"That his bones,When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em."
"That his bones,When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em."
"That his bones,When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em."
"That his bones,
When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em."
But the function of lawyer or judge, bothpractisinglaw, is unlike that of the jurist, who, whether judge or lawyer, examines every principle in the light of science, and, while doing justice, seeks to widen and confirm the means of justice hereafter. All ages have abounded in lawyers and judges; there is no church-yard that does not contain their forgotten dust. But the jurist is rare. The judge passes the sentence of the law upon the prisoner at the bar face to face; but the jurist, invisible to mortal sight, yet speaks, as was said of the Roman Law, swaying by the reason, when he has ceased to govern by the living voice. Such a character does not live for the present only, whether in time or place. Ascending above its temptations,yielding neither to the love of gain nor to the seduction of ephemeral praise, he perseveres in those serene labors which help to build the mighty dome of justice, beneath which all men are to seek shelter and peace.
It is not uncommon to hear the complaint of lawyers and judges, as they liken themselves, in short-lived fame, to the well-graced actor, of whom only uncertain traces remain when his voice has ceased to charm. But they labor for the present only. How can they hope to be remembered beyond the present? They are instruments of a temporary and perishable purpose. How can they hope for more than they render? They do nothing for all. How can they think to be remembered beyond the operation of their labors? So far forth, in time or place, as any beneficent influence is felt, so far will its author be gratefully commemorated. Happy may he be, if he has done aught to connect his name with the enduring principles of justice!
In the world's history, lawgivers are among the greatest and most godlike characters. They are reformers of nations. They are builders of human society. They are fit companions of the master poets who fill it with their melody. Man will never forget Homer, Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe,—nor those other names of creative force, Minos, Solon, Lycurgus, Numa, Justinian, St. Louis, Napoleon the legislator. Each is too closely linked with human progress not to be always remembered.
In their train follow the company of jurists, whose labors have the value without the form of legislation, and whose recorded opinions, uttered from the chair of a professor, the bench of a judge, or, it may be, from theseclusion of private life, continue to rule the nations. Here are Papinian, Tribonian, Paulus, Gaius, ancient, time-honored masters of the Roman Law,—Cujas, its most illustrious expounder in modern times, of whom D'Aguesseau said, "Cujas has spoken the language of the law better than any modern, and perhaps as well as any ancient," and whose renown during life, in the golden age of jurisprudence, was such that in the public schools of Germany, when his name was mentioned, all took off their hats,—Dumoulin, kinsman of our English Queen Elizabeth, and most illustrious expounder of municipal law, one of whose books was said to have accomplished what thirty thousand soldiers of his monarch failed to do,—Hugo Grotius, filled with all knowledge and loving all truth, author of that marvellous work, at times divine, at other times, alas! too much of this earth, the "Laws of War and Peace,"—John Selden, who against Grotius vindicated for his country the dominion of the sea, supped with Ben Jonson at the Mermaid, and became, according to contemporary judgment, the great dictator of learning to the English nation,—D'Aguesseau, who brought scholarship to jurisprudence throughout a long life elevated by justice and refined by all that character and study could bestow, awakening admiration even at the outset, so that a retiring magistrate declared that he should be glad to end as the young man began,—Pothier, whose professor's chair was kissed in reverence by pilgrims from afar, while from his recluse life he sent forth those treatises which enter so largely into the invaluable codes of France,—Coke, the indefatigable, pedantic, but truly learned author and judge, Mansfield, the Chrysostom of the bench, and Blackstone, the elegant commentator, who are among the few exemplars within the boast of the English Common Law,—and, descending to our own day, Pardessus, of France, to whom commercial and maritime law is under a larger debt, perhaps, than to any single mind,—Thibaut, of Germany, earnest and successful advocate of a just scheme for the reduction of the unwritten law to the certainty of a written text,—Savigny, also of Germany, renowned illustrator of the Roman Law, who is yet spared to his favorite science,—and in our own country one now happily among us to-day by his son,[165]James Kent, the unquestioned living head of American jurisprudence. These are among jurists. Let them not be confounded with the lawyer, bustling with forensic success, although, like Dunning, arbiter of Westminster Hall, or, like Pinkney, acknowledged chief of the American bar. The jurist is higher than the lawyer,—as Watt, who invented the steam-engine, is higher than the journeyman who feeds its fires and pours oil upon its irritated machinery,—as Washington is more exalted than the Swiss, who, indifferent to the cause, barters for money the vigor of his arm and the sharpness of his spear.
The lawyer is the honored artisan of the law. Tokens of worldly success surround him; but his labors are on the things of to-day. His name is written on the sandy margin of the sounding sea, soon to be washed away by the embossed foam of the tyrannous wave. Not so is the name of the jurist. This is inscribed on the immortal tablets of the law. The ceaseless flow of ages does not wear off their indestructible front; thehour-glass of Time refuses to measure the period of their duration.
