them, they seemed to + let your gaze out into a June heaven. The blood ran close to the skin, and + his complexion had the rich transparency of light. There was nothing gross + or heavy in his expression or texture; his soul seemed to have mastered + his body. But he had strong passions, for his delicacy was positive, not + negative: it was not weakness, but intensity. + </p> + <p> + There was a patch of ground about the house which we tilled as a garden. I + was proud of my morning-glories, and sweet peas; my cousin cultivated + roses. One day—and we could scarcely have been more than six years + old—we were digging merrily and talking. Suddenly there was some + kind of difference; I taunted him, and, raising his spade, he struck me + upon the leg. The blow was heavy for a boy, and the blood trickled from + the wound. I burst into indignant tears, and limped toward the house. My + cousin turned pale and said nothing, but just as I opened the door, he + darted by me, and before I could interrupt him, he had confessed his + crime, and asked for punishment. + </p> + <p> + From that day he conquered himself. He devoted a kind of ascetic energy to + subduing his own will, and I remember no other outbreak. But the penalty + he paid for conquering his will, was a loss of the gushing expression of + feeling. My cousin became perfectly gentle in his manner, but there was a + want of that pungent excess, which is the finest flavor of character. His + views were moderate and calm. He was swept away by no boyish extravagance, + and, even while I wished he would sin only a very little, I still adored + him as a saint. The truth is, as I tell Prue, I am so very bad because I + have to sin for two—for myself and our cousin the curate. Often, + when I returned panting and restless from some frolic, which had wasted + almost all the night, I was rebuked as I entered the room in which he lay + peacefully sleeping. There was something holy in the profound repose of + his beauty, and, as I stood looking at him, how many a time the tears have + dropped from my hot eyes upon his face, while I vowed to make myself + worthy of such a companion, for I felt my heart owning its allegiance to + that strong and imperial nature. + </p> + <p> + My cousin was loved by the boys, but the girls worshipped him. His mind, + large in grasp, and subtle in perception, naturally commanded his + companions, while the lustre of his character allured those who could not + understand him. The asceticism occasionally showed itself a vein of + hardness, or rather of severity in his treatment of others. He did what he + thought it his duty to do, but he forgot that few could see the right so + clearly as he, and very few of those few could so calmly obey the least + command of conscience. I confess I was a little afraid of him, for I think + I never could be severe. + </p> + <p> + In the long winter evenings I often read to Prue the story of some old + father of the church, or some quaint poem of George Herbert’s—and + every Christmas-eve, I read to her Milton’s Hymn of the Nativity. + Yet, when the saint seems to us most saintly, or the poem most pathetic or + sublime, we find ourselves talking of our cousin the curate. I have not + seen him for many years; but, when we parted, his head had the + intellectual symmetry of Milton’s, without the puritanic stoop, and + with the stately grace of a cavalier. + </p> + <p> + Such a boy has premature wisdom—he lives and suffers prematurely. + </p> + <p> + Prue loves to listen when I speak of the romance of his life, and I do not + wonder. For my part, I find in the best romance only the story of my love + for her, and often as I read to her, whenever I come to what Titbottom + calls “the crying part,” if I lift my eyes suddenly, I see + that Prue’s eyes are fixed on me with a softer light by reason of + their moisture. + </p> + <p> + Our cousin the curate loved, while he was yet a boy, Flora, of the + sparkling eyes and the ringing voice. His devotion was absolute. Flora was + flattered, because all the girls, as I said, worshipped him; but she was a + gay, glancing girl, who had invaded the student’s heart with her + audacious brilliancy, and was half surprised that she had subdued it. Our + cousin—for I never think of him as my cousin, only—wasted away + under the fervor of his passion. His life exhaled as incense before her. + He wrote poems to her, and sang them under her window, in the summer + moonlight. He brought her flowers and precious gifts. When he had nothing + else to give, he gave her his love in a homage so eloquent and beautiful + that the worship was like the worship of the wise men. The gay Flora was + proud and superb. She was a girl, and the bravest and best boy loved her. + She was young, and the wisest and truest youth loved her. They lived + together, we all lived together, in the happy valley of childhood. We + looked forward to manhood as island-poets look across the sea, believing + that the whole world beyond is a blest Araby of spices. + </p> + <p> + The months went by, and the young love continued. Our cousin and Flora + were only children still, and there was no engagement. The elders looked + upon the intimacy as natural and mutually beneficial. It would help soften + the boy and strengthen the girl; and they took for granted that softness + and strength were precisely what were wanted. It is a great pity that men + and women forget that they have been children. Parents are apt to be + foreigners to their sons and daughters. Maturity is the gate of Paradise, + which