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diff --git a/9235-h/9235-h.htm b/9235-h/9235-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d6c34db --- /dev/null +++ b/9235-h/9235-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1351 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Virtuoso’s Collection, by Nathaniel Hawthorne</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Virtuoso’s Collection, by Nathaniel Hawthorne</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Virtuoso’s Collection</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 6, 2003 [eBook #9235]<br /> +[Most recently updated: November 9, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Widger and Al Haines</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VIRTUOSO’S COLLECTION ***</div> + +<h1>A Virtuoso’s Collection</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Nathaniel Hawthorne</h2> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p> +The other day, having a leisure hour at my disposal, I stepped into a new +museum, to which my notice was casually drawn by a small and unobtrusive sign: +“T<small>O BE SEEN HERE, A</small> V<small>IRTUOSO’S</small> +C<small>OLLECTION</small>.” Such was the simple yet not altogether unpromising +announcement that turned my steps aside for a little while from the sunny +sidewalk of our principal thoroughfare. Mounting a sombre staircase, I pushed +open a door at its summit, and found myself in the presence of a person, who +mentioned the moderate sum that would entitle me to admittance. +</p> + +<p> +“Three shillings, Massachusetts tenor,” said he. “No, I mean half a dollar, as +you reckon in these days.” +</p> + +<p> +While searching my pocket for the coin I glanced at the doorkeeper, the marked +character and individuality of whose aspect encouraged me to expect something +not quite in the ordinary way. He wore an old-fashioned great-coat, much faded, +within which his meagre person was so completely enveloped that the rest of his +attire was undistinguishable. But his visage was remarkably wind-flushed, +sunburnt, and weather-worn, and had a most, unquiet, nervous, and apprehensive +expression. It seemed as if this man had some all-important object in view, +some point of deepest interest to be decided, some momentous question to ask, +might he but hope for a reply. As it was evident, however, that I could have +nothing to do with his private affairs, I passed through an open doorway, which +admitted me into the extensive hall of the museum. +</p> + +<p> +Directly in front of the portal was the bronze statue of a youth with winged +feet. He was represented in the act of flitting away from earth, yet wore such +a look of earnest invitation that it impressed me like a summons to enter the +hall. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the original statue of Opportunity, by the ancient sculptor Lysippus,” +said a gentleman who now approached me. “I place it at the entrance of my +museum, because it is not at all times that one can gain admittance to such a +collection.” +</p> + +<p> +The speaker was a middle-aged person, of whom it was not easy to determine +whether he had spent his life as a scholar or as a man of action; in truth, all +outward and obvious peculiarities had been worn away by an extensive and +promiscuous intercourse with the world. There was no mark about him of +profession, individual habits, or scarcely of country; although his dark +complexion and high features made me conjecture that he was a native of some +southern clime of Europe. At all events, he was evidently the virtuoso in +person. +</p> + +<p> +“With your permission,” said he, “as we have no descriptive catalogue, I will +accompany you through the museum and point out whatever may be most worthy of +attention. In the first place, here is a choice collection of stuffed animals.” +</p> + +<p> +Nearest the door stood the outward semblance of a wolf, exquisitely prepared, +it is true, and showing a very wolfish fierceness in the large glass eyes which +were inserted into its wild and crafty head. Still it was merely the skin of a +wolf, with nothing to distinguish it from other individuals of that unlovely +breed. +</p> + +<p> +“How does this animal deserve a place in your collection?” inquired I. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the wolf that devoured Little Red Riding Hood,” answered the virtuoso; +“and by his side—with a milder and more matronly look, as you +perceive—stands the she-wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, indeed!” exclaimed I. “And what lovely lamb is this with the snow-white +fleece, which seems to be of as delicate a texture as innocence itself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks you have but carelessly read Spenser,” replied my guide, “or you +would at once recognize the ‘milk-white lamb’ which Una led. But I set no great +value upon the lamb. The next specimen is better worth our notice.