THE FIRST LOSS.

“She can show art rules to astonish her.And what the muses would with study find,She teaches in her dancing.”

“She can show art rules to astonish her.

And what the muses would with study find,

She teaches in her dancing.”

I only saw her that night. The next day we left Munich, and I never saw her again. From a gentleman I met afterward in Paris, and who had known Montes from the time of her first appearance in public, I learned that extreme poverty had driven her to the stage. She had not been educated for it as a profession; and the touching account he gave me of her trials, united with my own knowledge of Lolah Lalande’s history, convinced me that Lolah Lalande and Lolah Montes were, as I had imagined, one and the same person.

Soon after their arrival in Paris, Madame Lalande discovered that her move had been an injudicious one. Success did not attend her as she expected; thechâteau d’Espagneshe had created was never realized; and she found herself, although in her “home,” the residence of her childhood, among strangers; old associates were dead, or had formed new connections. Day by day passed, and the little capital she had collected in America, and which was to establish the grand school in Paris forles jeunes demoisellesof the nobility, gradually melted away; and she at last resolved to bid an eternal farewell to Paris, and return, though with mortified feelings, to the school in America she had with such blind willfulness given up. But just as she had come to this conclusion, and Lolah was gladly making preparations for their return, sickness, caused by extreme chagrin and disappointment, attackedchère tante. This sickness was lingering, and at last, bitter, actual poverty stared them in the face.

“What am I to do?” exclaimed poor Lolah, one day, as she turned from the apothecary’s door, to whom she had just paid her last coin for medicine forchère tante. Gay equipages dashed past her; and the busy, bustling crowd moved by, unheeding the misery of that pale, friendless girl. “God help me,” she murmured, in a thick, hoarse voice. Sorrow and want had dried up her tears—the real poor seldom weep. She turned to seek her wretched home, which, miserable as it was, she knew not how long it might remain to them. Faint and exhausted with hunger and anxiety, she could scarcely drag her little feet along thepavé. Regardless ofher movements, she stumbled over a stone; a kind person passing, caught her as she fell, and upon lifting her eyes to thank him, she recognized Monsieur Neillet.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Lolah! can this be you?” he exclaimed. “I have been seeking in vain for Madame Lalande’s residence ever since I reached Paris;” and then followed a host of questions and explanations.

The Monsieur had come over to Paris for new dances. A rival had appeared in the city, where he had so long been the favorite teacher; and the Americans were raving for new figures. His gavottes and shawl dances were voted obsolete, and out of date; and he had been dethroned by the children of his former pupils, to make way for the new teacher, who came over fresh from Paris with gallopes and figures of the newest fashion. He could scarcely realize it until he found his hours unoccupied, his school-list, that had formerly been filled to overflowing, without a single name; then, with laudable courage and energy, he resolved to take the little independence he had collected, return tochère Paris—but not as a sober Englishman or Scotchman would have done, live quietly on it for the rest of his days—oh, no! he pined for revenge. What was life to a Frenchman without a triumph? “Inglorious ease” he scorned. No! he, too, would learn new dances; he would return to the scene of his former power, but late discomfiture, and hurl the presumptuous usurper from his throne. He, too, would flourish in gallopes and new figures.

The sight of Lolah suffering from poverty and trouble, touched his warm heart, but gave a new impulse to his thoughts. Monsieur Neillet was kind and generous; but, like all Frenchmen, ambitious and enthusiastic. He aided the poor Madame, relieved their distresses, and asked but one return—to bring his pet pupil out upon the stage. She consented. Poverty and necessity had humbled Madame Lalande’s pride—and Lolah became a publicdanseuse.

Success attended her; and Monsieur Neillet had the satisfaction of seeing his little Mademoiselle Lolah ride in the grand carriage, and receive the intoxicating plaudits he had wished for her, when in Madame Lalande’s school, in America, she had executedà ravirhis favorite gavottes and Spanish waltzes.

I never saw Lolah again. I struggled with my feelings in exercising this self-denial; but I knew we had both altered, and I felt that I had rather retain the recollection of our girlish, loving intercourse undimmed. She was a publicdanseuse, rich, courted, and, the world said, free in her morals—I, a plain, unknown woman, with tastes, associations, and opinions widely differing from hers. Better to retain the bright recollection of the past, and the uncertain knowledge of the present, than to risk coldness, or even a realization of what I feared—that Lolah Montes, the woman, was not the innocent, pure, guileless Lolah Lalande of school memory. Many may censure, and call this the cold reasoning of a woman bound down by conventional prejudices; but how else is a woman to be governed, if she wishes to secure, not her own happiness, but the happiness of those around her; and living in a conventional world, she be not directed and ruled by this same reasoning, which is called cold and cramping? The gentle graces of charity and indulgence to the frailties of others, are beautiful, and should be peculiar qualities of the feminine character; but they may be extended too far, and instead of giving a helping hand to suffering, oppressed virtue, encourage evil.