shuts behind us; and our memories are gradually weaned from the + glories in which our nativity was cradled. + </p> + <p> + The months went by, the children grew older, and they constantly loved. + Now Prue always smiles at one of my theories; she is entirely sceptical of + it; but it is, nevertheless, my opinion, that men love most passionately, + and women most permanently. Men love at first and most warmly; women love + last and longest. This is natural enough; for nature makes women to be + won, and men to win. Men are the active, positive force, and, therefore, + they are more ardent and demonstrative. + </p> + <p> + I can never get farther than that in my philosophy, when Prue looks at me, + and smiles me into scepticism of my own doctrines. But they are true, + notwithstanding. + </p> + <p> + My day is rather past for such speculations; but so long as Aurelia is + unmarried, I am sure I shall indulge myself in them. I have never made + much progress in the philosophy of love; in fact, I can only be sure of + this one cardinal principle, that when you are quite sure two people + cannot be in love with each other, because there is no earthly reason why + they should be, then you may be very confident that you are wrong, and + that they are in love, for the secret of love is past finding out. Why our + cousin should have loved the gay Flora so ardently was hard to say; but + that he did so, was not difficult to see. + </p> + <p> + He went away to college. He wrote the most eloquent and passionate + letters; and when he returned in vacations, he had no eyes, ears, nor + heart for any other being. I rarely saw him, for I was living away from + our early home, and was busy in a store—learning to be book-keeper—but + I heard afterward from himself the whole story. + </p> + <p> + One day when he came home for the holidays, he found a young foreigner + with Flora—a handsome youth, brilliant and graceful. I have asked + Prue a thousand times why women adore soldiers and foreigners. She says it + is because they love heroism and are romantic. A soldier is professionally + a hero, says Prue, and a foreigner is associated with all unknown and + beautiful regions. I hope there is no worse reason. But if it be the + distance which is romantic, then, by her own rule, the mountain which + looked to you so lovely when you saw it upon the horizon, when you stand + upon its rocky and barren side, has transmitted its romance to its + remotest neighbor. I cannot but admire the fancies of girls which make + them poets. They have only to look upon a dull-eyed, ignorant, exhausted + <i>roué</i>, with an impudent moustache, and they surrender to Italy to + the tropics, to the splendors of nobility, and a court life—and— + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” says Prue, gently; “you have no right to say + ‘girls’ do so, because some poor victims have been deluded. + Would Aurelia surrender to a blear-eyed foreigner in a moustache?” + </p> + <p> + Prue has such a reasonable way of putting these things! + </p> + <p> + Our cousin came home and found Flora and the young foreigner conversing. + The young foreigner had large, soft, black eyes, and the dusky skin of the + tropics. His manner was languid and fascinating, courteous and reserved. + It assumed a natural supremacy, and you felt as if here were a young + prince travelling before he came into possession of his realm. + </p> + <p> + It is an old fable that love is blind. But I think there are no eyes so + sharp as those of lovers. I am sure there is not a shade upon Prue’s + brow that I do not instantly remark, nor an altered tone in her voice that + I do not instantly observe. Do you suppose Aurelia would not note the + slightest deviation of heart in her lover, if she had one? Love is the + coldest of critics. To be in love is to live in a crisis, and the very + imminence of uncertainty makes the lover perfectly self-possessed. His eye + constantly scours the horizon. There is no footfall so light that it does + not thunder in his ear. Love is tortured by the tempest the moment the + cloud of a hand’s size rises out of the sea. It foretells its own + doom; its agony is past before its sufferings are known. + </p> + <p> + Our cousin the curate no sooner saw the tropical stranger, and marked his + impression upon Flora, than he felt the end. As the shaft struck his + heart, his smile was sweeter, and his homage even more poetic and + reverential. I doubt if Flora understood him or herself. She did not know, + what he instinctively perceived, that she loved him less. But there are no + degrees in love; when it is less than absolute and supreme, it is nothing. + Our cousin and Flora were not formally engaged, but their betrothal was + understood by all of us as a thing of course. He did not allude to the + stranger; but as day followed day, he saw with every nerve all that + passed. Gradually—so gradually that she scarcely noticed it—our + cousin left Flora more and more with the soft-eyed stranger, whom he saw + she preferred. His treatment of her was so full of tact, he still walked + and talked with her so familiarly, that she was not troubled by any fear + that he saw what she hardly saw herself. Therefore, she was not obliged to + conceal anything from him or from herself; but all the soft currents of + her heart were setting toward the West Indian. Our cousin’s cheek + grew paler, and his soul burned and wasted within him. His whole future—all + his dream of life—had been founded upon his love. It was a stately + palace built upon the sand, and