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried I, “this strange animal, with the black head of an ox upon the +body of a white horse? Were it possible to suppose it, I should say that this +was Alexander’s steed Bucephalus.” +</p> + +<p> +“The same,” said the virtuoso. “And can you likewise give a name to the famous +charger that stands beside him?” +</p> + +<p> +Next to the renowned Bucephalus stood the mere skeleton of a horse, with the +white bones peeping through his ill-conditioned hide; but, if my heart had not +warmed towards that pitiful anatomy, I might as well have quitted the museum at +once. Its rarities had not been collected with pain and toil from the four +quarters of the earth, and from the depths of the sea, and from the palaces and +sepulchres of ages, for those who could mistake this illustrious steed. +</p> + +<p> +“It, is Rosinante!” exclaimed I, with enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +And so it proved. My admiration for the noble and gallant horse caused me to +glance with less interest at the other animals, although many of them might +have deserved the notice of Cuvier himself. There was the donkey which Peter +Bell cudgelled so soundly, and a brother of the same species who had suffered a +similar infliction from the ancient prophet Balaam. Some doubts were +entertained, however, as to the authenticity of the latter beast. My guide +pointed out the venerable Argus, that faithful dog of Ulysses, and also another +dog (for so the skin bespoke it), which, though imperfectly preserved, seemed +once to have had three heads. It was Cerberus. I was considerably amused at +detecting in an obscure corner the fox that became so famous by the loss of his +tail. There were several stuffed cats, which, as a dear lover of that +comfortable beast, attracted my affectionate regards. One was Dr. Johnson’s cat +Hodge; and in the same row stood the favorite cats of Mahomet, Gray, and Walter +Scott, together with Puss in Boots, and a cat of very noble aspect—who +had once been a deity of ancient Egypt. Byron’s tame bear came next. I must not +forget to mention the Eryruanthean boar, the skin of St. George’s dragon, and +that of the serpent Python; and another skin with beautifully variegated hues, +supposed to have been the garment of the “spirited sly snake,” which tempted +Eve. Against the walls were suspended the horns of the stag that Shakespeare +shot; and on the floor lay the ponderous shell of the tortoise which fell upon +the head of Aeschylus. In one row, as natural as life, stood the sacred bull +Apis, the “cow with the crumpled horn,” and a very wild-looking young heifer, +which I guessed to be the cow that jumped over the moon. She was probably +killed by the rapidity of her descent. As I turned away, my eyes fell upon an +indescribable monster, which proved to be a griffin. +</p> + +<p> +“I look in vain,” observed I, “for the skin of an animal which might well +deserve the closest study of a naturalist,—the winged horse, Pegasus.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is not yet dead,” replied the virtuoso; “but he is so hard ridden by many +young gentlemen of the day that I hope soon to add his skin and skeleton to my +collection.” +</p> + +<p> +We now passed to the next alcove of the hall, in which was a multitude of +stuffed birds. They were very prettily arranged, some upon the branches of +trees, others brooding upon nests, and others suspended by wires so +artificially that they seemed in the very act of flight. Among them was a white +dove, with a withered branch of olive-leaves in her mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Can this be the very dove,” inquired I, “that brought the message of peace and +hope to the tempest-beaten passengers of the ark?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” said my companion. +</p> + +<p> +“And this raven, I suppose,” continued I, “is the same that fed Elijah in the +wilderness.” +</p> + +<p> +“The raven? No,” said the virtuoso; “it is a bird of modern date. He belonged +to one Barnaby Rudge, and many people fancied that the Devil himself was +disguised under his sable plumage. But poor Grip has drawn his last cork, and +has been forced to ‘say die’ at last. This other raven, hardly less curious, is +that in which the soul of King George I. revisited his lady-love, the Duchess +of Kendall.” +</p> + +<p> +My guide next pointed out Minerva’s owl and the vulture that preyed upon the +liver of Prometheus. There was likewise the sacred ibis of Egypt, and one of +the Stymphalides which Hercules shot in his sixth labor. Shelley’s skylark, +Bryant’s water-fowl, and a pigeon from the belfry of the Old South Church, +preserved by N. P. Willis, were placed on the same perch. I could not but +shudder on beholding Coleridge’s albatross, transfixed with the Ancient +Mariner’s crossbow shaft. Beside this bird of awful poesy stood a gray goose of +very ordinary aspect. +</p> + +<p> +“Stuffed goose is no such rarity,” observed I. “Why do you preserve such a +specimen in your museum?