Into the company of Jurists Story has now passed, taking place, not only in the immediate history of his country, but in the grander history of civilization. It was a saying of his, often uttered in the confidence of friendship, that a man may be measured by the horizon of his mind, whether it embraces the village, town, county, or state in which he lives, or the whole broad country,—ay, the world itself. In this spirit he lived and wrought, elevating himself above the present, and always finding in jurisprudence an absorbing interest. Only a few days before the illness ending in death, it was suggested to him, that, as he was about to retire from the bench, there were many who would be glad to see him President. He replied at once, spontaneously, and without hesitation, "that the office of President of the United States would not tempt him from his professor's chair and from the law." So spoke the Jurist. As lawyer, judge, professor, he was always Jurist. While administering justice between parties, he sought to extract from their cause the elements of future justice, and to advance the science of the law. Thus his judgments have a value stamped upon them which is not restricted to the occasions when they were pronounced. Like the gold coin of the Republic, they bear the image and superscription of sovereignty, which is recognized wherever they go, even in foreign lands.
Many years ago his judgments in matters of Admiralty and Prize arrested the attention of that famous judge and jurist, Lord Stowell; and Sir James Mackintosh, a name emblazoned by literature and jurisprudence,said of them, that they were "justly admired by all cultivators of the Law of Nations."[166]He has often been cited as authority in Westminster Hall,—an English tribute to a foreign jurist almost unprecedented, as all familiar with English law will know; and the Chief Justice of England made the remarkable declaration, with regard to a point on which Story differed from the Queen's Bench, that his opinion would "at least neutralize the effect of the English decision, and induce any of their courts to consider the question as an open one."[167]In the House of Lords, Lord Campbell characterized him as "one of the greatest ornaments of the United States, who had a greater reputation as a legal writer than any author England could boast since the days of Blackstone";[168]and, in a letter to our departed brother, the same distinguished magistrate said: "I survey with increased astonishment your extensive, minute, exact, and familiar knowledge of English legal writers in every department of the law. A similar testimony to your juridical learning, I make no doubt, would be offered by the lawyers of France and Germany, as well as of America, and we should all concur in placing you at the head of the jurists of the present age."[169]His authority was acknowledged in France and Germany, the classic lands of jurisprudence; nor is it too much to say, that at the moment of his death he enjoyed a renown such as had never before been achieved, during life, by any jurist of the Common Law.
In this recital I state simply facts, without intending to assert presumptuously for our brother any precedence in the scale of eminence. The extent of his fame is a fact. It will not be forgotten, as a proper contrast to his fame, which was not confined to his own country or to England, that the cultivators of the Common Law have hitherto enjoyed little more than an insular reputation, and that even its great master received on the Continent no higher designation thanquidam Cocus, "one Coke."
In the Common Law was the spirit of liberty; in that of the Continent the spirit of science. The Common Law has given to the world trial by jury,habeas corpus, parliamentary representation, the rules and orders of debate, and that benign principle which pronounces that its air is too pure for a slave to breathe,—perhaps the five most important political establishments of modern times. From the Continent proceeded the important impulse to the systematic study, arrangement, and development of the law,—also the example of Law Schools and of Codes.
Story was bred in the Common Law; but while admiring its vital principles of freedom, he felt how much it would gain from science, and from other systems of jurisprudence. In his later labors he never forgot this object; and under his hands we behold the development of a study until him little known or regarded,—the science ofComparative Jurisprudence, kindred to those other departments of knowledge which exhibit the relations of the human family, and showing that amidst diversity there is unity.
I need not add that he emulated the law schools of the Continent,—as "ever witness for him" this seat of learning.
On more than one occasion, he urged, with conclusive force, the importance of reducing the unwritten law to the certainty of a code, compiling and bringing into one body fragments now scattered in all directions, through the pages of many thousand volumes.[170]His views on this subject, while differing from those of John Locke and Jeremy Bentham,—both of whom supposed themselves able to clothe a people in a new code, as in fresh garments,—are in substantial harmony with the conclusions now adopted by the jurists of Continental Europe, and not unlike those of an earlier age having the authority of Bacon and Leibnitz, the two greatest intellects ever applied to topics of jurisprudence in modern times.[171]
In this catholic spirit he showed true eminence. He loved the law with a lover's fondness, but not with a lover's blindness. He could not join with those devotees of the Common Law by whom it is entitled "the perfection of reason,"—an anachronism great as the assumed infallibility of the Pope: as if perfection or infallibility existed in this world! He was led, in becoming temper, to contemplate its amendment; and here is revealed the Jurist,—not content with the present, but thoughtful of the future. In a letter published since his death, he refers with sorrow to "what is but too common in our profession,—a disposition to resist innovation, even when it is improvement." It is an elevated mind that, having mastered the subtilties of the law, is willing to reform them.
