"The shades of evening were gathering fast upon the waters, when the little bark, in which we had safely crossed the wide expanse of ocean, now quietly anchored in the mighty river of the Amazons. Through the rich twilight we were able to discern the white sandy shore, skirting a dense forest of perennial luxuriance and beauty. Gentle zephyrs, fraught with the most delightful fragrance from the wilderness of flowers, softly saluted our senses; while occasionally the plaintive voices of southern nightingales came with mellowed sweetness to our ears. The moon, unobscured by a single cloud, threw an indescribable charm over the enchanting scene, reflecting her brilliant rays upon the placid surface of the river, and shrouding the beautiful foliage of the forest in a drapery of gold. Innumerable stars brightly glittered in the firmament, and the constellation of the 'Southern Cross' gleamed above us like a diadem. All around seemed to be wrapped in the most profound repose. Not a sound disturbed the silence of the interminable solitude save the hushed and mournful notes of evening birds, the distant howling of prowling jaguars, or the rustling of the wind through the forest trees. Nature appeared to us, for the first time, in her pristine loveliness, and seemed indeed, to our excited imagination, to present but a dreamy picture of fairy land."At an early hour in the morning we weighed anchor, and with a fresh breeze and strong tide rapidly moved up the noble river, gliding by the most beautiful scenery that fancy can conceive. The nearly impenetrable forest which lined the shore was of a deep emerald green, and consisted of exceedingly lofty trees, of remarkably curious and grotesque figures, interlaced together by numerous vines, the interstices of which were filled up with magnificent shrubbery. We observed, towering high above the surrounding trees, many singular species of palms, among which the far-famed cocoa-nut probably stood pre-eminent. This beautiful tree gives a peculiar witchery to a tropical landscape, which those only who have seen it can possibly realize. The trunk grows up perfectly perpendicular to a great height, before it throws out its curious branches, which bend over as gracefully as ostrich plumes, and quiver in the slightest breeze. Consequently, the general appearance of the tree at a distance is somewhat similar to that of an umbrella."As we gradually proceeded, we now and then caught a glimpse of smiling cottages, with the snug little verandahs and red-tiled roofs peering from amid the foliage of the river's banks, and giving, as it were, a character of sociability and animation to the beauteous scene. Perhaps the most interesting spot that we noticed was an estate bearing the name of Pinherios, which had been formerly the site of a Carmelite convent, but which was lately sold to the government for a 'Hospital dos Lazaros.' Here also was an establishment for the manufacture of earthenware tiles, which are extensively used throughout the Brazilian empire for roofing houses."So low is the valuation of land in this section of Brazil, that this immense estate, embracing within its limits nearly three thousand acres, and situated, as it is, within twenty miles of the city of Para, was sold for a sum equivalent to aboutfour thousand dollars. This may be taken as a fair standard of the value of real estate in the vicinity of Para. That of the neighboring islands is comparatively trifling; while there are millions of fertile acres now wholly unappropriated, which offer the richest inducements to emigrants who may be disposed to direct their fortunes thither."The city of Para is delightfully situated on the southern branch of the Amazon, called, for the sake of distinction, 'The Para River.' It is the principal city of the province of the same name,—an immense territory, which has very appropriately been styled 'The Paradise of Brazil.' The general aspect of the place, with its low venerable looking buildings of solid stone, its massive churches and moss-grown ruins, its red-tiled roofs and dingy-white walls, the beautiful trees of its gardens, and groups of tall banana plants peeping up here and there among the houses, constituted certainly a scene of novelty, if not of elegance and beauty."The first spectacle which arrested our attention on landing was that of a number of persons of both sexes and all ages bathing indiscriminately together in the waters of the river, in a state of entire nudity. We observed among them several finely-formed Indian girls of exceeding beauty, dashing about in the water like a troop of happy mermaids. The heat of the sun was so intense that we ourselves were almost tempted to seek relief from its overpowering influence by plunging precipitately amid the joyous throng of swimmers. But we forbore!"The natives of Para are very cleanly, and indulge in daily ablutions; nor do they confine their baths to the dusky hours of evening, but may be seen swimming about the public wharves at all hours of the day. The government has made several feeble efforts to put a restraint upon these public exposures, but at the time of our departure all rules and regulations on the subject were totally disregarded by the natives. The city is laid out with considerable taste and regularity, but the streets are very narrow, and miserably paved with large and uneven stones. The buildings generally are but of one story in height, and are, with few exceptions, entirely destitute of glass windows; a kind of latticed blind is substituted, which is so constructed that it affords the person within an opportunity of seeing whatever takes place in the street, without being observed in return. This lattice opens towards the street, and thus affords great facilities to the beaux and gentlemen of gallantry, who, by stepping under this covering, can have an agreeabletête-à-têtewith their fair mistresses, as secretly almost as if they were in a trellised arbor together."We noticed several strange spectacles as we slowly walked through the city. Venders of fruit marching about, with huge baskets on theirheads, filled with luscious oranges, bananas, mangoes, pineapples, and other choice fruits of the tropics; groups of blacks, carrying immense burdens in the same manner; invalids reclining in their hammocks, or ladies riding in their gay-covered palanquins, supported on men's shoulders; and water-carriers moving along by the side of their heavily-laden horses or mules."
"The shades of evening were gathering fast upon the waters, when the little bark, in which we had safely crossed the wide expanse of ocean, now quietly anchored in the mighty river of the Amazons. Through the rich twilight we were able to discern the white sandy shore, skirting a dense forest of perennial luxuriance and beauty. Gentle zephyrs, fraught with the most delightful fragrance from the wilderness of flowers, softly saluted our senses; while occasionally the plaintive voices of southern nightingales came with mellowed sweetness to our ears. The moon, unobscured by a single cloud, threw an indescribable charm over the enchanting scene, reflecting her brilliant rays upon the placid surface of the river, and shrouding the beautiful foliage of the forest in a drapery of gold. Innumerable stars brightly glittered in the firmament, and the constellation of the 'Southern Cross' gleamed above us like a diadem. All around seemed to be wrapped in the most profound repose. Not a sound disturbed the silence of the interminable solitude save the hushed and mournful notes of evening birds, the distant howling of prowling jaguars, or the rustling of the wind through the forest trees. Nature appeared to us, for the first time, in her pristine loveliness, and seemed indeed, to our excited imagination, to present but a dreamy picture of fairy land.
"At an early hour in the morning we weighed anchor, and with a fresh breeze and strong tide rapidly moved up the noble river, gliding by the most beautiful scenery that fancy can conceive. The nearly impenetrable forest which lined the shore was of a deep emerald green, and consisted of exceedingly lofty trees, of remarkably curious and grotesque figures, interlaced together by numerous vines, the interstices of which were filled up with magnificent shrubbery. We observed, towering high above the surrounding trees, many singular species of palms, among which the far-famed cocoa-nut probably stood pre-eminent. This beautiful tree gives a peculiar witchery to a tropical landscape, which those only who have seen it can possibly realize. The trunk grows up perfectly perpendicular to a great height, before it throws out its curious branches, which bend over as gracefully as ostrich plumes, and quiver in the slightest breeze. Consequently, the general appearance of the tree at a distance is somewhat similar to that of an umbrella.
"As we gradually proceeded, we now and then caught a glimpse of smiling cottages, with the snug little verandahs and red-tiled roofs peering from amid the foliage of the river's banks, and giving, as it were, a character of sociability and animation to the beauteous scene. Perhaps the most interesting spot that we noticed was an estate bearing the name of Pinherios, which had been formerly the site of a Carmelite convent, but which was lately sold to the government for a 'Hospital dos Lazaros.' Here also was an establishment for the manufacture of earthenware tiles, which are extensively used throughout the Brazilian empire for roofing houses.
"So low is the valuation of land in this section of Brazil, that this immense estate, embracing within its limits nearly three thousand acres, and situated, as it is, within twenty miles of the city of Para, was sold for a sum equivalent to aboutfour thousand dollars. This may be taken as a fair standard of the value of real estate in the vicinity of Para. That of the neighboring islands is comparatively trifling; while there are millions of fertile acres now wholly unappropriated, which offer the richest inducements to emigrants who may be disposed to direct their fortunes thither.
"The city of Para is delightfully situated on the southern branch of the Amazon, called, for the sake of distinction, 'The Para River.' It is the principal city of the province of the same name,—an immense territory, which has very appropriately been styled 'The Paradise of Brazil.' The general aspect of the place, with its low venerable looking buildings of solid stone, its massive churches and moss-grown ruins, its red-tiled roofs and dingy-white walls, the beautiful trees of its gardens, and groups of tall banana plants peeping up here and there among the houses, constituted certainly a scene of novelty, if not of elegance and beauty.