now the sand was sliding away. I have read + somewhere, that love will sacrifice everything but itself. But our cousin + sacrificed his love to the happiness of his mistress. He ceased to treat + her as peculiarly his own. He made no claim in word or manner that + everybody might not have made. He did not refrain from seeing her, or + speaking of her as of all his other friends; and, at length, although no + one could say how or when the change had been made, it was evident and + understood that he was no more her lover, but that both were the best of + friends. + </p> + <p> + He still wrote to her occasionally from college, and his letters were + those of a friend, not of a lover. He could not reproach her. I do not + believe any man is secretly surprised that a woman ceases to love him. Her + love is a heavenly favor won by no desert of his. If it passes, he can no + more complain than a flower when the sunshine leaves it. + </p> + <p> + Before our cousin left college, Flora was married to the tropical + stranger. It was the brightest of June days, and the summer smiled upon + the bride. There were roses in her hand and orange flowers in her hair, + and the village church bell rang out over the peaceful fields. The warm + sunshine lay upon the landscape like God’s blessing, and Prue and I, + not yet married ourselves, stood at an open window in the old + meeting-house, hand in hand, while the young couple spoke their vows. Prue + says that brides are always beautiful, and I, who remember Prue herself + upon her wedding-day—how can I deny it? Truly, the gay Flora was + lovely that summer morning, and the throng was happy in the old church. + But it was very sad to me, although I only suspected then what now I know. + I shed no tears at my own wedding, but I did at Flora’s, although I + knew she was marrying a soft-eyed youth whom she dearly loved, and who, I + doubt not, dearly loved her. + </p> + <p> + Among the group of her nearest friends was our cousin the curate. When the + ceremony was ended, he came to shake her hand with the rest. His face was + calm, and his smile sweet, and his manner unconstrained. Flora did not + blush—why should she?—but shook his hand warmly, and thanked + him for his good wishes. Then they all sauntered down the aisle together; + there were some tears with the smiles among the other friends; our cousin + handed the bride into her carriage, shook hands with the husband, closed + the door, and Flora drove away. + </p> + <p> + I have never seen her since; I do not even know if she be living still. + But I shall always remember her as she looked that June morning, holding + roses in her hand, and wreathed with orange flowers. Dear Flora! it was no + fault of hers that she loved one man more than another: she could not be + blamed for not preferring our cousin to the West Indian: there is no fault + in the story, it is only a tragedy. + </p> + <p> + Our cousin carried all the collegiate honors—but without exciting + jealousy or envy. He was so really the best, that his companions were + anxious he should have the sign of his superiority. He studied hard, he + thought much, and wrote well. There was no evidence of any blight upon his + ambition or career, but after living quietly in the country for some time, + he went to Europe and travelled. When he returned, he resolved to study + law, but presently relinquished it. Then he collected materials for a + history, but suffered them to lie unused. Somehow the mainspring was gone. + He used to come and pass weeks with Prue and me. His coming made the + children happy, for he sat with them, and talked and played with them all + day long, as one of themselves. They had no quarrels when our cousin the + curate was their playmate, and their laugh was hardly sweeter than his as + it rang down from the nursery. Yet sometimes, as Prue was setting the + tea-table, and I sat musing by the fire, she stopped and turned to me as + we heard that sound, and her eyes filled with tears. + </p> + <p> + He was interested in all subjects that interested others. His fine + perception, his clear sense, his noble imagination, illuminated every + question. His friends wanted him to go into political life, to write a + great book, to do something worthy of his powers. It was the very thing he + longed to do himself; but he came and played with the children in the + nursery, and the great deed was undone. Often, in the long winter + evenings, we talked of the past, while Titbottom sat silent by, and Prue + was busily knitting. He told us the incidents of his early passion—but + he did not moralize about it, nor sigh, nor grow moody. He turned to Prue, + sometimes, and jested gently, and often quoted from the old song of George + Withers, I believe: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “If she be not fair for me, + What care I how fair she be?” + </pre> + <p> + But there was no flippancy in the jesting; I thought the sweet humor was + no gayer than a flower upon a grave. + </p> + <p> + I am sure Titbottom loved our cousin the curate, for his heart is as + hospitable as the summer heaven. It was beautiful to watch his courtesy + toward him, and I do not wonder that Prue considers the deputy book-keeper + the model of a high-bred gentleman. When you see his poor clothes, and + thin, gray hair, his loitering step, and dreamy eye, you might pass him by + as an inefficient man; but when you hear his voice always speaking for the + noble and generous side, or recounting, in a half-melancholy chant, the + recollections of his youth; when