And now farewell to thee, Jurist, Master, Benefactor, Friend! May thy spirit continue to inspire a love for the science of the law! May thy example be ever fresh in the minds of the young, beaming, as in life, with encouragement, kindness, and joy!
From the grave of the Jurist, at Mount Auburn, let us walk to that ofthe Artist, who sleeps beneath the protecting arms of those trees which cast their shadow into this church.Washington Allstondied in the month of July, 1843, aged sixty-three, having reached the grand climacteric, that famous mile-stone on the road of life. It was Saturday night; the cares of the week were over; the pencil and brush were laid in repose; the great canvas, on which for many years he had sought to perpetuate the image of Daniel confronting the soothsayers of Belshazzar, was left, with fresh chalk lines designating the labor to be resumed after the repose of the Sabbath; the evening was passed in the converse of family and friends; words of benediction had fallen from his lips upon a beloved relative; all had retired for the night, leaving him alone, in health, to receive the visitation of Death, sudden, but not unprepared for. Happy lot, thus to be borne away with blessings on the lips,—not through the long valley of disease, amidst the sharpness of pain, and the darkness that clouds the slowly departing spirit, but straight upward, through realms of light, swiftly, yet gently, as on the wings of a dove!
The early shades of evening began to prevail before the body of the Artist reached its last resting-place; and the solemn service of the church was read in the open air, by the flickering flame of a torch,—fit image of life. In the group of mourners who bore a last tribute to what was mortal in him of whom so much was immortal stood our Jurist. Overflowing with tenderness and appreciation of merit in all its forms, his soul was touched by the scene. In vivid words, as he slowly left the church-yard, he poured forth his admiration and his grief. Never was such an Artist mourned by such a Jurist.
Of Allston may we repeat the words in which Burke commemorated his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds, when he says, "He was the first who added the praise of the elegant arts to the other glories of his country."[172]An ingenious English writer, who sees Art with the eye of taste and humanity, and whom I quote with sympathy, if not with entire assent, has said, in a recent publication on our Artist, "It seemed to me that in him America had lost her third great man. What Washington was as a statesman, Channing as a moralist,thatwas Allston as an artist."[173]
Here again is discerned the inseparable union between character and works. Allston was a good man, with a soul refined by purity, exalted by religion, softened by love. In manner he was simple, yet courtly,—quiet, though anxious to please,—kindly to all alike, the poor and lowly not less than the rich and great. As he spoke, in that voice of gentlest utterance, all werecharmed to listen; and the airy-footed hours often tripped on far towards the gates of morning, before his friends could break from his spell. His character is transfigured in his works. The Artist is always inspired by the man.
His life was consecrated to Art. He lived to diffuse Beauty, as writer, poet, painter. As an expounder of principles in his art, he will take a place with Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Dürer, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Fuseli. His theory of painting, as developed in his still unpublished discourses, and in that tale of beauty, "Monaldi," is an instructive memorial of conscientious study. In the small group of painter-poets—poets by the double title of pencil and pen—he holds an honored place. His ode "America to Great Britain," which is among the choice lyrics of the language, is superior to the satirical verse of Salvator Rosa, and may claim companionship with the remarkable sonnets of Michel Angelo. It was this which made no less a judge than Southey place him among the first poets of the age.
In youth, while yet a pupil at the University, his busy fingers found pleasure in drawing; and a pen-and-ink sketch from his hand at that time is still preserved in the records of a college society. Shortly after leaving Cambridge he repaired to Europe, in the pursuit of Art. At Paris were then collected the masterpieces of painting and sculpture, the spoils of unholy war, robbed from their native galleries and churches to swell the pomp of the Imperial capital. There our Artist devoted his days to diligent study of his profession, particularly to drawing, so important to accurate art. At a later day, alluding to these thorough labors, he said he"worked like a mechanic." To these, perhaps, may be referred his singular excellence in that necessary, but neglected branch, which is to Art what grammar is to language. Grammar and Design are treated by Aristotle on a level.
Turning his back upon Paris and the greatness of the Empire, he directed his steps towards Italy, the enchanted ground of literature, history, and art,—strown with richest memorials of the Past,—filled with scenes memorable in the Progress of Man,—teaching by the pages of philosophers and historians,—vocal with the melody of poets,—ringing with the music which St. Cecilia protects,—glowing with the living marble and canvas,—beneath a sky of heavenly purity and brightness,—with the sunsets which Claude has painted,—parted by the Apennines, early witnesses of the unrecorded Etruscan civilization,—surrounded by the snow-capped Alps, and the blue, classic waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The deluge of war submerging Europe had subsided here, and our Artist took up his peaceful abode in Rome, the modern home of Art. Strange vicissitude of condition! Rome, sole surviving city of Antiquity, once disdaining all that could be wrought by the cunning hand of sculpture,—
"Excudent alii spirantia mollius æra,Credo equidem: vivos ducent de marmore vultus,"—
"Excudent alii spirantia mollius æra,Credo equidem: vivos ducent de marmore vultus,"—
"Excudent alii spirantia mollius æra,Credo equidem: vivos ducent de marmore vultus,"—
"Excudent alii spirantia mollius æra,
Credo equidem: vivos ducent de marmore vultus,"—
who has commanded the world by her arms, her jurisprudence, her church,—now sways it further by her arts. Pilgrims from afar, where her eagles, her prætors, her interdicts never reached, become willing subjects of this new empire; and the Vatican, stored with the priceless remains of Antiquity, and the touching creations of modern art, has succeeded to the Vatican whose thunders intermingled with the strifes of modern Europe.