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is one of the flock whose cackling saved the Roman Capitol,” answered the +virtuoso. “Many geese have cackled and hissed both before and since; but none, +like those, have clamored themselves into immortality.” +</p> + +<p> +There seemed to be little else that demanded notice in this department of the +museum, unless we except Robinson Crusoe’s parrot, a live phoenix, a footless +bird of paradise, and a splendid peacock, supposed to be the same that once +contained the soul of Pythagoras. I therefore passed to the next alcove, the +shelves of which were covered with a miscellaneous collection of curiosities +such as are usually found in similar establishments. One of the first things +that took my eye was a strange-looking cap, woven of some substance that +appeared to be neither woollen, cotton, nor linen. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a magician’s cap?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the virtuoso; “it is merely Dr. Franklin’s cap of asbestos. But +here is one which, perhaps, may suit you better. It is the wishing-cap of +Fortunatus. Will you try it on?” +</p> + +<p> +“By no means,” answered I, putting it aside with my hand. “The day of wild +wishes is past with me. I desire nothing that may not come in the ordinary +course of Providence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then probably,” returned the virtuoso, “you will not be tempted to rub this +lamp?” +</p> + +<p> +While speaking, he took from the shelf an antique brass lamp, curiously wrought +with embossed figures, but so covered with verdigris that the sculpture was +almost eaten away. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a thousand years,” said he, “since the genius of this lamp constructed +Aladdin’s palace in a single night. But he still retains his power; and the man +who rubs Aladdin’s lamp has but to desire either a palace or a cottage.” +</p> + +<p> +“I might desire a cottage,” replied I; “but I would have it founded on sure and +stable truth, not on dreams and fantasies. I have learned to look for the real +and the true.” +</p> + +<p> +My guide next showed me Prospero’s magic wand, broken into three fragments by +the hand of its mighty master. On the same shelf lay the gold ring of ancient +Gyges, which enabled the wearer to walk invisible. On the other side of the +alcove was a tall looking-glass in a frame of ebony, but veiled with a curtain +of purple silk, through the rents of which the gleam of the mirror was +perceptible. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Cornelius Agrippa’s magic glass,” observed the virtuoso. “Draw aside +the curtain, and picture any human form within your mind, and it will be +reflected in the mirror.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is enough if I can picture it within my mind,” answered I. “Why should I +wish it to be repeated in the mirror? But, indeed, these works of magic have +grown wearisome to me. There are so many greater wonders in the world, to those +who keep their eyes open and their sight undimmed by custom, that all the +delusions of the old sorcerers seem flat and stale. Unless you can show me +something really curious, I care not to look further into your museum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, then,” said the virtuoso, composedly, “perhaps you may deem some of +my antiquarian rarities deserving of a glance.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed out the iron mask, now corroded with rust; and my heart grew sick at +the sight of this dreadful relic, which had shut out a human being from +sympathy with his race. There was nothing half so terrible in the axe that +beheaded King Charles, nor in the dagger that slew Henry of Navarre, nor in the +arrow that pierced the heart of William Rufus,—all of which were shown to +me. Many of the articles derived their interest, such as it was, from having +been formerly in the possession of royalty. For instance, here was +Charlemagne’s sheepskin cloak, the flowing wig of Louis Quatorze, the +spinning-wheel of Sardanapalus, and King Stephen’s famous breeches which cost +him but a crown. The heart of the Bloody Mary, with the word “Calais” worn into +its diseased substance, was preserved in a bottle of spirits; and near it lay +the golden case in which the queen of Gustavus Adolphus treasured up that +hero’s heart. Among these relics and heirlooms of kings I must not forget the +long, hairy ears of Midas, and a piece of bread which had been changed to gold +by the touch of that unlucky monarch. And as Grecian Helen was a queen, it may +here be mentioned that I was permitted to take into my hand a lock of her +golden hair and the bowl which a sculptor modelled from the curve of her +perfect breast. Here, likewise, was the robe that smothered Agamemnon, Nero’s +fiddle, the Czar Peter’s brandy-bottle, the crown of Semiramis, and Canute’s +sceptre which he extended over the sea. That my own land may not deem itself +neglected, let me add that I was favored with a sight of the skull of King +Philip, the famous Indian chief, whose head the Puritans smote off and +exhibited upon a pole. +</p> + +<p> +“Show me something else,” said I to the virtuoso. “Kings are in such an +artificial