“After all,” said my father, one moonlight evening, as we sat on the deck of the vessel, “Homeward Bound,” watching the silver flood of light streaming down upon the billows, and discussing this same subject, “after all, Enna, she may not be Lolah Lalande, it may only be a woman’s fancy and imaginings.”

I did not reply; but the recollection of that lovely form, rich, dark, soul-subduing eyes, and flowing hair, with the delicate brow, and full, red, laughing lips, came before me strangely blended with the cold,fiertéexpression of the tall, beautifuldanseuseI looked at in Munich with tearful eyes. . . .

“I’d have seen her,” said Kate, when I concluded; “I would at least have satisfied myself.”

“So would I, dear Kate,” I replied, “at your age; but when you are older, you will argue differently. A recollection of pleasure is better than a reality of pain.”

Painted by Sir Joshua ReynoldsEngraved by H. S. WagnerTHE FIRST LOSS.Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine

Painted by Sir Joshua ReynoldsEngraved by H. S. Wagner

THE FIRST LOSS.

WITH AN ENGRAVING.

’Tis her first loss, and tear-drops fallUpon her cherished friend,Whose voice once echoed to her call—Whose wants she loved to tend.’Tis her first grief. Alas! that lifeFull many a care will bring,With keener pang and sharper strife,That gentle heart to wring.

’Tis her first loss, and tear-drops fallUpon her cherished friend,Whose voice once echoed to her call—Whose wants she loved to tend.

’Tis her first loss, and tear-drops fall

Upon her cherished friend,

Whose voice once echoed to her call—

Whose wants she loved to tend.

’Tis her first grief. Alas! that lifeFull many a care will bring,With keener pang and sharper strife,That gentle heart to wring.

’Tis her first grief. Alas! that life

Full many a care will bring,

With keener pang and sharper strife,

That gentle heart to wring.

REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.

History of the Conquest of Peru. With a Preliminary View of the Civilization of the Incas. By William H. Prescott. New York: Harper & Brothers. 2 vols. 8vo.

It would be impossible in the narrow limits of our magazine to do justice to a work of such labor and ability as this. Mr. Prescott has displayed the same qualities of mind, and the same energy of character, in his History of Peru as of Mexico. Nothing relating to the subject in a printed or manuscript form seems to have escaped his diligent researches, and the facts of his narrative are thus placed on a foundation of authorities which cannot be disputed. Men who investigate with such minute care as Mr. Prescott are not generally those who can compose readable histories. They are commonly but compilers of materials for the use of abler writers. But our countryman is an artist as well as antiquary. He spares no labor, it is true, in collecting his materials, and might claim, if he chose, the highest rank among the disciples of Dr. Dryasdust; but such would be but a small object for his ambition. His glory as a historian comes from his power to collect truth from a mass of perhaps conflicting testimony; to perceive character so accurately as to see just that point in the mind of a contemporary chronicler, where his individual bias casts ominous conjecture on his testimony; to imbue his mind with the very spirit of the age he has chosen for his subject; to look at events from the same position occupied by the actors in them, and thus enable the reader to pass beyond actions to motives; and, above all, to represent the period of time he has selected for his theme in the clearest light, giving to persons and events their natural prominence, and avoiding all interference with their just relations.

The reader of Mr. Prescott’s histories is almost made for the time a contemporary of Ferdinand, Cortez and Pizarro; a contemporary who sees clearly the passions and bigotries which warp their moral judgments, and while uninfluenced himself by the prejudices which blind them, blends charity with justice in deciding upon their actions. There is a healthiness in Mr. Prescott’s intellect which places all objects in “daylight.” They are not discolored in passing through his mind.

His style of composition, a style so flexible as to yield readily to all the changes of his narrative, a style which ever fascinates and never wearies, has drawn forth numberless panegyrics. We think the style of his present book even more pleasant than that of his others. There is hardly a passage, hardly a sentence, of fine writing—of writing, not for the sake of the thought but of the rhetoric—in the whole work. This wise abstinence in one who has such a wide command of the resources of language, and who could, if he pleased, pile up pages of rhetorical sublimities to catch the untrained eye, is a great merit, and is so felt by the reader, when at the end of the book he notices its unity of effect upon his mind.