At Rome he was happy in the friendship of Coleridge, and in long walks cheered by his companionship. We can well imagine that the author of "Genevieve" and "The Ancient Mariner" would find sympathy with Allston. It is easy to recall these two natures, tremblingly alive to beauty of all kinds, looking together upon those majestic ruins, upon the manifold accumulations of Time, upon the marble which almost speaks, and upon the warmer canvas,—listening together to the flow of perpetual fountains, fed by ancient aqueducts,—musing together in the Forum on the mighty footprints of History,—and entering together, with sympathetic awe, that grand Christian church whose dome rises a majestic symbol of the comprehensive Christianity which is the promise of the Future. "Never judge a work of art by its defects," was a lesson of Coleridge to his companion, which, when extended, by natural expansion, to the other things of life, is a sentiment of justice and charity, more precious than a statue of Praxiteles or a picture of Raphael.
In England, where our Artist afterwards passed several years, his intercourse with Coleridge was renewed, and he became the friend and companion of Lamb and Wordsworth also. Returning to his own country, he spoke of them with fondness, and often dwelt upon their genius and virtue.
In considering his character as an Artist, we may regard him in three different respects,—drawing, color, and expression or sentiment. It has already been seen that he devoted himself with uncommon zeal to drawing. His works bear witness to this excellence. Thereare chalk outlines by him, sketched on canvas, which are clear and definite as anything from the classic touch of Flaxman.
His excellence in color was remarkable. This seeming mystery, which is a distinguishing characteristic of artists in different schools, periods, and countries, is not unlike that of language in literature. Color is to the painter what words are to the author; and as the writers of one age or place arrive at a peculiar mastery in language, so do artists excel in color. It would be difficult to account satisfactorily for the rich idiom suddenly assumed by our English tongue in the contemporaneous prose of Sidney, Hooker, and Bacon, and in the unapproached affluence of Shakespeare. It might be as difficult to account for the unequalled tints which shone on the canvas of Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, and Titian, masters of what is called the Venetian School. Ignorance has sometimes referred these glories to concealed or lost artistic rules in combinations of color, not thinking that they can be traced only to a native talent for color, prompted into activity by circumstances difficult at this late period to determine. As some possess a peculiar, untaught felicity and copiousness of words without accurate knowledge of grammar, so there are artists excelling in rich and splendid color, but ignorant of drawing, and, on the other hand, accurate drawing is sometimes coldly clad in unsatisfactory color.
Allston was largely endowed by Nature with the talent for color, which was strongly developed under the influence of Italian art. While in Rome, he was remarked for his excellence in this respect, and received from German painters there the flattering title of "American Titian." Critics of authority have said thatthe clearness and vigor of his color approached that of the elder masters.[174]Rich and harmonious as the verses of the "Faëry Queen," it was uniformly soft, mellow, and appropriate, without the garish brilliancy of the modern French School, calling to mind the saying of the blind man, that red resembles the notes of a trumpet.
He affected no secret or mystery in the preparation of colors. What he knew he was ready to impart: his genius he could not impart. With simple pigments, accessible to all alike, he reproduced, with glowing brush, the tints of Nature. All that his eyes looked upon furnished a lesson. The flowers of the field, the foliage of the forest, the sunset glories of our western horizon, the transparent azure above, the blackness of the storm, the soft gray of twilight, the haze of an Indian summer, the human countenance animate with thought, and that finest color in Nature, according to the ancient Greek, the blush of ingenuous youth,—these were the sources from which he drew. With a discerning spirit he mixed them on his palette, and with the eye of sympathy saw them again on his canvas.