you know that his heart beats with the + simple emotion of a boy’s heart, and that his courtesy is as + delicate as a girl’s modesty, you will understand why Prue declares + that she has never seen but one man who reminded her of our especial + favorite, Sir Philip Sidney, and that his name is Titbottom. + </p> + <p> + At length our cousin went abroad again to Europe. It was many years ago + that we watched him sail away, and when Titbottom, and Prue, and I, went + home to dinner, the grace that was said that day was a fervent prayer for + our cousin the curate. Many an evening afterward, the children wanted him, + and cried themselves to sleep calling upon his name. Many an evening + still, our talk flags into silence as we sit before the fire, and Prue + puts down her knitting and takes my hand, as if she knew my thoughts, + although we do not name his name. + </p> + <p> + He wrote us letters as he wandered about the world. They were affectionate + letters, full of observation, and thought, and description. He lingered + longest in Italy, but he said his conscience accused him of yielding to + the syrens; and he declared that his life was running uselessly away. At + last he came to England. He was charmed with everything, and the climate + was even kinder to him than that of Italy. He went to all the famous + places, and saw many of the famous Englishmen, and wrote that he felt + England to be his home. Burying himself in the ancient gloom of a + university town, although past the prime of life, he studied like an + ambitious boy. He said again that his life had been wine poured upon the + ground, and he felt guilty. And so our cousin became a curate. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” wrote he, “you and Prue will be glad to hear + it; and my friend Titbottom can no longer boast that he is more useful in + the world than I. Dear old George Herbert has already said what I would + say to you, and here it is. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘I made a posy, while the day ran by; + Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie + My life within this band. + But time did beckon to the flowers, and they + My noon most cunningly did steal away, + And wither’d in my hand. + + “‘My hand was next to them, and then my heart; + I took, without more thinking, in good part, + Time’s gentle admonition; + Which did so sweetly death’s sad taste convey, + Making my mind to smell my fatal day, + Yet sugaring the suspicion. + + “‘Farewell, dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent, + Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, + And after death for cures; + I follow straight without complaints or grief, + Since if my scent be good, I care not if + It be as short as yours.’” + </pre> + <p> + This is our only relation; and do you wonder that, whether our days are + dark or bright, we naturally speak of our cousin the curate? There is no + nursery longer, for the children are grown; but I have seen Prue stand, + with her hand holding the door, for an hour, and looking into the room now + so sadly still and tidy, with a sweet solemnity in her eyes that I will + call holy. Our children have forgotten their old playmate, but I am sure + if there be any children in his parish, over the sea, they love our cousin + the curate, and watch eagerly for his coming. Does his step falter now, I + wonder, is that long, fair hair, gray; is that laugh as musical in those + distant homes as it used to be in our nursery; has England, among all her + good and great men, any man so noble as our cousin the curate? + </p> + <p> + The great book is unwritten; the great deeds are undone; in no + biographical dictionary will you find the name of our cousin the curate. + Is his life, therefore, lost? Have his powers been wasted? + </p> + <p> + I do not dare to say it; for I see Bourne, on the pinnacle of prosperity, + but still looking sadly for his castle in Spain; I see Titbottom, an old + deputy book-keeper, whom nobody knows, but with his chivalric heart, loyal + to whatever is generous and humane, full of sweet hope, and faith, and + devotion; I see the superb Aurelia, so lovely that the Indians would call + her a smile of the Great Spirit, and as beneficent as a saint of the + calendar—how shall I say what is lost, or what is won? I know that + in every way, and by all his creatures, God is served and his purposes + accomplished. How should I explain or understand, I who am only an old + book-keeper in a white cravat? + </p> + <p> + Yet in all history, in the splendid triumphs of emperors and kings, in the + dreams of poets, the speculations of philosophers, the sacrifices of + heroes, and the extacies of saints, I find no exclusive secret of success. + Prue says she knows that nobody ever did more good than our cousin the + curate, for every smile and word of his is a good deed; and I, for my + part, am sure that, although many must do more good in the world, nobody + enjoys it more than Prue and I. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <pre> + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Prue and I, by George William Curtis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRUE AND I *** + +***** This file should be named 8645-h.htm or 8645-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/6/4/8645/ + +Etext produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produce by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +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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