"The first spectacle which arrested our attention on landing was that of a number of persons of both sexes and all ages bathing indiscriminately together in the waters of the river, in a state of entire nudity. We observed among them several finely-formed Indian girls of exceeding beauty, dashing about in the water like a troop of happy mermaids. The heat of the sun was so intense that we ourselves were almost tempted to seek relief from its overpowering influence by plunging precipitately amid the joyous throng of swimmers. But we forbore!
"The natives of Para are very cleanly, and indulge in daily ablutions; nor do they confine their baths to the dusky hours of evening, but may be seen swimming about the public wharves at all hours of the day. The government has made several feeble efforts to put a restraint upon these public exposures, but at the time of our departure all rules and regulations on the subject were totally disregarded by the natives. The city is laid out with considerable taste and regularity, but the streets are very narrow, and miserably paved with large and uneven stones. The buildings generally are but of one story in height, and are, with few exceptions, entirely destitute of glass windows; a kind of latticed blind is substituted, which is so constructed that it affords the person within an opportunity of seeing whatever takes place in the street, without being observed in return. This lattice opens towards the street, and thus affords great facilities to the beaux and gentlemen of gallantry, who, by stepping under this covering, can have an agreeabletête-à-têtewith their fair mistresses, as secretly almost as if they were in a trellised arbor together.
"We noticed several strange spectacles as we slowly walked through the city. Venders of fruit marching about, with huge baskets on theirheads, filled with luscious oranges, bananas, mangoes, pineapples, and other choice fruits of the tropics; groups of blacks, carrying immense burdens in the same manner; invalids reclining in their hammocks, or ladies riding in their gay-covered palanquins, supported on men's shoulders; and water-carriers moving along by the side of their heavily-laden horses or mules."
In his excursions along the small streams which penetrate the forests our traveller met with some magnificent scenes. Here is a description of one of them:
"Now the grassy table-land would extend away for miles to our left, gemmed here and there with solitary trees, waving their branches mournfully in the wind, and looking like spectres in the mystic starlight. On the outer side, a gloomy yet splendid wilderness ran along the margin of the stream, flinging tall shadows across the water, and adding grandeur to the imposing landscape. As we advanced the brook gradually narrowed, and became more and more crooked in its course, until finally the thick clustering foliage met in a prolonged arch of verdure over our heads."While winding through this natural labyrinth, the sun emerged from his oriental couch, and besprinkled us with a shower of luminous beams, which, falling through the interstices of the leaves, seemed like the spirits of so many diamonds. A more divine spectacle of beauty never was beheld. The most gorgeous creations of the poet's imagination, if realized, could not surpass in magnificence this sun-lighted arbor, with its roses and flowers of varied hues, all set like stars in a canopy of green. Sprightly humming-birds flitted before us, sparkling like jewels for a moment, then vanishing away from our sight for ever. Butterflies with immense wings, and moths of gay and striking colors, flew also from flower to flower, seeming like appropriate inhabitants of this little paradise. But the indefatigable mosquitoes, who were continually pouncing upon our unprotected faces and hands, as well as the mailed caymans, who now and then plunged under our canoe with a terrific snort, preserved in us the conviction of our own mortality."As we were moving through a wider passage of the stream, a sudden noise in the bushes on our left arrested our attention; in a moment after, we perceived a large animal running as expeditiously as he was able along the banks of the stream. We immediately raised our guns simultaneously and fired. Although we evidently gave the creature their full contents, yet it produced no other visible effect than to cause him to give a boisterous snort, and then dart away furiously into the heart of the thicket."
"Now the grassy table-land would extend away for miles to our left, gemmed here and there with solitary trees, waving their branches mournfully in the wind, and looking like spectres in the mystic starlight. On the outer side, a gloomy yet splendid wilderness ran along the margin of the stream, flinging tall shadows across the water, and adding grandeur to the imposing landscape. As we advanced the brook gradually narrowed, and became more and more crooked in its course, until finally the thick clustering foliage met in a prolonged arch of verdure over our heads.
"While winding through this natural labyrinth, the sun emerged from his oriental couch, and besprinkled us with a shower of luminous beams, which, falling through the interstices of the leaves, seemed like the spirits of so many diamonds. A more divine spectacle of beauty never was beheld. The most gorgeous creations of the poet's imagination, if realized, could not surpass in magnificence this sun-lighted arbor, with its roses and flowers of varied hues, all set like stars in a canopy of green. Sprightly humming-birds flitted before us, sparkling like jewels for a moment, then vanishing away from our sight for ever. Butterflies with immense wings, and moths of gay and striking colors, flew also from flower to flower, seeming like appropriate inhabitants of this little paradise. But the indefatigable mosquitoes, who were continually pouncing upon our unprotected faces and hands, as well as the mailed caymans, who now and then plunged under our canoe with a terrific snort, preserved in us the conviction of our own mortality.
"As we were moving through a wider passage of the stream, a sudden noise in the bushes on our left arrested our attention; in a moment after, we perceived a large animal running as expeditiously as he was able along the banks of the stream. We immediately raised our guns simultaneously and fired. Although we evidently gave the creature their full contents, yet it produced no other visible effect than to cause him to give a boisterous snort, and then dart away furiously into the heart of the thicket."
Here is something much more natural than Melville's introduction of Fayaway:
"Among our olive-complexioned neighbors were two young girls, whose fine forms and pretty faces especially elicited our admiration. The one was named Teresa, the other Florana. The former could not have been more than fourteen years of age, and was rather short in stature, with exquisitely rounded arms, and a bust of noble development; the latter was somewhat taller, and at least three years older; they both, however, had attained their full size. Animated as they were beautiful, they were always overflowing with vivacity and life; their conversation, which was incessant, was like the chirping of nightingales, and their laughter, like strings of musical pearls. These, then, beloved reader, were, during our stay at least, decidedly the belles of Jungcal. At the close of every day we were visited by all the juveniles in the place, who, in their own sweet tongue, bade us 'adieus,' and at the same time besought our blessing, which latter request we only answered by patting them gently on the head. The pretty maidens we have just alluded to, instead of shaking hands with us, were accustomed to salute us at eventide with a kiss on either cheek. The propriety of this we at first doubted, but the more we reflected upon the sweetness and innocence of the damsels, the more inclined were we to pardon them; and, in fact, we finally began to think their manner much more sensible and agreeable than that of those who consider any thing beyond cold and formal shaking of hands a grievous sin. Besides, it must be borne in mind, that this was a sacred custom of the place, which it would have been great rudeness in us to have resisted. Therefore, kind reader, do not judge us too severely; for know, O chary one! that extreme bashfulness and modesty have always been considered two of our principal failings! One day, Teresa and Florana invited us to take a bathe with them in the stream. This we declined point-blank. They then charged us with fear of alligators. This was a poser—our courage was now called in question, and we were literally forced to submit. Pray what else could we have done under the circumstances? When they had once got us into the water they took ample revenge upon us for the uncourteous manner in which we had at first treated their request. As we were encumbered by our clothes, they had altogether the advantage, and, in less than ten minutes, we cried out lustily for quarter, but no quarter would they give us, and, to tell the truth, we were somewhat apprehensive of being drowned by them, to say nothing of being devoured by bloodthirsty alligators. Emerging from the water, we walked up to Anzevedo's cottage, revolving in our mind the severe ordeal through which we had just passed, and determined henceforth never to refuse any request, sweetened by the lips of a pretty maiden, unless, perchance (though highly improbable), she should ask us for our heart! which, alas! we have not to give...."