But richness of color superadded to accuracy of drawing cannot secure the highest place in Art; and here I approach a more harmonious topic. Expression, or, in other words, the sentiment, the thought, the soul, which inspires the work, is not less important than that which animates the printed page or beams from the human countenance. The mere imitation of inanimate Nature belongs to the humbler schools of Art. The skill of Zeuxis, which drew birds to peck at the grapes on his canvas, and the triumph of Parrhasius, who deceived his rival by a painted curtain, cannot compare with those pictures which seem articulate with the voices of humanity. The highest form of Art is that which represents man in the highest scenes and under the influence of the highest sentiments. And that quality or characteristic calledexpressionis the highest element of Art. It is this which gives to Raphael, who yields to Titian in color, such acknowledged eminence. His soul was brimming with sympathies, which his cunning hand kept alive in immortal pictures. Eye, mouth, countenance, the whole composition, has life,—not the life of mere imitation, copied from common Nature, but elevated, softened, refined, idealized. Beholding his works, we forget the colors in which they are robed; we gaze at living forms, and look behind the painted screen of flesh into living souls. A genius so largely endowed with the Promethean fire has been not unaptly called Divine.
It was said by Plato that nothing is beautiful which is not morally good. But this is not a faultless proposition. Beauty is of all kinds and degrees; and it exists everywhere beneath the celestial canopy, in us and about us. It is that completeness or finish which gives pleasure to the mind. It is found in the color of a flower, and the accuracy of geometry,—in an act of self-sacrifice, and the rhythm of a poem,—in the virtues of humanity, and the marvels of the visible world,—in the meditations of a solitary soul, and the stupendous mechanism of civil society. There is beauty where there is neither life nor morality; but the highest form of beauty is in the perfection of the moral nature.
The highest beauty of expression is a grace of Christian art. It flows from sensibilities, affections, and struggles peculiar to the Christian character. It breathes purity, gentleness, meekness, patience, tenderness, peace. It abhors pride, vain-glory, selfishness, intemperance, lust, war. How celestial, compared with that which dwells in perfection of form or color only! The beauty of ancient art found congenial expression in the faultless form of Aphrodite rising from the sea,[175]and in the majestic mien of Juno, with snow-white arms, and royal robes, seated on a throne of gold,[176]—not in the soul-lit countenance of her who watched the infant in his manger-cradle, and throbbed with a mother's heart beneath the agonies of the cross.
Allston was a Christian artist; and the beauty of expression lends uncommon charm to his colors. All that he did shows purity, sensibility, refinement, delicacy, feeling, rather than force. His genius was almost feminine. As he advanced in years, this was more remarked. His pictures became more and more instinct with those sentiments which form the true glory of Art. Early in life he had a partiality for pieces representingbanditti; but this taste does not appear in his later works. And when asked if he would undertake to fill the vacant panels in the rotunda of the Capitol at Washington, should Congress determine to order such a work, he is reported to have said, in memorable words, "I will paint only one subject, and choose my own:No battle-piece!"[177]This incident, so honorable to the Artist, is questioned; but it is certain that on more than one occasion he avowed a disinclination topaintbattle-pieces. I am not aware if he assigned any reason. Is it too much to suppose that his refined artistic sense, recognizing expression as the highest beauty of Art, unconsciously judged the picture? The ancient Greek epigram, describing the Philoctetes of Parrhasius, an image of hopeless wretchedness and consuming grief, rises to a like sentiment, when it says, with mild rebuke,—
"We blame thee, painter, though thy skill commend;'Twas time his sufferings with himself should end."[178]
"We blame thee, painter, though thy skill commend;'Twas time his sufferings with himself should end."[178]
"We blame thee, painter, though thy skill commend;'Twas time his sufferings with himself should end."[178]
"We blame thee, painter, though thy skill commend;
'Twas time his sufferings with himself should end."[178]
In another tone, and with cold indifference to human suffering, Lucretius sings, in often-quoted verse, that it is pleasant, when beyond the reach of danger, to behold the shock of contending armies:—
"Suave etiam belli certamina magna tueri."[179]
In like heathen spirit, it may be pleasant to behold abattle-piecein Art. But this is wrong. Admitting the calamitous necessity of war, it can never be with pleasure—it cannot be without sadness unspeakable—that we survey its fiendish encounter. The artist of purest aim, sensitive to these emotions, withdraws naturally from the field of blood, confessing that no scene of battle finds a place in the highest Art,—that man, created in the image of God, can never be pictured degrading, profaning, violating that sacred image.
Were this sentiment adopted in literature as in Art, war would be shorn of its false glory. Poet, historian, orator, all should join with the Artist in saying,No battle-piece!Let them cease to dwell, except with pain and reprobation, upon those dismal exhibitions ofhuman passion where the life of friends is devoted to procure the death of enemies. No pen, no tongue, no pencil, by praise or picture, can dignify scenes from which God averts His eye. It is true, man has slain his fellow-man, armies have rushed in deadly shock against armies, the blood of brothers has been spilled. These are tragedies which History enters sorrowfully, tearfully, in her faithful record; but this generous Muse with too attractive colors must not perpetuate the passions from which they sprang or the griefs they caused. Be it her duty to dwell with eulogy and pride on all that is magnanimous, lovely, beneficent; let this be preserved by votive canvas and marble also. ButNo battle-piece!