position that people in the ordinary walks of life cannot feel an +interest in their relics. If you could show me the straw hat of sweet little +Nell, I would far rather see it than a king’s golden crown.” +</p> + +<p> +“There it is,” said my guide, pointing carelessly with his staff to the straw +hat in question. “But, indeed, you are hard to please. Here are the +seven-league boots. Will you try them on?” +</p> + +<p> +“Our modern railroads have superseded their use,” answered I; “and as to these +cowhide boots, I could show you quite as curious a pair at the Transcendental +community in Roxbury.” +</p> + +<p> +We next examined a collection of swords and other weapons, belonging to +different epochs, but thrown together without much attempt at arrangement. Here +Was Arthur’s sword Excalibar, and that of the Cid Campeader, and the sword of +Brutus rusted with Caesar’s blood and his own, and the sword of Joan of Arc, +and that of Horatius, and that with which Virginius slew his daughter, and the +one which Dionysius suspended over the head of Damocles. Here also was Arria’s +sword, which she plunged into her own breast, in order to taste of death before +her husband. The crooked blade of Saladin’s cimeter next attracted my notice. I +know not by what chance, but so it happened, that the sword of one of our own +militia generals was suspended between Don Quixote’s lance and the brown blade +of Hudibras. My heart throbbed high at the sight of the helmet of Miltiades and +the spear that was broken in the breast of Epaminondas. I recognized the shield +of Achilles by its resemblance to the admirable cast in the possession of +Professor Felton. Nothing in this apartment interested me more than Major +Pitcairn’s pistol, the discharge of which, at Lexington, began the war of the +Revolution, and was reverberated in thunder around the land for seven long +years. The bow of Ulysses, though unstrung for ages, was placed against the +wall, together with a sheaf of Robin Hood’s arrows and the rifle of Daniel +Boone. +</p> + +<p> +“Enough of weapons,” said I, at length; “although I would gladly have seen the +sacred shield which fell from heaven in the time of Numa. And surely you should +obtain the sword which Washington unsheathed at Cambridge. But the collection +does you much credit. Let us pass on.” +</p> + +<p> +In the next alcove we saw the golden thigh of Pythagoras, which had so divine a +meaning; and, by one of the queer analogies to which the virtuoso seemed to be +addicted, this ancient emblem lay on the same shelf with Peter Stuyvesant’s +wooden leg, that was fabled to be of silver. Here was a remnant of the Golden +Fleece, and a sprig of yellow leaves that resembled the foliage of a +frost-bitten elm, but was duly authenticated as a portion of the golden branch +by which AEneas gained admittance to the realm of Pluto. Atalanta’s golden +apple and one of the apples of discord were wrapped in the napkin of gold which +Rampsinitus brought from Hades; and the whole were deposited in the golden vase +of Bias, with its inscription: “TO THE WISEST.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how did you obtain this vase?” said I to the virtuoso. +</p> + +<p> +“It was given me long ago,” replied he, with a scornful expression in his eye, +“because I had learned to despise all things.” +</p> + +<p> +It had not escaped me that, though the virtuoso was evidently a man of high +cultivation, yet he seemed to lack sympathy with the spiritual, the sublime, +and the tender. Apart from the whim that had led him to devote so much time, +pains, and expense to the collection of this museum, he impressed me as one of +the hardest and coldest men of the world whom I had ever met. +</p> + +<p> +“To despise all things!” repeated I. “This, at best, is the wisdom of the +understanding. It is the creed of a man whose soul, whose better and diviner +part, has never been awakened, or has died out of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not think that you were still so young,” said the virtuoso. “Should you +live to my years, you will acknowledge that the vase of Bias was not ill +bestowed.” +</p> + +<p> +Without further discussion of the point, he directed my attention to other +curiosities. I examined Cinderella’s little glass slipper, and compared it with +one of Diana’s sandals, and with Fanny Elssler’s shoe, which bore testimony to +the muscular character of her illustrious foot. On the same shelf were Thomas +the Rhymer’s green velvet shoes, and the brazen shoe of Empedocles which was +thrown out of Mount AEtna. Anacreon’s drinking-cup was placed in apt +juxtaposition with one of Tom Moore’s wine-glasses and Circe’s magic bowl. +These were symbols of luxury and riot; but near them stood the cup whence +Socrates drank his hemlock, and that which Sir Philip Sidney put from his +death-parched lips to bestow the draught upon a dying soldier. Next appeared a +cluster of tobacco-pipes, consisting of Sir Walter Raleigh’s, the earliest on +record, Dr. Parr’s, Charles Lamb’s, and the first calumet of peace which was +ever smoked between a European