"Among our olive-complexioned neighbors were two young girls, whose fine forms and pretty faces especially elicited our admiration. The one was named Teresa, the other Florana. The former could not have been more than fourteen years of age, and was rather short in stature, with exquisitely rounded arms, and a bust of noble development; the latter was somewhat taller, and at least three years older; they both, however, had attained their full size. Animated as they were beautiful, they were always overflowing with vivacity and life; their conversation, which was incessant, was like the chirping of nightingales, and their laughter, like strings of musical pearls. These, then, beloved reader, were, during our stay at least, decidedly the belles of Jungcal. At the close of every day we were visited by all the juveniles in the place, who, in their own sweet tongue, bade us 'adieus,' and at the same time besought our blessing, which latter request we only answered by patting them gently on the head. The pretty maidens we have just alluded to, instead of shaking hands with us, were accustomed to salute us at eventide with a kiss on either cheek. The propriety of this we at first doubted, but the more we reflected upon the sweetness and innocence of the damsels, the more inclined were we to pardon them; and, in fact, we finally began to think their manner much more sensible and agreeable than that of those who consider any thing beyond cold and formal shaking of hands a grievous sin. Besides, it must be borne in mind, that this was a sacred custom of the place, which it would have been great rudeness in us to have resisted. Therefore, kind reader, do not judge us too severely; for know, O chary one! that extreme bashfulness and modesty have always been considered two of our principal failings! One day, Teresa and Florana invited us to take a bathe with them in the stream. This we declined point-blank. They then charged us with fear of alligators. This was a poser—our courage was now called in question, and we were literally forced to submit. Pray what else could we have done under the circumstances? When they had once got us into the water they took ample revenge upon us for the uncourteous manner in which we had at first treated their request. As we were encumbered by our clothes, they had altogether the advantage, and, in less than ten minutes, we cried out lustily for quarter, but no quarter would they give us, and, to tell the truth, we were somewhat apprehensive of being drowned by them, to say nothing of being devoured by bloodthirsty alligators. Emerging from the water, we walked up to Anzevedo's cottage, revolving in our mind the severe ordeal through which we had just passed, and determined henceforth never to refuse any request, sweetened by the lips of a pretty maiden, unless, perchance (though highly improbable), she should ask us for our heart! which, alas! we have not to give...."
AnAlbumsent to the great Exhibition by the Emperor of Austria, and to be presented after the show to Victoria, is thus described by a Vienna correspondent of theTimes: "It contains the notes in manuscript of the national airs and dances, and far surpasses any thing that I have ever seen in the bookbinding department. On one side there are fourteen exquisite vignettes in oil colors, representing different national costumes; the ornaments in enamel, carved ivory, and ebony, are exquisite. A second album contains the works of the ancient and modern Austrian composers; the third, Austrian scenery, by different native artists. The bindings of some of the two hundred and seventy volumes of Austrian authors will also not fail to excite the astonishment—I had almost said the envy—of the trade. The whole will form a truly imperial gift."
During the present month there are four Public Exhibitions of Paintings in the city: that of theNational Academy, of theArt-Union, of theArtist's Association, and theDüsseldorf Gallery. The first three are composed mainly of the works of native American artists, and it is impossible to repress an expression of regret that some arrangement of union has not yet been effected, by which, at least, the works of the same men should not be exhibited gratis at one place, and for a charge at another. In the present state of things, the gallery of the Art-Union and that of the National Academy are brought into direct opposition, and this, beyond doubt, without the slightest jealousy on either side, as the works painted for the Academy and purchased by the Art-Union clearly show. But certainly the fact is lamentable enough to challenge immediate attention, and to induce a radical change. A free gallery of the selected works of artists will be very apt to carry the day against an exhibition at a quarter of a dollar of the miscellaneous and unselected works of the same men. But here we do not mean to vex this question farther. We aim at a general review of the peculiarities and excellences of each exhibition.
It is undoubtedly in landscape art that American talent is destined first to excel, and the Academy exhibition and that of the Art-Union are added proofs of the fact. The landscapes are much the most distinguishing and distinguished feature. Mr.Durandcontributes several characteristic works. His style is so uniform and pronounced that it is never difficult to recognize his pictures. We should hardly say that he does better this year than usual, but we should certainly not say that he does worse. In the front rank of this department stand alsoKensettandCropsey, both of whom show beautiful results of summer study and winter work. Mr. Cropsey is mainly distinguished by a really gorgeous imagination. Proof of this is to be sought in the sketches of his portfolio rather than in his finished pictures, for in these a thousand influences seduce an artist away from the simplicity and splendor of his study into a care of public approbation and satisfaction. Mr. Cropsey is as yet too much enamored of the details and even of the mechanism of his art. And this is a tendency that is fatal to breadth and largeness of impression. Yet his "Southern Italy," and a "View in Rockland County," in the exhibition, are great advances in this respect. On the other hand, the two large American landscapes at the Art-Union, while the background in one is a splendid success, and the brilliant atmosphere of the other is no less successful, yet they are too much detailed, and the interest is nowhere sufficiently concentrated. Mr. Kensett is remarkable for his just sentiment and profound appreciation of natural beauty. It is a sentiment singularly free from sentimentality, and an appreciation as poetic as it is profound. The very delicacy of his touch and style indicate the character of his enjoyment and perception of nature.
Mr.Church, too, is perhaps the other name that we should mention with these two as full of hope and promise. If he avoids a little mannerism, to which he seems to be susceptible—not of course forgetting that all greatness has its own manner—and pursues with the same devotion as hitherto his studies of sea and sky, a very happy and brilliant career seems open to him. The works of none of the younger artists have attracted more attention. And the fame and position of Turner show the reward of a devoted student and artistic delineator of the peculiarities of atmospheric phenomena. We exhort Mr. Church to entire boldness in his attempts. Why should he hope always to please those who have only a vague susceptibility of natural observation for their standard of criticism? He is to show us in the splendid play of the light, and air, and clouds, that which we do not see, or seeing, do not perceive.
Messrs.Cranch, Boutelle, Gifford, and others, take high rank among the landscapists, nor must we omit a very beautiful winter piece ofGignoux, at the Academy, in which the crisp clearness of the sharp air, the brittle outline of the bare boughs, and the quality of ice, are most accurately and poetically rendered.
We are arrested by the feeling and promise of Mr.Richard'scontributions, and the very beautiful poetic sentiment of Mr.Hubbard's. Mr.Huntingdonis not great, this year. His landscapes are not natural, and his portraits lack that vigorous moulding to which we are accustomed upon his canvas. Mr.Ranneyhas some characteristic hunting-pieces. They are getting too much mannered. On a prairie, the chief interest of art is not a horse or a buffalo, but the sentiment of space. But we do not yield to any in our satisfaction at the spirit and vigor of these works.
Leaving the landscape, we find the figure compositions of the year not very successful, if we except the "Aztec Princess" of Mr.Hicks, which we understand is a study from life of a Mexican woman, but which is treated in so large, and thoughtful, and skilful a manner, that it is most impressive for character and color, and gives the key to the whole side of the room upon which it hangs. This artist exhibits also some portraits, which have never been surpassed by any modern portraits that we recall. No. 128 upon the Academy Catalogue is the most brilliantly-colored portrait upon the walls. It is treated with all the happy heroism of a master, and while many quarrel with itsspottycolor, the initiated perceive that easy mastery of the palette which with genius is the secret of artistic success. No. 405 is equally remarkable for its vigorous moulding. This portrait shows the accurate knowledge, as No. 128 reveals the sumptuoussentiment of the genuine artist. Mr.Elliott'sportraits have the same quiet truthfulness as heretofore, the same easy success, but we would gladly see more confidence in color, and a likeness more as the subject appears to the mind than to the eye. Mr.Shegogue'sproductions are certainly very pastoral. So sheepy are his sheep that all the figures, trees, and landscape, are unmitigatedly sheepish. Mr.Flagg'sportraits are not successful. There is an unnatural smoothness and hardness in his works. Mr.Kellogg'sGeneral Scott is vigorous and effective. The action of the figure seems to require some explanation, however. It contrasts well with the monotony of its pendant, Mr.Vanderlyn'sGeneral Taylor; but no spectator in regarding this latter work has a right to forget that it is the production of one who has grown gray at his post, and the winter of whose age has not yet frozen, and can never freeze, the freshness of enthusiasm and single-hearted devotion to art which are for ever young.
Mr.Lang'sNo. 44 is a very large likeness of a very comely lady, but the work will hardly live long in the spectator's memory. Mr.Rossitertakes the field boldly with "The Ideals, Types of Moral, Intellectual, and Physical Beauty." Except for the brilliance of color, and a certain sentiment, by which the light proceeds from the moral type, we do not much admire the picture. The difficulty with the spectator will be, we are sure, that he recalls within his own circle of friends types more beautiful for each ideal. Mr. Rossiter's portraits of his brother artists, Messrs.DarleyandDuggan, are admirable likenesses, each somewhat mellowed in expression by the artist. The sharp intellectual precision of Mr. Duggan's countenance, and the bright nervous sensibility of Mr. Darley's, are both somewhat subdued upon the canvas. What we candidly say of these pictures we say boldly, because we recognize and appreciate the fine feeling which animates the artist. Mr.Gray'sNo. 54, "King Death," attracts much attention. But is it the "Jolly Old Fellow," or the "King of Terrors," or the "easeful death" of which the poet was enamored? There is something fine in the picture—a strain of Egyptian placidity permeates the features. And such colossal placidity is full of fate. There is a latitude allowed the artist in these themes. Yet we do not feel satisfied, much as we like the picture. Mr.Rothermel'sNo. 5, "Murray's Defence of Toleration," is a very pleasant picture of the Düsseldorf style. We like one thing in this work, and that is its preservation of the balance of history, by showing that the Catholics were not always the persecutors. The contrast of the religious repose of the rear with the jangling fanaticism of the foreground is in harmony with the differing qualities of light. It is a thoughtful and beautiful picture, Mr.Freeman's359, "Study for an Angel's Head," has a Titianesque fascination, and the earnest regard of the faces is extremely lovely. It is none the less charming that it has a mortal loveliness—if we might say so without treason to the immortality of all beauty. We have no doubt, in our own critical mind, that any beautiful woman would make a beautiful angel. Mr.Mount'sNo. 118, "Who'll turn Grindstone?" is one of his characteristic Yankee incidents. It is very true and genuine in feeling, but the picture is too white and streaked. No. 344 is a natural and spirited portrait of the poet Stoddard by Mr.Pratt.