In the progress of truth, the animal passions degrading our nature are by degrees checked and subdued. The license of lust and the brutality of intemperance, marking a civilization inferior to our own, are at last driven from public display. Faithful Art reflects the character of the age. To its honor, libertinism and intemperance no longer intrude their obscene faces into its pictures. The time is at hand when religion, humanity, and taste will concur in rejecting any image of human strife. Laïs and Phryne have fled; Bacchus and Silenus are driven reeling from the scene. Mars will soon follow, howling, as with that wound from the Grecian spear before Troy. The Hall of Battles, at Versailles, where Louis Philippe, the inconsistent conservator of peace, has arrayed, on acres of canvas, the bloody contests in the long history of France, will be shut by a generation appreciating true greatness.
In the mission of teaching to nations and to individuals wherein is true greatness, Art has a noble office.If not herald, she is at least handmaid of Truth. Her lessons may not train the intellect, but they cannot fail to touch the heart. Who can measure the influence from an image of beauty, affection, and truth? The Christus Consolator of Scheffer, without a word, wins the soul. Such a work awakens lasting homage to the artist, and to the spirit from which it proceeds, while it takes its place with things that never die. Other works, springing from the lower passions, are no better than gaudy, perishing flowers of earth; but here is perennial, amaranthine bloom.
Allston loved excellence for its own sake. He looked down upon the common strife for worldly consideration. With impressive beauty of truth and expression, he said, "Fame is the eternal shadow of excellence, from which it can never be separated."[180]Here is a volume, prompting to noble thought and action, not for the sake of glory, but for advance in knowledge, virtue, excellence. Our Artist gives renewed utterance to that sentiment which is the highest grace in the life of the great magistrate, Lord Mansfield, when, confessing the attractions of "popularity," he said it was that which followed, not which was followed after.
As we contemplate the life and works of Allston, we are inexpressibly grateful that he lived. His example is one of our best possessions. And yet, while rejoicing that he has done much, we seem to hear a whisper that he might have done more. His productions suggest a higher genius than they display; and we are disposed sometimes to praise the master rather than the work. Like a beloved character in English literature, Sir James Mackintosh, he finally closed a career of beautiful, butfragmentary labors, leaving much undone which all had hoped he would do. The great painting which haunted so many years of his life, and which his friends and country awaited with anxious interest, remained unfinished at last. His Virgilian sensibility and modesty would doubtless have ordered its destruction, had death arrested him less suddenly. Titian died, leaving incomplete, like Allston, an important picture, on which his hand was busy down to the time of his death. A pious and distinguished pupil, the younger Palma, took up the labor of his master, and, on its completion, placed it in the church for which it was destined, with this inscription: "That which Titian left unfinished Palma reverently completed, and dedicated to God." Where is the Palma who can complete what our Titian has left unfinished?
Let us now devoutly approach the grave of the brother whom, in order of time, we were first called to mourn.William Ellery Channing, the Philanthropist, died in the month of October, 1842, aged sixty-two. By an easy transition we pass from Allston to Channing. They were friends and connections. The monumental stone which marks the last resting-place of the Philanthropist was designed by the Artist. In physical organization they were not unlike, each possessing a fineness of fibre hardly belonging to the Anglo-Saxon stock. In both we observe similar sensibility, delicacy, refinement, and truth, with highest aims; and the color of Allston finds a parallel in the Venetian richness which marks the style of Channing.
I do not speak of him as Theologian, although his labors have earned this title also. It is probable that no single mind, in our age, has exerted a greater influence over theological opinions. But I pass all this by, without presuming to indicate its character. Far better dwell on those labors which should not fail to find favor in all churches, whether at Rome, Geneva, Canterbury, or Boston.
His influence is widely felt and acknowledged. His words have been heard and read by thousands, in all conditions of life, and in various lands, whose hearts now throb with gratitude towards the meek and eloquent upholder of divine truth. An American traveller, at a small village nestling on a terrace of the Tyrolese Alps, encountered a German, who, hearing that his companion was from Boston, inquired earnestly after Channing,—saying that the difficulty of learning the English language was adequately repaid by the charm of his writings. A distinguished stranger, when about to visit our country, was told by a relative not less lovely in character than elevated in condition, that she envied him his journey "for the sake of Niagara and Channing." We have already observed that a critic of Art places him in an American triumvirate with Allston and Washington. More frequently he is associated with Washington and Franklin. Unlike Washington, he was never general or president; unlike Franklin, he never held high office. But it would be difficult to say that since them any American has exerted greater sway over his fellow-men. And yet, if it be asked what single measure he carried to a successful close, I could not answer. It is oncharacterthat he has wrought and is still producing incalculablechange. So extensive is this influence, that multitudes now feel it, although strangers to his spoken or even his written word. The whole country and age feel it.