and an Indian. Among other musical instruments, +I noticed the lyre of Orpheus and those of Homer and Sappho, Dr. Franklin’s +famous whistle, the trumpet of Anthony Van Corlear, and the flute which +Goldsmith played upon in his rambles through the French provinces. The staff of +Peter the Hermit stood in a corner with that of good old Bishop Jewel, and one +of ivory, which had belonged to Papirius, the Roman senator. The ponderous club +of Hercules was close at hand. The virtuoso showed me the chisel of Phidias, +Claude’s palette, and the brush of Apelles, observing that he intended to +bestow the former either on Greenough, Crawford, or Powers, and the two latter +upon Washington Allston. There was a small vase of oracular gas from Delphos, +which I trust will be submitted to the scientific analysis of Professor +Silliman. I was deeply moved on beholding a vial of the tears into which Niobe +was dissolved; nor less so on learning that a shapeless fragment of salt was a +relic of that victim of despondency and sinful regrets,—Lot’s wife. My +companion appeared to set great value upon some Egyptian darkness in a +blacking-jug. Several of the shelves were covered by a collection of coins, +among which, however, I remember none but the Splendid Shilling, celebrated by +Phillips, and a dollar’s worth of the iron money of Lycurgus, weighing about +fifty pounds. +</p> + +<p> +Walking carelessly onward, I had nearly fallen over a huge bundle, like a +peddler’s pack, done up in sackcloth, and very securely strapped and corded. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Christian’s burden of sin,” said the virtuoso. +</p> + +<p> +“O, pray let us open it!” cried I. “For many a year I have longed to know its +contents.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look into your own consciousness and memory,” replied the virtuoso. “You will +there find a list of whatever it contains.” +</p> + +<p> +As this was all undeniable truth, I threw a melancholy look at the burden and +passed on. A collection of old garments, banging on pegs, was worthy of some +attention, especially the shirt of Nessus, Caesar’s mantle, Joseph’s coat of +many colors, the Vicar of Bray’s cassock, Goldsmith’s peach-bloom suit, a pair +of President Jefferson’s scarlet breeches, John Randolph’s red baize +hunting-shirt, the drab small-clothes of the Stout Gentleman, and the rags of +the “man all tattered and torn.” George Fox’s hat impressed me with deep +reverence as a relic of perhaps the truest apostle that has appeared on earth +for these eighteen hundred years. My eye was next attracted by an old pair of +shears, which I should have taken for a memorial of some famous tailor, only +that the virtuoso pledged his veracity that they were the identical scissors of +Atropos. He also showed me a broken hourglass which had been thrown aside by +Father Time, together with the old gentleman’s gray forelock, tastefully +braided into a brooch. In the hour-glass was the handful of sand, the grains of +which had numbered the years of the Cumeean sibyl. I think it was in this +alcove that I saw the inkstand which Luther threw at the Devil, and the ring +which Essex, while under sentence of death, sent to Queen Elizabeth. And here +was the blood-incrusted pen of steel with which Faust signed away his +salvation. +</p> + +<p> +The virtuoso now opened the door of a closet and showed me a lamp burning, +while three others stood unlighted by its side. One of the three was the lamp +of Diogenes, another that of Guy Fawkes, and the third that which Hero set +forth to the midnight breeze in the high tower of Ahydos. +</p> + +<p> +“See!” said the virtuoso, blowing with all his force at the lighted lamp. +</p> + +<p> +The flame quivered and shrank away from his breath, but clung to the wick, and +resumed its brilliancy as soon as the blast was exhausted. +</p> + +<p> +“It is an undying lamp from the tomb of Charlemagne,” observed my guide. “That +flame was kindled a thousand years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“How ridiculous to kindle an unnatural light in tombs!” exclaimed I. “We should +seek to behold the dead in the light of heaven. But what is the meaning of this +chafing-dish of glowing coals?” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” answered the virtuoso, “is the original fire which Prometheus stole +from heaven. Look steadfastly into it, and you will discern another curiosity.” +</p> + +<p> +I gazed into that fire,—which, symbolically, was the origin of all that +was bright and glorious in the soul of man,—and in the midst of it, +behold a little reptile, sporting with evident enjoyment of the fervid heat! It +was a salamander. +</p> + +<p> +“What a sacrilege!” cried I, with inexpressible disgust. “Can you find no +better use for this ethereal fire than to cherish a loathsome reptile in it? +Yet there are men who abuse the sacred fire of their own souls to as foul and +guilty a purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +The virtuoso made no answer except by a dry laugh and an assurance that the +salamander was the very same which Benvenuto Cellini had seen in his father’s +household fire. He then proceeded to show me other rarities; for this closet +appeared to be the receptacle of what he considered most valuable in his +collection. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said he, “is the Great Carbuncle of the White Mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +I gazed with no little interest at this mighty gem, which it had been one of +the wild projects of my youth to discover. Possibly it might have looked +brighter to me in those days than now; at all events, it had not such +brilliancy as to detain me long from the other articles of the museum. The +virtuoso pointed out to me a crystalline stone which hung by a gold chain +against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“That is the philosopher’s stone,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“And have you the elixir vita which generally accompanies it?” inquired I. +</p> + +<p> +“Even so; this urn is filled with it,” he replied. “A draught would refresh +you. Here is Hebe’s cup; will you quaff a health from it?” +</p> + +<p> +My heart thrilled within me at the idea of such a reviving draught; for +methought I had great need of it after travelling so far on the dusty road of +life. But I know not whether it were a peculiar glance in the virtuoso’s eye, +or the circumstance that this most precious liquid was contained in an antique +sepulchral urn, that made me pause. Then came many a thought with which, in the +calmer and better hours of life, I had strengthened myself to feel that Death +is the very friend whom, in his due season, even the happiest mortal should be +willing to embrace. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I desire not an earthly immortality,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Were man to live longer on the earth, the spiritual would die out of him. The +spark of ethereal fire would be choked by the material, the sensual. There is a +celestial something within us that requires, after a certain time, the +atmosphere of heaven to preserve it from decay and ruin. I will have none of +this liquid. You do well to keep it in a sepulchral urn; for it would produce +death while bestowing the shadow of life.” +</p> + +<p> +“All this is unintelligible to me,” responded my guide, with indifference. +“Life—earthly life—is the only good. But you refuse the draught? +Well, it is not likely to be offered twice within one man’s experience. +Probably you have griefs which you seek to forget in death. I can enable you to +forget them in life. Will you take a draught of Lethe?” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, the virtuoso took from the shelf a crystal vase containing a sable +liquor, which caught no reflected image from the objects around. +</p> + +<p> +“Not for the world!” exclaimed I, shrinking back. “I can spare none of my +recollections, not even those of error or sorrow. They are all alike the food +of my spirit. As well never to have lived as to lose them now.” +</p> + +<p> +Without further parley we passed to the next alcove, the shelves of which were +burdened with ancient volumes and with those rolls of papyrus in which was +treasured up the eldest wisdom of the earth. Perhaps the most valuable work in +the collection, to a bibliomaniac, was the Book of Hermes. For my part, +however, I would have given a higher price for those six of the Sibyl’s books +which Tarquin refused to purchase, and which the virtuoso informed me he had +himself found in the cave of Trophonius. Doubtless these old volumes contain +prophecies of the fate of Rome, both as respects the decline and fall of her +temporal empire and the rise of her spiritual one. Not without value, likewise, +was the work of Anaxagoras on Nature, hitherto supposed to be irrecoverably +lost, and the missing treatises of Longinus, by which modern criticism might +profit, and those books of Livy for which the classic student has so long +sorrowed without hope. Among these precious tomes I observed the original +manuscript of the Koran, and also that of the Mormon Bible in Joe Smith’s +authentic autograph. Alexander’s copy of the Iliad was also there, enclosed in +the jewelled casket of Darius, still fragrant of the perfumes which the Persian +kept in it. +</p> + +<p> +Opening an iron-clasped volume, bound in black leather, I discovered it to be +Cornelius Agrippa’s book of magic; and it was rendered still more interesting +by the fact that many flowers, ancient and modern, were pressed between its +leaves. Here was a rose from Eve’s bridal bower, and all those red and white +roses which were plucked in the garden of the Temple by the partisans of York +and Lancaster. Here was Halleck’s Wild Rose of Alloway. Cowper had contributed +a Sensitive Plant, and Wordsworth an Eglantine, and Burns a Mountain Daisy, and +Kirke White a Star of Bethlehem, and Longfellow a Sprig of Fennel, with its +yellow flowers. James Russell Lowell had given a Pressed Flower, but fragrant +still, which had been shadowed in the Rhine. There was also a sprig from +Southey’s