But we must pause here, leaving many works of which we would willingly speak. At the Düsseldorf Gallery,Lessing's"Martyrdom of Huss" is still the great attraction. It is a work so full of careful study and skilful treatment that we are not surprised at the universal pleasure in its contemplation. We cannot in this space, however, enter into a consideration of its artistic claims and character, but must record our impression that it is not in the highest style of art—if there be in art a higher style than the adequate representation of the simple incident. The dexterous detail of the Düsseldorf pictures is remarkable, but the fault and tendency of the school is to direct imitation, and consequently to a hopeless struggle with nature. These pictures are the worst possible models for the student of art.
The Art-Union Gallery is by no means full, but certainly does not merit the harsh criticism of the daily press. The pictures are on an average quite as good as usual. The names of most of the distinguished artists are on the catalogue, and the specimens of their works are characteristic and admirable. There are several poor copies of famous pictures, and these undoubtedly somewhat neutralize the effect of the native works. Beside, the Art-Union does not profess to open its gallery with a complete collection. It buys as the pictures are produced, and the criticisms, thus far, have been no less ignorant than ill-natured. It does not follow that fifty thousand dollars' worth of good pictures are annually painted because that sum may be subscribed to purchase good pictures. Nor is it at all true, as we would undertake to show, had we the space, that artists are necessarily the best managers of a popular institution for the advance of art.
The Exhibition of the Artists' Association offers little for remark. We are not sufficiently acquainted with the secret of the origin of this association to speak of the institution itself, but we observe many of the names familiar to us at the Academy and the Art-Union, and can truly wish that the pictures were upon the walls of one of those galleries.
On the whole, we remark an unwonted activity and interest in art. It is impossible not to rejoice at the fact, and at the brilliant proofs of artistic ability that illuminate the walls of the various galleries. The contemporaryexhibitions of foreign capitals do not, altogether, surpass those of their younger sister. American books are now not all unread, and those who delight in galleries in which only Turner, Kaulbach, and Couture are eminently great, could not be unjust to these promises of American artistic success.
Leutze, the artist, has been again distinguishing himself by a work just exhibited in Düsseldorf, "The Amazon with her Children." It represents a beautiful and majestic woman, lying half-erect, arms and neck bare, contemplating the gambols of her two naked children. The brilliant golden-tone of the complexion is said to be entirely worthy of the masterly skill in color of the artist, and was perhaps inspired by the poet's dream, "I will take some savage woman; she shall rear my dusky race." But in respect of composition and drawing it is called an attempt to imitate the art of the old Italian virtuosos. The artist is proceeding with surprising rapidity with his Washington. A portrait of Roting by Leutze is most highly commended. Roting is in the same atelier with Leutze, and is busy upon a scene from the life of Columbus.
The Managers of theArt-Unionpromise rich returns to the subscribers for the present year. We quote theArt-Union Journal:
"We have never before offered so many powerful motives to membership as the programme of the present year affords. The improvements in the Bulletin render it a publication that is almost indispensable to those who desire to have in a convenient form the most recent Art intelligence, as well as much original matter upon the subject that meets the constant approbation of instructed readers. The numbers of this work are furnished gratuitously to each member from the date of his subscription. He will also be entitled to the large engraving ofMexican NewsbyJones, after Woodville, and to the second part of theGallery of American Art, which contains five line engravings on steel, by the best artists, after the following pictures: Cropsey'sHarvesting, Kensett'sMount Washington, Woodville'sOld '76 and Young '48, Ranney'sMarion crossing the Pedee, and Mount'sBargaining for a Horse. We desire to call attention again to the fact that these subjects are all American in their character, illustrating the scenery, history, or manners of the country. They are also striking and valuable as pictures, and we should have every reason to feel proud of them in whatever contrast they might be placed."This project of presenting a work which shall contain in process of time the Gems of American Art, is original with the Art-Union. Its value must be apparent to every reader. It is a mode by which subscribers in the most distant parts of the country, who are deprived of the opportunity of visiting the large towns, may become well acquainted with the character and progress of our principal artists—and even those members who have the advantage of resorting to public galleries, may enjoy here the privilege of studying many pictures that from their location in private collections must be accessible to them. The first part of this work was given to the members of 1850, and is now ready for distribution, Besides the inducements just enumerated, there remains a share in the allotment of works of art purchased by the Association, and which, judging from the two hundred already obtained, will be the most attractive collection ever offered by the Art-Union. The importance of early subscriptions need not be enlarged upon at present. The opportunity it affords of securing complete sets of the Bulletin, and better impressions of the engravings, seems to be recognized in all quarters. The Association at no period of its history has had so long a roll of members at this early season."
"We have never before offered so many powerful motives to membership as the programme of the present year affords. The improvements in the Bulletin render it a publication that is almost indispensable to those who desire to have in a convenient form the most recent Art intelligence, as well as much original matter upon the subject that meets the constant approbation of instructed readers. The numbers of this work are furnished gratuitously to each member from the date of his subscription. He will also be entitled to the large engraving ofMexican NewsbyJones, after Woodville, and to the second part of theGallery of American Art, which contains five line engravings on steel, by the best artists, after the following pictures: Cropsey'sHarvesting, Kensett'sMount Washington, Woodville'sOld '76 and Young '48, Ranney'sMarion crossing the Pedee, and Mount'sBargaining for a Horse. We desire to call attention again to the fact that these subjects are all American in their character, illustrating the scenery, history, or manners of the country. They are also striking and valuable as pictures, and we should have every reason to feel proud of them in whatever contrast they might be placed.
"This project of presenting a work which shall contain in process of time the Gems of American Art, is original with the Art-Union. Its value must be apparent to every reader. It is a mode by which subscribers in the most distant parts of the country, who are deprived of the opportunity of visiting the large towns, may become well acquainted with the character and progress of our principal artists—and even those members who have the advantage of resorting to public galleries, may enjoy here the privilege of studying many pictures that from their location in private collections must be accessible to them. The first part of this work was given to the members of 1850, and is now ready for distribution, Besides the inducements just enumerated, there remains a share in the allotment of works of art purchased by the Association, and which, judging from the two hundred already obtained, will be the most attractive collection ever offered by the Art-Union. The importance of early subscriptions need not be enlarged upon at present. The opportunity it affords of securing complete sets of the Bulletin, and better impressions of the engravings, seems to be recognized in all quarters. The Association at no period of its history has had so long a roll of members at this early season."
Paul Delarochehas just completed, at Nice, a grand historical composition, which the most intelligent judges decree to be hischef d'œuvre. The picture represents a tragical moment in the life of Marie Antoinette. After a night of anguish before the revolutionary tribunals the unhappy Queen has just heard the verdict of her guilt. The President asks her if she has any thing to say in arrest of the sentence. For her sole answer, she rises calm and majestic, and takes silently the way back again to her dungeon. The artist has seized this instant, as she passes erect and still before a crowd of revolutionists. A man with a tri-colored scarf walks by her side, regarding her as a tiger gloats upon a lamb. It is the personification of terror. A single girl, too young to be cruel, yet attracted with the others, perhaps, to applaud the punishment of theWidow Capet, looks pityingly upon the Queen, her trembling lips murmur a prayer, and the tears start in her eyes. Upon the lips of the Queen there is almost a smile, a thought of disdain, for the outrages of men upon a solitary and defenceless woman. From the descriptions of which we select the prominent points, it is evident that this is another of the representations of historical incident for which Paul Delaroche has made himself so famous a name, as in his Death of Elizabeth, the Children of Edward in the Tower, Cromwell at the Coffin of Charles I, the Execution of Strafford, of Lady Jane Grey, Napoleon Crossing the Alps, &c., &c. And there is no reason that this last work should not be, as claimed, the greatest, since the artist adds to the greater cunning of his hand, the sympathies of chivalrous artistic feeling for the sorrow of a beautiful woman and a Queen of France. The picture is already sold in London, and will presently be forwarded to its destination; on the way it will remain a short time in Paris for the homage of the many admirers of this artist's genius.