I have called him Philanthropist, lover of man,—the title of highest honor on earth. "I take goodness in this sense," says Lord Bacon, in his Essays, "the affecting of the weal of men, which is that the Grecians callPhilanthropia.... This of all virtues and dignities of the mind is the greatest, being the character of the Deity; and without it man is a busy, mischievous, wretched thing, no better than a kind of vermin." Lord Bacon was right. Confessing the attractions of scholarship, awed by the majesty of the law, fascinated by the beauty of Art, the soul bends with involuntary reverence before the angelic nature that seeks the good of his fellow-man. Through him God speaks. On him has descended in especial measure the Divine Spirit. God is Love; and man, when most active in good works, most nearly resembles Him. In heaven, we are told, the first place or degree is given to the angels of love, who are termed Seraphim,—the second to the angels of light, who are termed Cherubim.
Sorrowfully it must be confessed that the time has not come when even his exalted labors find equal acceptance with all men. And now, as I undertake to speak of them in this presence, I seem to tread on half-buried cinders. I shall tread fearlessly, loyal ever, I hope, to the occasion, to my subject, and to myself. In the language of my own profession, I shall not travel out of the record; but I must be true to the record. It is fit that his name should be commemorated here. He was one of us. He was a son of the University, enrolled also among its teachers, and for many years aFellow of the Corporation. To him, more, perhaps, than to any other person, is she indebted for her most distinctive opinions. His fame is indissolubly connected with hers:—
"And when thy ruins shall disclaimTo be the treasurer of his name,His name, that cannot die, shall beAn everlasting monument to thee."[181]
"And when thy ruins shall disclaimTo be the treasurer of his name,His name, that cannot die, shall beAn everlasting monument to thee."[181]
"And when thy ruins shall disclaimTo be the treasurer of his name,His name, that cannot die, shall beAn everlasting monument to thee."[181]
"And when thy ruins shall disclaim
To be the treasurer of his name,
His name, that cannot die, shall be
An everlasting monument to thee."[181]
I have called him Philanthropist: he may also be called Moralist, for he was the expounder of human duties; but his exposition of duties was another service to humanity. His morality, elevated by Christian love, fortified by Christian righteousness, was frankly applied to the people and affairs of his own country and age. He saw full well, that, in contest with wrong, more was needed than a declaration of simple principles. A general morality is too vague for action. Tamerlane and Napoleon both might join in general praise of peace, and entitle themselves to be enrolled, with Alexander of Russia, as members of a Peace Society. Many satisfy the conscience by such generalities. This was not the case with our Philanthropist. He brought his morality to bear distinctly upon the world. Nor was he disturbed by another suggestion, which the moralist often encounters, that his views were sound in theory, but not practical. He well knew that what is unsound in theory must be vicious in practice. Undisturbed by hostile criticism, he did not hesitate to arraign the wrong he discerned, and fasten upon it the mark of Cain. His philanthropy was morality in action.
As a moralist, he knew that the truest happinessis reached only by following the Right; and as a lover of man, he sought on all occasions to inculcate this supreme duty, which he addressed to nations and individuals alike. In this attempt to open the gates of a new civilization, he encountered prejudice and error. The principles of morality, first possessing the individual, slowly pervade the body politic; and we are often told, in extenuation of war and conquest, that the nation and the individual are governed by separate laws,—that the nation may do what an individual may not do. In combating this pernicious fallacy, Channing was a benefactor. He helped to bring government within the Christian circle, and taught the statesman that there is one comprehensive rule, binding on the conscience in public affairs, as in private affairs. This truth cannot be too often proclaimed. Pulpit, press, school, college, all should render it familiar to the ear, and pour it into the soul. Beneficent Nature joins with the moralist in declaring the universality of God's law; the flowers of the field, the rays of the sun, the morning and evening dews, the descending showers, the waves of the sea, the breezes that fan our cheeks and bear rich argosies from shore to shore, the careering storm, all on this earth,—nay, more, the system of which this earth is a part, and the infinitude of the Universe, in which our system dwindles to a grain of sand, all declare one prevailing law, knowing no distinction of person, number, mass, or extent.
While Channing commended this truth, he fervently recognized the Rights of Man. He saw in our institutions, as established in 1776, the animating idea of Human Rights, distinguishing us from other countries. It was this idea, which, first appearing at our nativity as anation, shone on the path of our fathers, as the unaccustomed star in the west which twinkled over Bethlehem.
Kindred to the idea of Human Rights was that other, which appears so often in his writings as to inspire his whole philanthropy, the importance of the Individual Man. No human soul so abject in condition as not to find sympathy and reverence from him. He confessed brotherhood with all God's children, although separated from them by rivers, mountains, and seas,—although a torrid sun had left upon them an unchangeable Ethiopian skin. Filled with this thought, he was untiring in effort to promote their elevation and happiness. He yearned to do good, to be a spring of life and light to his fellow-men. "I see nothing worth living for," he said, "but the divine virtue which endures and surrenders all things for truth, duty, and mankind." In this spirit, so long as he lived, he was the constant champion of Humanity.