The subject of Mr. Prescott’s present history may not seem, at first, so good as that of the Conquest of Mexico. It would be difficult to say which work was filled with the most wonderful events. Both are laden with examples of courage, constancy, and endurance, which appear beyond the powers of humanity. Both represent men undaunted not merely in battle with vastly superior forces, but bearing up against the yet fiercer assaults of fatigue, pestilence and famine. In all the hardier qualities of mind and body the Spaniards who conquered Peru do not yield to the followers of Cortez, and in avarice, treachery, and cruelty, in all those qualities which characterize freebooters and pirates, they fairly exceed all other men. Mr. Prescott has done them ample justice, and brought out in bold relief their characters and exploits. His delineations of Pizarro and his brothers are masterly, and his whole view of the country before and after the conquest is marked by uncommon comprehension, and the most extensive erudition. The preliminary essay, on the civilization of the Incas, is of very great value. In clearness of exposition it is almost unmatched. Altogether, the book must add even to Mr. Prescott’s reputation, in all those qualities of mind and style for which he is distinguished.

Modern Painters. By a Graduate of Oxford. First American from the Third London Edition. Revised by the Author. New York: Wiley & Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.

It is rare that we see so eloquent and vigorous a production as this, announcing high principles of art with such unhesitating confidence, and supporting them with so much splendor of style and fertility of illustration. The freshness and animation of the author’s mind are displayed on every page, lending life to the discussion of the most abstract questions of taste, and prompting continually the heartiest bursts of eloquence. The work has caused a sensation among the artists and amateurs of England, and has been made the subject of much discussion in the reviews and magazines. Its general tone is manly and independent, sliding, often, it must be allowed, into a kind of dictatorial dogmatism, but still giving evidence of a firm grasp of the subject, and of a capacity to support all its positions by argument and illustration. Apart from the leading object of the book, there are many sentences which bring out important truths in a strong light, and numerous passages of beauty and power to stir and elevate the reader’s mind. Here is a great truth finely expressed: “We must be cautious not to lose sight of the real use of what has been left us by antiquity, nor to take that as amodelfor perfection which is, in many cases, only aguideto it. The picture which is looked to for aninterpretationof nature is invaluable, but the picture which is taken as asubstitutefor nature, had better be burned; and the young artist, while he should shrink with horror from the iconoclast who would tear from him every landmark and light which has been bequeathed him by the ancients, and leave him in a liberated childhood, may be equally certain of being betrayed by those who would give him the power and knowledge of past time, and then fetter his strength from all advance, and bend his eyes backward on a beaten path—who would thrust canvas between him and the sky, and tradition between him and God.”

We cordially advise our readers to peruse this book. They may find much in it to which they cannot assent, but it will be sure to rouse and refresh their minds.

Conversations in Rome. Between an Artist, a Catholic, and a Critic. By William Ellery Channing. Boston: Crosby & Nichols. 1 vol. 12mo.

Mr. Channing is a gentleman engaged in the occupation of acting out himself. The present elegant little volumeis a record of himself as influenced by Italy. Though cast in the form of conversations, one mind is discernible in all that is said. The author gives his personal impressions of all he sees, and judges every thing from the manner it affects him. From his positive manner of utterance, one would conclude he saw no distinction between his impressions of things and the truth of things: a distinction which his readers will often be compelled to make. Painting, sculpture, poetry, manners, religion, government, all are disposed of in short-hand judgments. It is really edifying to find knots which centuries of philosophers have been unable to untie, so unceremoniously cut by Mr. Channing. This decisive way of settling debated questions lends much raciness to the volume, and many of the observations are acute and well put: others are sheer presumption and impertinence. Mr. Channing is really a man possessing genius, and it is often provoking to see his seeming anxiety to pass with others as a coxcomb. Both in the present volume and in his poems there is often displayed a fineness of faculty, which, under careful training, would give him a prominent rank among American writers. At present he is only “recognized” by a clique. Within that magic circle he passes for little less than a prophet; out of it he is simply a transcendental target for descendental jests. If he ever works his way out of his present environment of egoism, and discerns the path which leads to other minds, his real merit will be acknowledged. Our readers will find much in his present volume which will well repay its perusal.

Life and Religious Opinions and Experiences of Madame de la Mothe Guyon, together with some Account of the Personal History and Religious Opinions of Fenelon. By Thomas C. Upham. New York: Harper & Brothers. 2 vols. 12mo.