Mr.Miner K. Kellogg, who since his professional tours in the East and long residence in Italy, has spent some half dozen years in his native country, has just returned to Florence, where, with his companion from boyhood, Hiram Powers, he will probably pass the remainder of his life. He is an artist of peculiar and great merits, and there is not perhaps among American painters a man more uniformly regarded with respect and affection.
The BrusselsHeraldgives an account of a curious and costly work of art, which a great landholder of the Walloon Provinces has ordered of the Depaepes, of Bruges. These artists are instructed to copy in Gothic lettersL'Imitation de Jésus Christ, by the Abbé d'Assance. The work will fill six hundred and seventy pages, each of which will be about three-quarters of a yard in height, by eighteen inches wide. They will have to execute one hundred and fourteen engravings, from the great masters of the Flemish school, Van Eyck, Memling, Pourbus, Classens, &c. The pages on which will be displayed theImitation of Jesus Christ, will be encircled with garlands and other ornaments, in blue and gold.
At the last annual meeting of theNational Academy of Design, the rank ofAcademicianwas conferred on T. Hicks, G.A. Baker, H.K. Brown, J.A. Cropsey, T. Addison Richards, R. Gignoux, P.P. Duggan, Alfred Jones, R.M. Pratt, J.W. Casilear, James Smillie and George W. Flagg. At the same time, Messrs R.W. Hubbard, J. Thompson, and Vincent Colyer, were made associates; and Messrs. Darley, Falconer, Lacombe, Kellogg and Ruggles, honorary members.
But yesterday a naked sod,The dandies sneered from Rotten-row,And cantered o'er it to and fro;And see, 'tis done!As though 'twere by a wizard's rod,A blazing arch of lucid glassLeaps like a fountain from the grassTo meet the sun!A quiet green but few days since,With cattle browsing in the shade,And lo! long lines of bright arcadeIn order raised;A palace as for fairy prince,A rare paradise, such as manSaw never, since mankind beganAnd built and glazed!A peaceful place it was but now,And lo! within its shining streets.A multitude, of nations meets:A countless throng,I see beneath the crystal bow,And Gaul and German, Russ and Turk,Each with his native handiwork,And busy tongue.I felt a thrill of love and aweTo mark the different garb of each,The changing tongue, the various speechTogether blent.A thrill, methinks like His who saw"All people dwelling upon earthPraising our God with solemn mirthAnd one consent."High Sovereign in your Royal state!Captains and Chiefs and Councillors,Before the lofty palace doorsAre open set.Hush! ere you pass the shining gate;Hush! ere the heaving curtain draws,And let the Royal pageant pauseA moment yet.People and Prince, a silence keep!Bow coronet and kindly crown,Helmet and plume bow lowly down;The while the priestBefore the splendid portal step,While still the wondrous banquet stays,From Heaven supreme a blessing praysUpon the feast!Then onwards let the triumph march;Then let the loud artillery roll,And trumpets ring and joy-bells toll,And pass the gate;Pass underneath the shining arch,'Neath which the leafy elms are green—Ascend unto your throne, O Queen,And take your State!Behold her in her Royal place:A gentle lady—and the handThat sways the sceptre of this landHow frail and weak!Soft is the voice, and fair the face;She breathes amen to prayer and hymn,No wonder that her eyes are dim,And pale her cheek.This moment round her empire's shoresThe winds of Austral winter sweep,And thousands lie in midnight sleepAt rest to-day.O! awful is that crown of yours,Queen of innumerable realms,Sitting beneath the budding elmsOf English May!A wondrous sceptre 'tis to bear,Strange mystery of God which setUpon her brow yon coronet,—The foremost crownOf all the world on one so fair!That chose her to it from her birth,And bade the sons of all the earthTo her bow down.The representatives of man,Here from the far Antipodes,And from the subject Indian seas,In Congress meet;From Afric and from Hindostan,From Western continent and isle,The envoys of her empire pileGifts at her feet.Our brethren cross the Atlantic tides,Loading the gallant decks, which onceRoared a defiance to our guns,With peaceful store;Symbol of peace, their vessel rides![2]O'er English waves float Star and Stripe,And from their friendly anchors gripeThe father-shore!From Rhine and Danube, Rhone and Seine,As rivers from their sources gush,The swelling floods of nations rush,And seaward pour:From coast to coast in friendly chain,With countless ships we bridge the straits;And angry Ocean separatesEurope no more.From Mississippi and from Nile—From Baltic, Ganges, Bosphorus,In England's Ark assembled thusAre friend and guest.Look down the mighty sunlit aisle,And see the sumptuous banquet set,The brotherhood of nations metAround the feast!Along the dazzling colonnade,Far as the straining eye can gaze,Gleam cross and fountain, bell, and vase,In vistas bright.And statues fair of nymph and maid,And steeds and pards and Amazons,Writhing and grappling in the bronze,In endless fight.To deck the glorious roof and dome,To make the Queen a canopy,The peaceful hosts of industryTheir standards bear.Yon are the works of Brahmin loom;On such a web of Persian threadThe desert Arab bows his head,And cries his prayer.Look yonder where the engines toil;These England's arms, of conquest are,The trophies of her bloodless war:Brave weapons these.Victorious over wave and soil,With these she sails, she weaves, she tillsPierces the everlasting hills,And spans the seas.The engine roars upon its race,The shuttle whirrs along the woof,The people hum from floor to roof,With Babel tongue.The fountain in the basin plays,The chanting organ echoes clear,An awful chorus 'tis to hear,A wondrous song!Swell organ, swell your trumpet blast,March, Queen, and Royal pageant, marchBy splendid aisle and springing archOf this fair Hall:And see! above the fabric vast,God's boundless Heaven is bending blue,God's peaceful Sun is beaming throughAnd shining over all.
But yesterday a naked sod,The dandies sneered from Rotten-row,And cantered o'er it to and fro;And see, 'tis done!As though 'twere by a wizard's rod,A blazing arch of lucid glassLeaps like a fountain from the grassTo meet the sun!
A quiet green but few days since,With cattle browsing in the shade,And lo! long lines of bright arcadeIn order raised;A palace as for fairy prince,A rare paradise, such as manSaw never, since mankind beganAnd built and glazed!
A peaceful place it was but now,And lo! within its shining streets.A multitude, of nations meets:A countless throng,I see beneath the crystal bow,And Gaul and German, Russ and Turk,Each with his native handiwork,And busy tongue.
I felt a thrill of love and aweTo mark the different garb of each,The changing tongue, the various speechTogether blent.A thrill, methinks like His who saw"All people dwelling upon earthPraising our God with solemn mirthAnd one consent."
High Sovereign in your Royal state!Captains and Chiefs and Councillors,Before the lofty palace doorsAre open set.Hush! ere you pass the shining gate;Hush! ere the heaving curtain draws,And let the Royal pageant pauseA moment yet.
People and Prince, a silence keep!Bow coronet and kindly crown,Helmet and plume bow lowly down;The while the priestBefore the splendid portal step,While still the wondrous banquet stays,From Heaven supreme a blessing praysUpon the feast!
Then onwards let the triumph march;Then let the loud artillery roll,And trumpets ring and joy-bells toll,And pass the gate;Pass underneath the shining arch,'Neath which the leafy elms are green—Ascend unto your throne, O Queen,And take your State!
Behold her in her Royal place:A gentle lady—and the handThat sways the sceptre of this landHow frail and weak!Soft is the voice, and fair the face;She breathes amen to prayer and hymn,No wonder that her eyes are dim,And pale her cheek.
This moment round her empire's shoresThe winds of Austral winter sweep,And thousands lie in midnight sleepAt rest to-day.O! awful is that crown of yours,Queen of innumerable realms,Sitting beneath the budding elmsOf English May!
A wondrous sceptre 'tis to bear,Strange mystery of God which setUpon her brow yon coronet,—The foremost crownOf all the world on one so fair!That chose her to it from her birth,And bade the sons of all the earthTo her bow down.
The representatives of man,Here from the far Antipodes,And from the subject Indian seas,In Congress meet;From Afric and from Hindostan,From Western continent and isle,The envoys of her empire pileGifts at her feet.
Our brethren cross the Atlantic tides,Loading the gallant decks, which onceRoared a defiance to our guns,With peaceful store;Symbol of peace, their vessel rides![2]O'er English waves float Star and Stripe,And from their friendly anchors gripeThe father-shore!
From Rhine and Danube, Rhone and Seine,As rivers from their sources gush,The swelling floods of nations rush,And seaward pour:From coast to coast in friendly chain,With countless ships we bridge the straits;And angry Ocean separatesEurope no more.