In the cause of education and of temperance he was earnest. He saw how essential to a people governing themselves was knowledge,—that without it the right of voting would be a dangerous privilege, and that with it the nation would be elevated with new means of happiness and power. His vivid imagination saw the blight of intemperance, and exposed it in glowing colors. In these efforts he was sustained by the kindly sympathy of those among whom he lived.
There were two other causes in which, more than any other, his soul was enlisted, especially toward the close of life, and with which his name will be inseparably associated,—I mean the efforts for the abolition of those two terrible scourges, Slavery and War.
All will see that I cannot pass these by on this occasion; for not to speak of them would be to present a portrait in which the most distinctive features were wanting.
And, first, as to Slavery. To this his attention was particularly drawn by early residence in Virginia, and a season subsequently in one of the West India Islands. His soul was moved by its injustice and inhumanity. He saw in it an infraction of God's great laws of Right and Love, and of the Christian precept, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." Regarding it contrary to the law of Nature, the Philanthropist unconsciously adopted the conclusions of the Supreme Court of the United States, speaking by the mouth of Chief Justice Marshall,[182]and of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, at a later day, speaking by the mouth of Chief Justice Shaw. A solemn decision, now belonging to the jurisprudence of this Commonwealth, declares that "slavery is contrary to natural right, to the principles of justice, humanity, and sound policy."[183]
With these convictions, his duty as Moralist and Philanthropist did not admit of question. He saw before him a giant wrong. Almost alone he went forth to the contest. On his return from the West Indies, he first declared himself from the pulpit. At a later day, he published a book entitled "Slavery," the most considerable treatise from his pen. His object, as he testifies, was "to oppose slavery on principles which, if admitted, would inspire resistance to all the wrongs and reverence for all the rights of human nature."[184]Otherpublications followed down to the close of his life, among which was a prophetic letter, addressed to Henry Clay, against the annexation of Texas, on the ground that it would entail war with Mexico and the extension of slavery. It is interesting to know that this letter, before its publication, was read to his classmate Story, who listened to it with admiration and assent; so that the Jurist and the Philanthropist joined in this cause.
In his defence of African liberty he invoked always the unanswerable considerations of justice and humanity. The argument of economy, deemed by some to contain all that is pertinent, never presented itself to him. The question of profit and loss was absorbed in the question of right and wrong. His maxim was,—Anything but slavery; poverty sooner than slavery. But while exhibiting this institution in blackest colors, as inhuman, unjust, unchristian, unworthy of an enlightened age and of a republic professing freedom, his gentle nature found no word of harshness for those whom birth, education, and custom bred to its support. Implacable towards wrong, he used mild words towards wrong-doers. He looked forward to the day when they too, encompassed by amoral blockade, invisible to the eye, but more potent than navies, and under the influence of increasing light, diffused from all the nations, must acknowledge the wrong, and set the captive free.
He urged theduty—such was his unequivocal language—incumbent on the Northern States to free themselves from all support of slavery. To this conclusion he was driven irresistibly by the ethical principle, thatwhat is wrong for the individual is wrong forthe state. No son of the Pilgrims can hold a fellow-man in bondage. Conscience forbids. No son of the Pilgrims can, through Government, hold a fellow-man in bondage. Conscience equally forbids. We have among us to-day a brother who, reducing to practice the teachings of Channing and the suggestions of his own soul, has liberated the slaves which fell to him by inheritance. Our homage to this act attests the obligation upon ourselves. In asking the Free States to disconnect themselves from all support of slavery, Channing called them to do asStateswhatPalfreyhas done asman. At the same time he dwelt with affectionate care upon the Union. He sought to reform, not to destroy,—to eradicate, not to overturn; and he cherished the Union as mother of peace, plenteousness, and joy.
Such were some of his labors for liberty. The mind instinctively recalls the parallel exertions of John Milton. He, too, was a defender of liberty. His "Defence of the People of England" drew to him, living, a larger fame than his sublime epic. But Channing's labors were of a higher order, more instinct with Christian sentiment, more truly worthy of renown. Milton'sDefensio pro Populo Anglicanowas for thepoliticalfreedom of the English people, supposed at that time to number four and a half millions. It was written after the "bawble" of royalty had been removed, and in the confidence that the good cause was triumphantly established, beneath the protecting genius of Cromwell. Channing'sDefensio pro Populo Africanowas for thepersonalfreedom of three million fellow-men in abject bondage, none of whom knew that his eloquent pen was pleading their cause. Theefforts of Milton produced his blindness; those of Channing exposed him to obloquy and calumny. How justly might the Philanthropist have borrowed the exalted words of the Sonnet to Cyriac Skinner!—