Professor Upham has performed a service to literature as well as theology by his present work. It is an account of a remarkable woman, carefully following the statements contained in her own autobiography, and written in a style of sweet serenity, in which the very spirit of Madame Guyon seems mirrored. No one can read the book without having his knowledge of the higher and subtler phenomena of the mind extended. It exhibits a human soul in that state of religious exaltation, where every thing is viewed in its relation to God, and all the evils of life taken as proofs of God’s love. The delineation is not ideal but actual. Every step in the upward progress of her soul is minutely marked, and the whole phenomena of her consciousness laid open to inspection. The value of the book is enhanced by the clear revelation of an order of feelings and thoughts, which are too commonly overlooked in treatises on metaphysics and theology. Goethe must have studied the character of Madame Guyon very attentively, before he ventured upon the delineation of the devotee in Wilhelm Meister.

The Autobiography of Goethe. Edited by Parke Godwin. Parts III. and IV. New York: Wiley & Putnam.

The present volume completes this most valuable work, now for the first time “done” into good English. No better period for the successful publication of the book could have been selected. The character and writings of Goethe are now continually made the subjects of eager praise or fierce invective, even among classes of readers whose curiosity rarely extends beyond the last novel. Much both of the praise and blame squandered upon the great German is directed against a mere man of straw, bearing little resemblance to the real object. Few of the vehement writers and talkers about Goethe have taken upon themselves the task of reading and investigation. His autobiography presents the man and his mind as they appeared to his own consciousness, and certainly constitutes one of the most remarkable biographies in literature. It is Goethe’s portrait drawn by himself, and done with matchless skill. It is worthy of the most profound study. We should pity the person who could carefully meditate it without having his knowledge of human nature increased. That vast mind here discourses of itself with the simplicity of a child.

Morceaux Choisis des Auteurs Modernes. By F. M. Rowon. Revised, Corrected and Enlarged by J. L. Jewett. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.

Such a volume as this has long been needed in our schools and academies. Most of the selections from French authors studied by new beginners, are made from writers of the old school. But within the last twenty or thirty years there has occurred a kind of idiomatic revolution in the language, of which the pieces in the present work are an exemplification. The volume contains selections from Balzac, Dumas, Victor Hugo, Jules Janin, Lamartine, Sue, Guizot, Michelet, Thiers, Thierry, Sismondi, Tocqueville, Villemain, and other celebrated French prose writers of the present day, with translations of difficult phrases at the bottom of each page. It will be found a most valuable and interesting French reader.

1776, or the War of Independence.

A beautiful volume bearing this title has been laid upon our table by the publisher, Mr. Walker, of New York. The work was prepared by Mr. Benson J. Lossing, and dedicated by him to the youth of our country, “upon whom will soon devolve the faithful guardianship of our goodly heritage.” A cursory glance at its contents impresses us very favorably, as it appears to contain a compendious and well written account of the original history of the American colonies, the causes which induced their determination to separate themselves from a connection with the British government, and the difficulties and dangers through which this design was carried into effect, and a free republic established.

The publisher says he “always believed that a book in one volume, well written, and embracing a faithful chronicle of events which accomplished the laying of the foundation stone of this great republic, would be invaluable to the present and all future generations.” The belief was a just one, and the work before us seems well calculated to suit the purpose for which it was designed. Its typographical execution is excellent, and its pages are graced by seventy-eight beautiful illustrations.

Philosophy in Sport Made Science in Earnest. From the Sixth London Edition. Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard. 1 vol. 12mo.

This is a little work which greatly pleases us. It is, as the author terms it, an attempt to illustrate the first principles of natural philosophy by the aid of the popular toys and sports of youth, and he has succeeded admirably in his design. The book may be commended, with great propriety, to the attention of those who have the training and culture of the minds of youth, as it conveys a vast fund of highly important and useful information in a very attractive and interesting form.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious typesetting and punctuation errors have been corrected without note. Other errors have been corrected as noted below. For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to condition of the originals available for preparation of the eBook.

page 117, ladies; but too poor men ==> ladies; buttwopoor menpage 119,elité, the young, the ==>élite, the young, thepage 134, with the sail lose, ==> with the sailloose,page 141, to help to soup. ==> to helphimselfto soup.page 151, banished my music-stand, ==> banishedfrommy music-stand,page 154, executeda ràvirhis favorite ==> executedà ravirhis favorite

page 117, ladies; but too poor men ==> ladies; buttwopoor men

page 119,elité, the young, the ==>élite, the young, the

page 134, with the sail lose, ==> with the sailloose,

page 141, to help to soup. ==> to helphimselfto soup.

page 151, banished my music-stand, ==> banishedfrommy music-stand,

page 154, executeda ràvirhis favorite ==> executedà ravirhis favorite

[End of Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XXXI, No. 3, September 1847]

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