From Mississippi and from Nile—From Baltic, Ganges, Bosphorus,In England's Ark assembled thusAre friend and guest.Look down the mighty sunlit aisle,And see the sumptuous banquet set,The brotherhood of nations metAround the feast!
Along the dazzling colonnade,Far as the straining eye can gaze,Gleam cross and fountain, bell, and vase,In vistas bright.And statues fair of nymph and maid,And steeds and pards and Amazons,Writhing and grappling in the bronze,In endless fight.
To deck the glorious roof and dome,To make the Queen a canopy,The peaceful hosts of industryTheir standards bear.Yon are the works of Brahmin loom;On such a web of Persian threadThe desert Arab bows his head,And cries his prayer.
Look yonder where the engines toil;These England's arms, of conquest are,The trophies of her bloodless war:Brave weapons these.Victorious over wave and soil,With these she sails, she weaves, she tillsPierces the everlasting hills,And spans the seas.
The engine roars upon its race,The shuttle whirrs along the woof,The people hum from floor to roof,With Babel tongue.
The fountain in the basin plays,The chanting organ echoes clear,An awful chorus 'tis to hear,A wondrous song!
Swell organ, swell your trumpet blast,March, Queen, and Royal pageant, marchBy splendid aisle and springing archOf this fair Hall:And see! above the fabric vast,God's boundless Heaven is bending blue,God's peaceful Sun is beaming throughAnd shining over all.
April 29.
FOOTNOTES:[2]The St. Lawrence.
[2]The St. Lawrence.
[2]The St. Lawrence.
Subordination is theapparentlot of woman. From the domination of nurses, parents, guardians, and teachers, during infancy and youth, to the magisterial rule of her lord and master, during married life, and the softer control of her children, through that valley of the shadow of death, old age, it rarely ceases, until the neatly-crimped borders of the death-cap rest upon the icy brow, and the unfortunate subject is screwed down in one of those exceedingly awkward mahogany tenements, henceforth "all which it may inhabit."
There are two ways of meeting this destiny of the sex. One is merely to kiss the rod, and bend before the will of the oppressor, meekly turning both cheeks to be smitten at once, and offering to lend both coat and cloak, even before either is required. The other mode is to boldly face down the enemy, and by a never-tiring guerilla warfare, to hamper his movements, cut off his provisions, and finally hem him in, after a manner that shall cause him ignominiously to surrender, to lay down his arms, pass under the yoke, and at length—converting his sword into a pruning-hook—leave his conqueror undisputed possession of the land. The usual injustice of the world is seen in the success which ordinarily attends the latter method; while the meek and gentle, who, it is promised, shall inherit the earth, must look for a new heaven and a new earth before they can come into their property. Husbands, it is premised, have no small share in this domestic despotism. How often do we see—to the shame of the male sex generally, be it spoken—some rough, coarse-minded tyrant, linked to a quiet, amiable woman, who after a long period of hectoring and dragooning, ordering and counter-ordering, sinks into the grave of a broken heart—or what is worse, a broken spirit. And sometimes—for fate is sometimes just—the said patient wife is replaced by some undaunted avenger of her wrongs, who in her turn dragoons, and hectors Othello, until indeed his "occupation's gone."
My old acquaintance, Charles Boldenough, was pronounced to be, by the tutors, as well as by the students of D—— College, "the most unlicked cub" who ever misconstrued Virgil. Their experience was undoubtedly great in this species of natural history, but of all the hard characters who fell under their inspection and jurisdiction, I question if there were one who could with any share of success, dispute with him the enviable claim of being the hardest. Tall, athletic, with a huge frame capable of any fatigue, and health that never failed him; with a passionate temper, and a stentorian voice whose thunders were the terror of the younger boys, Charles Boldenough contrived to overawe with brute force all the small fry, and to convince the older collegians that it was best to yield passively to pretensions which could only be contended with any chance of success, by wrestling powers equal to his own. He was in fact the gladiator of D——College,—champion I should have called him, were it not that he was constantly at war with the professors and faculty, who might be said to represent it. The incorrigible laziness and ignorance which marked his scholastic career, were fruitful sources of complaint and reprimand; the frequent boating expeditions, the sporting excursions, and fishing parties, on which he was absent, sometimes for entire days, would unquestionably have terminated the course of his studies, and released the freshmen from their dreaded tyrant, by his early expulsion, had it not been for the influence of powerful family connections, and the personal interference of his friends. But in the course of time, he finished his collegiate labors, with all the honors, and a scarcity of black eyes, and bloody noses, immediately prevailed at D——, such as had not occurred for years.
I separated from him at that time, and heard nothing of him for a long interval. When I next saw him, he was married. The person whom my pugnacious acquaintance had made the object of his choice, was a fair blue-eyed timid little woman, with a frail figure, delicate health, and temper mild as the summer morning. What could have induced her, to ally herself with this belligerent power, I never could imagine. Whether she had fallen in love with that great burly countenance, and loud voice; or whether, as the youngest of ten children, she had snatched at the crown matrimonial as affording an escape from a disagreeable home, or whether some one of her friends compelled her to do it, I have always found it impossible to determine. I only know that at the first interview, I saw enough to pity the poor being in my heart. She hung upon the arm of her Alcides, like a snow-drop on a rock. My friend had never had many pretensions to beauty; and his rough red visage and portly figure, bore witness of a right boisterous and jolly style of living. His first act after his marriage, was to engage in a violent quarrel with his wife's father and eight stalwart brothers, the result of which was a total cessation of intercourse between the two families. His young partner was compelled to receive the boon companions of her better half, to the entire exclusion of her own friends. The home of Charles Boldenough was a constant scene of dinner parties, and oyster suppers innumerable, which, as they frequently ended by an altercation between the host and his guests, were a continual source of agitation to his wife.
A perfect angel of peace and gentleness she was. She bore, with unexampled resignation, the thraldom which was destroying her health and comfort. She tried, with patience, every means of pleasing a man who never allowed her to know what he liked, as it would have taken away all room for grumbling. With scrupulous care she attended to his little vexatious wants, his epicurean tastes, his trifling whimsical peculiarities. If she wished to remain at home, he forced her to go abroad; if she were desirous of going out, he made her stay within doors. If she liked a person more than commonly, he, in the words of the vulgar, "made the house too hot to hold them." If, on the contrary, she was annoyed by the presence of one of his acquaintances, she had time and opportunity to get rid of her abhorrence, since she was continually visited with their company. He scolded, grumbled, and found fault with every thing she did; with her acts and her intentions alike. If she ordered a servant to perform any particular duty, he immediately countermanded the orders; if she made any change, however slight, in the family arrangements, no penance could expiate the offence. So she lived on, with almost a struggle for her existence, having learned the important mythological lesson, that Hymen, like Janus, wears two faces, and that the temple of the former god, unlike that of the latter, isneverclosed. She had several children (who fortunately all died before their mother), but Boldenough, on the ground that women were not fit to bring up boys, constantly interfered in the education of the girls, and made his wife as wretched by this means as by any other. He punished when she rewarded, and indulged when she reproved; he sent them to school when she would have educated them at home, and reaped his reward, by having them secretly fear and hate him. Poor Mrs. Boldenough complained not, but she grew thinner and paler every year, and her voice, as if lost amid the loud tones, forever reverberating in her ears, became so low as to be scarcely audible.
At last she died. When it became necessary to inform him of the danger she was in, he was at first stupefied by the unexpected intelligence, and the feeling that he was to lose a household object, which time had rendered not dear, but familiar. Then he flew into a violent rage, quarreled with the attendants, servants, even the friends and relatives. Having recovered from the shock in some degree, he set about persecuting his poor wife during her last moments, in the same manner he had done while she enjoyed her health, with this difference: that it was now killing with kindness. He sent away in a rage the family physician, although his dying wife begged him, almost with tears, to retain him. He brought strange attendants to wait upon her, and insisted upon her eating when she had no appetite, and when the very sight of food created disgust. The sight of his big, cross, burly countenance, perpetually haunting her, and his loud questions, to which hewouldhave answers, and the eternal remedies, which he disturbed her feverish sleep that she might swallow—were causes, as the nurse averred, which positively sent the poor lady out of the world—"for he wouldn't," said that worthy person, "he wouldn't have let her get well, even if she'd been a mind to."