Holly Tree. One of the most beautiful specimens was a Fringed +Gentian, which had been plucked and preserved for immortality by Bryant. From +Jones Very, a poet whose voice is scarcely heard among us by reason of its +depth, there was a Wind Flower and a Columbine. +</p> + +<p> +As I closed Cornelius Agrippa’s magic volume, an old, mildewed letter fell upon +the floor. It proved to be an autograph from the Flying Dutchman to his wife. I +could linger no longer among books; for the afternoon was waning, and there was +yet much to see. The bare mention of a few more curiosities must suffice. The +immense skull of Polyphemus was recognizable by the cavernous hollow in the +centre of the forehead where once had blazed the giant’s single eye. The tub of +Diogenes, Medea’s caldron, and Psyche’s vase of beauty were placed one within +another. Pandora’s box, without the lid, stood next, containing nothing but the +girdle of Venus, which had been carelessly flung into it. A bundle of +birch-rods which had been used by Shenstone’s schoolmistress were tied up with +the Countess of Salisbury’s garter. I know not which to value most, a roc’s egg +as big as an ordinary hogshead, or the shell of the egg which Columbus set upon +its end. Perhaps the most delicate article in the whole museum was Queen Mab’s +chariot, which, to guard it from the touch of meddlesome fingers, was placed +under a glass tumbler. +</p> + +<p> +Several of the shelves were occupied by specimens of entomology. Feeling but +little interest in the science, I noticed only Anacreon’s grasshopper, and a +bumblebee which had been presented to the virtuoso by Ralph Waldo Emerson. +</p> + +<p> +In the part of the hall which we had now reached I observed a curtain, that +descended from the ceiling to the floor in voluminous folds, of a depth, +richness, and magnificence which I had never seen equalled. It was not to be +doubted that this splendid though dark and solemn veil concealed a portion of +the museum even richer in wonders than that through which I had already passed; +but, on my attempting to grasp the edge of the curtain and draw it aside, it +proved to be an illusive picture. +</p> + +<p> +“You need not blush,” remarked the virtuoso; “for that same curtain deceived +Zeuxis. It is the celebrated painting of Parrhasius.” +</p> + +<p> +In a range with the curtain there were a number of other choice pictures by +artists of ancient days. Here was the famous cluster of grapes by Zeuxis, so +admirably depicted that it seemed as if the ripe juice were bursting forth. As +to the picture of the old woman by the same illustrious painter, and which was +so ludicrous that he himself died with laughing at it, I cannot say that it +particularly moved my risibility. Ancient humor seems to have little power over +modern muscles. Here, also, was the horse painted by Apelles which living +horses neighed at; his first portrait of Alexander the Great, and his last +unfinished picture of Venus asleep. Each of these works of art, together with +others by Parrhasius, Timanthes, Polygnotus, Apollodorus, Pausias, and +Pamplulus, required more time and study than I could bestow for the adequate +perception of their merits. I shall therefore leave them undescribed and +uncriticised, nor attempt to settle the question of superiority between ancient +and modern art. +</p> + +<p> +For the same reason I shall pass lightly over the specimens of antique +sculpture which this indefatigable and fortunate virtuoso had dug out of the +dust of fallen empires. Here was AEtion’s cedar statue of AEsculapius, much +decayed, and Alcon’s iron statue of Hercules, lamentably rusted. Here was the +statue of Victory, six feet high, which the Jupiter Olympus of Phidias had held +in his hand. Here was a forefinger of the Colossus of Rhodes, seven feet in +length. Here was the Venus Urania of Phidias, and other images of male and +female beauty or grandeur, wrought by sculptors who appeared never to have +debased their souls by the sight of any meaner forms than those of gods or +godlike mortals. But the deep simplicity of these great works was not to be +comprehended by a mind excited and disturbed, as mine was, by the various +objects that had recently been presented to it. I therefore turned away with +merely a passing glance, resolving on some future occasion to brood over each +individual statue and picture until my inmost spirit should feel their +excellence. In this department, again, I noticed the tendency to whimsical +combinations and ludicrous analogies which seemed to influence many of the +arrangements of the museum. The wooden statue so well known as the Palladium of +Troy was placed in close apposition with the wooden head of General Jackson, +which was stolen a few years since from the bows of the frigate Constitution. +</p> + +<p> +We had now completed the circuit of the spacious hall, and found ourselves +again near the door. Feeling somewhat wearied with the survey of so many +novelties and antiquities, I sat down upon Cowper’s sofa, while the virtuoso +threw himself carelessly into Rabelais’s easychair. Casting my eyes upon the +opposite wall, I was surprised to perceive the shadow of a man flickering +unsteadily across the wainscot, and looking as if it were stirred by some +breath of air that found its way through the door or windows. No substantial +figure was visible from which this shadow might be thrown; nor, had there been +such, was there any sunshine that would have caused it to darken upon the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Peter Schlemihl’s shadow,” observed the virtuoso, “and one of the most +valuable articles in my collection.” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks a shadow would have made a fitting doorkeeper to such a museum,” said +I; “although, indeed, yonder figure has something strange and fantastic about +him, which suits well enough with many of the impressions which I have received +here. Pray, who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +While speaking, I gazed more scrutinizingly than before at the antiquated +presence of the person who had admitted me, and who still sat on his bench with +the same restless aspect, and dim, confused, questioning anxiety that I had +noticed on my first entrance. At this moment he looked eagerly towards us, and, +half starting from his seat, addressed me. +</p> + +<p> +“I beseech you, kind sir,” said he, in a cracked, melancholy tone, “have pity +on the most unfortunate man in the world. For Heaven’s sake, answer me a single +question! Is this the town of Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have recognized him now,” said the virtuoso. “It is Peter Rugg, the +missing man. I chanced to meet him the other day still in search of Boston, and +conducted him hither; and, as he could not succeed in finding his friends, I +have taken him into my service as doorkeeper. He is somewhat too apt to ramble, +but otherwise a man of trust and integrity.” +</p> + +<p> +“And might I venture to ask,” continued I, “to whom am I indebted for this +afternoon’s gratification?” +</p> + +<p> +The virtuoso, before replying, laid his hand upon an antique dart, or javelin, +the rusty steel head of winch seemed to have been blunted, as if it had +encountered the resistance of a tempered shield, or breastplate. +</p> + +<p> +“My name has not been without its distinction in the world for a longer period +than that of any other man alive,” answered he. “Yet many doubt of my +existence; perhaps you will do so to-morrow. This dart which I hold in my hand +was once grim Death’s own weapon. It served him well for the space of four +thousand years; but it fell blunted, as you see, when he directed it against my +breast.” +</p> + +<p> +These words were spoken with the calm and cold courtesy of manner that had +characterized this singular personage throughout our interview. I fancied, it +is true, that there was a bitterness indefinably mingled with his tone, as of +one cut off from natural sympathies and blasted with a doom that had been +inflicted on no other human being, and by the results of which he had ceased to +be human. Yet, withal, it seemed one of the most terrible consequences of that +doom that the victim no longer regarded it as a calamity, but had finally +accepted it as the greatest good that could have befallen him. +</p> + +<p> +“You are the Wandering Jew!” exclaimed I. +</p> + +<p> +The virtuoso bowed without emotion of any kind; for, by centuries of custom, he +had almost lost the sense of strangeness in his fate, and was but imperfectly +conscious of the astonishment and awe with which it affected such as are +capable of death. +</p> + +<p> +“Your doom is indeed a fearful one!” said I, with irrepressible feeling and a +frankness that afterwards startled me; “yet perhaps the ethereal spirit is not +entirely extinct under all this corrupted or frozen mass of earthly life. +Perhaps the immortal spark may yet be rekindled by a breath of heaven. Perhaps +you may yet be permitted to die before it is too late to live eternally. You +have my prayers for such a consummation. Farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your prayers will be in vain,” replied he, with a smile of cold triumph. “My +destiny is linked with the realities of earth. You are welcome to your visions +and shadows of a future state; but give me what I can see, and touch, and +understand, and I ask no more.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is indeed too late,” thought I. “The soul is dead within him.” +</p> + +<p> +Struggling between pity and horror, I extended my hand, to which the virtuoso +gave his own, still with the habitual courtesy of a man of the world, but +without a single heart-throb of human brotherhood. The touch seemed like ice, +yet I know not whether morally or physically. As I departed, he bade me observe +that the inner door of the hall was constructed with the ivory leaves of the +gateway through which Aeneas and the Sibyl had been dismissed from Hades. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VIRTUOSO’S COLLECTION ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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