Poor thing! a man who, as it was universally agreed, had broken his wife's heart, was not likely to regret her very deeply, or very long. But he was rougher and ruder than ever; the confusion into which his family matters immediately fell, the dishonesty of servants, the diabolical gastronomy of hiscuisine, and the insufferable dullness of a home in which there was no family circle to be made uncomfortable and to be railed at every hour in the day, induced Charles Boldenough to mingle more freely in society, in order, as it was immediately said, that he might marry again. Many were the denunciations of wrath and sorrow to come, which were showered upon the head of that wretched woman who should accept Charles Boldenough's huge bony hand. He had the name of the worst of husbands, and it was confidently said that he would never succeed in contracting a second alliance: an assertion to which he gave the lie by espousing, one year after the death of the first Mrs. Boldenough, an intrepid successor, in the person of a damsel whom he had long been known to admire.
The second Mrs. Boldenough was a complete and entire contrast to the first. She was so nearly equal to her husband in stature and in size that she might almost have succeeded in giving him, what no person had ever been known to do, and what he certainly had long required: namely, a good flogging. She had a pair of cheeks like nothing inthisworld except two prize Spitzenberg apples, black eyes, fierce and bright and far-seeing almost to a miracle, and a voice that went through your head like a milkman's whistle, whilst the continued sound of her conversation resembled a gong at the great hotels. Boldenough she was by name, and Boldenough by nature; her carriage, erect and firm, and rapid as a locomotive, seemed to require the ringing of a little bell before her, to keep the unwary off the tracks, after the manner of most railway trains. She was afraid of nothing in the heavens above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth. She could break the most unruly horse, fire at a mark with a perfect aim, and collar any man who should show her any impertinence, with a coolness and strength of limb perfectly wonderful to behold. Born to command, she was not angry but merely surprised that any one should dream of controlling her. It was only after a long resistance to her wishes that the full torrent of her rage burst forth, but with an overwhelming fury.
The French say "C'est le coeur qui fait le grenadier." If this be true, what a very respectableregiment might be formed from the ranks of the fair sex in all parts of the world, were they but armed and equipped as the law directs! What an irresistible army would that be which should be formed of troops like these! My friend, Mrs. Boldenough, would have made an excellent commander to these imaginary forces, and would, no doubt, have been as entirely successful in overrunning the enemy's country and driving him from his last entrenchments, as she was in the domestic circle triumphant over husband and servants, and sweeping before her the convivial revellers of the former by means of the rapid extinction of feudal customs, in the shape of suppers and dinner parties.
Mr. Boldenough attempted to make a gallant defence; he stormed, raved, threatened, commanded, and exhorted; scenes of conflict, dreadful to witness, took place between the warlike hosts. The lord of the mansion's burly visage turned pale at finding himself stormed down with a noise and clatter which almost burst the tympanum of his ears. Ifhehad scoldedshehad raved more loudly, ifhehad thunderedsherang out her high shrill treble with as much force and strength as a dinner-bell. Fairly beaten and vanquished, he shrunk from the ground; she, undismayed, "keeping the natural ruby of her cheeks, while his were pale from fear."
Vœ victis! Wo to the conquered! The reign of Mr. Boldenough was over; a new dynasty took possession of the throne. The old servants were packed, bag and baggage, out of the mansion; the old acquaintances of the host were impressively given to understand that they were "never to come there no more."
The longer any arbitrary power is established the more secure its authority becomes. So it proved with regard to Mrs. Boldenough. There was no escaping from her military despotism; she was an excellent housewife, and the best of good managers, and as might have been expected, she immediately restrained and cut off the lavish expenditure of the household. Mr. Boldenough made a few faint expiring efforts in behalf of his favorite luxuries. Not the better part of valor, is, as he discovered, discretion; for his helpmate held in her hands the buying and the ordering of his dinners and his daily food, and if he complained he was sure to find his condition worse than it was before. In the course of time six sturdy Boldenoughs sprung up, robust, hardy, noisy, and passionate as their mother, whose authority they served to confirm and strengthen. Then, indeed, it was that my friend Charles's shadow perceptibly grew less. He shrank from the notice of his wife and the bold Titans, his sons. The first Mrs. Boldenough's memory was certainly avenged.
The last time I met my friend he was evidently sinking slowly but surely into the vale of years. His great rubicund countenance was sunken and emaciated, his figure bent and meagre, his voice weak and faint as a whisper, and his hearingentirely gone. From what cause my readers may perhaps imagine. He was, indeed, stone deaf. I question, however, if this were not almost a mercy, considering the tower of Babel in which he dwelt. Nobody cared what became of him, for he had never cared for any body.
Charles Boldenough departed this life shortly after having survived his second marriage fifteen years. The physician had the effrontery to ascribe to paralysis what evidently was no natural death. His end might have excited some pity from his acquaintances and friends, if it had not been for two things, namely, that he had no friends, and that he merely received himself the same treatment which he had given others. I was not sorry for him, I confess. Justice is so rare in this world of ours, that I am not disposed to undervalue it when it is summarily executed. The Amazonian relict of my friend Charles never re-married. Whether she never found that daring man, who was Van Amburgh-like enough to put his head in the lioness's mouth without fear of having it snapped off at one blow, or whether the charge of her young giants was sufficient for her occupation, or whether she was conscious of having fulfilled hermission, I do not know. She retained her formidable name to the end of her days.
Reader! I have done. If you are a woman you may smile, and if a man you will sneer; but I assure you there is a moral in thepetite histoireof the second wife. Adieu!
There are seasons in the life of man, as well as in the course of the year; and well, unhappily, have many poets painted them in all their various aspects. But these seasons are subject to variations with different men, as with different years. The summer of one man is all bright and calm—a lapse of tranquil sunshine, and soft airs, and gentle dews. With another, the same season passes in the thunder-storm of passion—the tempests of war or ambition—and often, the gloomy days of autumn or of winter overshadowed the rich land, and spoiled the promised harvest.
It was an autumn-like period during the next three or four months of the family of Sir Philip Hastings. For the first time, uncertainty and doubt fell upon the family generally. There had been differences of temper and of character. There had been slight inconveniences. There had been occasional sickness and anxiety. There had been all those things which in the usual course of events diminished the sum of human happiness even to the most happy. But there hadbeen nothing the least like uncertainty of position. There had been no wavering anxiety from day to day as to what the morrow was to bring forth. There had been none of that poison-drop in which the keenest shafts of fate are dipped, "the looking for of evil."
Now, every day brought some new intelligence, and some new expectation, and the mass was altogether unfavorable. Had the blow fallen at once—had any one been in power to say, "Sir Philip Hastings, you must resign all your paternal estates, and pay back at once the rents for nearly twenty years—you must give up the rank and station which you have hitherto held, and occupy a totally different position in society!" Sir Philip would have submitted at once, and with less discomfort than most of my readers can imagine. But it was the wearing, irritating, exciting, yet stupefying progress of a lawsuit which had a painful and distressing effect upon his mind. One day, he thought he saw the case quite clearly—could track the tricks of his adversary, and expose the insecure foundation of his claim; and then would come two or three days of doubt and discussion, and then disappointment, and a new turn where every thing had to begin again. But gradually proofs swelled up, first giving some show of justice to the pretence that John Ayliffe had some claim, then amounting to a probability in his favor, then seeming, to unlearned eyes, very powerful as to his right.
I am no lawyer, and therefore cannot pursue all the stages of the proceeding; but John Ayliffe had for his assistants unscrupulous men, whose only aims were to succeed, and to shield themselves from danger in case of detection; and their turns, and twists, and new points, were manifold.
Sir Philip Hastings was tortured. It affected his spirits and his temper. He became more gloomy—occasionally irritable, often suspicious. He learned to pore over law papers, to seek out flaws and errors, to look for any thing that might convey a double meaning, to track the tortuous and narrow paths by which that power which bears the name of Justice reaches the clear light of truth, or falls into the thorny deep of error.
All this disturbed and changed him; and these daily anxieties and discomforts affected his family too—Emily, indeed, but little, except inasmuch as she was grieved to see her father grieve. But Lady Hastings was not only pained and mortified herself—she contrived to communicate a share of all she felt to others. She became sad—somewhat sullen—and fancied all the time while she was depressing her husband's spirits, and aggravating all he felt by despondency and murmurs, instead of cheering and supporting him by making light of the threatened evils, that she was but participating sympathetically in his anxieties, and feeling a due share of his sorrows. She had no idea of the duty of cheerfulness in a wife, and how often it may prove the very blessing that God intended in giving man a helpmate.
Sickness, it is true, had diminished somewhat the light spirits of her youth, but she had assuredly become a creature of repinings—a murmurer by habit—fit to double rather than divide any load of misfortune which fate might cast upon a husband's shoulders.
Lady Hastings strove rather to look sad, Emily Hastings to be gay and cheerful, and both did it perhaps a little too much for the mood and circumstances in which Sir Philip then was. He wondered when he came home, after an anxious day, that Lady Hastings did nothing to cheer him—that every word was gloomy and sad—that she seemed far more affected at the thought of loss of fortune and station than himself. He wondered also that Emily could be so light and playful, so joyous and seemingly unconcerned, when he was suffering such anxiety.
Poor Emily! she was forcing spirits in vain, and playing the kindliest of hypocrites—fashioning every word, and every look, to win him away from painful thought, only to be misunderstood.
But the misunderstanding was heightened and pointed by the hand of malice. The emotion which Sir Philip had displayed in the court had not been forgotten by some whom a spirit of revenge rendered keen and clear-sighted.
It seemed impossible to mingle Emily's name directly with the law proceedings which were taking place; but more than once in accidental correspondence it was insinuated that secret information, which had led to the development of John Ayliffe's claim, had been obtained from some near relation of Sir Philip Hastings, and it became generally rumored and credited in the county, that Emily had indiscreetly betrayed some secrets of her father's. Of course these rumors did not reach her ears, but they reached Sir Philip Hastings, and he thought it strange, and more strange, that Emily had never mentioned to him her several interviews with John Ayliffe, which he had by this time learned were more than one.
Some strange feelings, disguised doubtless by one of those veils which vanity or selfishness are ever ready to cast over the naked emotions of the human heart, withheld him from speaking to his child on the subject which caused him so much pain. Doubtless it was pride—for pride of a peculiar kind was at the bottom of many of his actions. He would not condescend to inquire, he thought, into that which she did not choose to explain herself, and he went on in reality barring the way against confidence, when, in truth, nothing would have given Emily more relief than to open her whole heart to her father.
With Marlow, Sir Philip Hastings was more free and communicative than with any one else. The young man's clear perceptions, and rapid comprehensions on any point in thecourse of the proceedings going on, his zeal, his anxiety, his thoughtfulness, and his keen sense of what was just and equitable, raised him every day higher in the opinion of Sir Philip Hastings, and he would consult with him for hours, talk the whole matter over in all its bearings, and leave him to solve various questions of conscience in which he found it difficult himself to come to a decision. Only on one point Sir Philip Hastings never spoke to him; and that was Emily's conduct with regard to young Ayliffe. That, the father could not do; and yet, more than once, he longed to do it.
One day, however, towards the end of six months after the first processes had been issued, Sir Philip Hastings, in one of his morning consultations with Marlow, recapitulated succinctly all the proofs which young John Ayliffe had brought forward to establish a valid marriage between his mother and the elder brother of the baronet.
"The case is very nearly complete," said Sir Philip. "But two or three links in the chain of evidence are wanting, and as soon as I become myself convinced that this young man is, beyond all reasonable doubt, the legitimate son of my brother John, my course will be soon taken. It behooves us in the first instance, Marlow, to consider how this may affect you. You have sought the hand of a rich man's daughter, and now I shall be a poor man; for although considerable sums have accumulated since my father's death, they will not more than suffice to pay off the sums due to this young man if his claim be established, and the expenses of this suit must be saved by hard economy. The property of Lady Hastings will still descend to our child, but neither she nor I have the power to alienate even a part of it for our daughter's dowry. It is right, therefore, Marlow, that you should be set free from all engagements."
"When I first asked your daughter's hand, Sir Philip," replied Marlow, "I heartily wished that our fortunes were more equal. Fate has granted that wish, apparently, in making them so; and believe me, I rejoice rather than regret that it is so, as far as I myself am concerned. We shall have enough for comfort, Sir Philip, and not too much for happiness. What need we more? But I cannot help thinking," he continued, "that this suit may turn out differently from that which you expect. I believe that the mind has its instincts, which, though dangerous to trust to, guide us nevertheless, sometimes, more surely than reason. There is an impression on my mind, which all the evidence hitherto brought forward has been unable to shake, that this claim of John Ayliffe is utterly without foundation—that it is, in fact, a trumped up case, supported by proofs which will fall to pieces under close examination."
Sir Philip Hastings shook his head. "But one thing more," he said, "and I am myself convinced. I will not struggle against conviction, Marlow; but the moment I feel morally sure that I am defending a bad cause, that instant I will yield, be the sacrifice what it may. Nothing on earth," he continued, in a stern abstracted tone, "shall ever prevent my doing that which I believe right, and which justice and honor require me to do. Life itself and all that makes life dear were but a poor sacrifice in the eyes of an honest man; what then a few thousand acres, and an empty designation?"
"But, my dear Sir Philip," replied Marlow, "let us suppose for one moment that this claim is a fictitious one, and that it is supported by fraud and forgery, you will allow that more than a few months are required to investigate all the particulars thoroughly, and to detect the knavery which may have been committed?"
"My dear Marlow," replied Sir Philip, "conviction comes to each mind accordingly as it is naturally constituted or habitually regulated. I trust I have studied the nature of evidence well—well enough to be satisfied with much less than mere law will require. In regard to all questions which come under the decision of the law, there are, in fact, two juries who decide upon the merits of the evidence—one, selected from our fellow men—the other in the bosom of the parties before which each man shall scrupulously try the justice of his own cause, and if the verdict be against him, should look upon himself but as an officer to carry the verdict into execution. I will never act against conviction. I will always act with it. My mind will try the cause itself; and the moment its decision is pronounced, that instant I will act upon it."
Marlow knew that it was in vain to argue farther, and could only trust that something would occur speedily to restore Sir Philip's confidence in his own rights.
Sir Philip, however, was now absent very frequently from home. The unpleasant business in which he was engaged, called him continually to the county town, and many a long and happy hour might Marlow and Emily have passed together had not Lady Hastings at this time assumed a somewhat new character—apparently so only—for it was, in fact, merely a phase of the old one. She became—as far as health and indolence would admit—the most prudent and careful mother in the world. She insinuated that it was highly improper for Emily to walk or ride alone with her acknowledged lover, and broadly asserted that their previous rambles had been permitted without her knowledge, and from inadvertence. During all Marlow's afternoon visits, she took especial care to sit with them the whole time, and thus she sought to deprive them of all means of free and unconstrained communication. Such would have been the result, too, indeed, had it not been for a few morning hours snatched now and then; partly from a habit of indulgence, and partly from very delicate health, Lady Hastings was rarely, if ever, down to breakfast, and generally remained in her drawing-room till the hour of noon was past.
The hours of Sir Philip's absence were generally tedious enough to himself. Sometimes a day of weary and laborious business occupied the time; but that was a relief rather than otherwise. In general the day was spent in a visit to the office of his lawyer, in finding the information he wanted, or the case he had desired to be prepared, not ready for him, in waiting for it hour after hour, in tedious gloomy meditation, and very often riding home without it, reflecting on the evils of a dilatory system which often, by the refusal ofspeedyjustice, renders ultimate justice unavailable for any thing but the assertion of an abstract principle. He got tired of this mode of proceeding: he felt that it irritated and disordered him, and after a while, whenever he found that he should be detained in suspense, he mounted his horse again, and rode away to amuse his mind with other things.
The house of Mrs. Hazleton being so near, he more than once paid her a visit during such intervals. His coming frequently was not altogether convenient to her; for John Ayliffe was not an unfrequent visitor at her house, and Mrs. Hazleton had to give the young man a hint to let her see him early in the morning or late in the evening. Nevertheless, Mrs. Hazleton was not at all displeased to cultivate the friendship of Sir Philip Hastings. She had her objects, her purposes, to serve, and with her when she put on her most friendly looks towards the baronet she was not moved merely by that everyday instinctive hypocrisy which leads man to cover the passions he is conscious of, with a veil of the most opposite appearances, but it was a definite hypocrisy, with objects distinctly seen by herself, and full of purpose.
Thus, and for these reasons, she received Sir Philip Hastings on all occasions with the highest distinction—assumed, with a certain chameleon quality which some persons have, the color and tone of his mind to a considerable degree, while yet the general features of her own character were preserved sufficiently to shield her from the charge of affectation. She was easy, graceful, dignified as ever, with a certain languid air, and serious quietness which was very engaging. She never referred in her conversations with Sir Philip to the suit that was going on against him, and when he spoke of it himself, though she assumed considerable interest, and seemed to have a personal feeling in the matter, exclaiming, "If this goes on, nobody's estates will be secure soon!" she soon suffered the subject to drop, and did not recur to it again.
One day after the conversation between Sir Philip and Marlow, part of which has been already detailed, Sir Philip turned his horse's head towards Mrs. Hazleton's at a somewhat earlier hour than usual. It was just half past ten when he dismounted at the door, but he knew her matutinal habits and did not expect to find her occupied. The servant, however, instead of showing him into the small room where she usually sat, took him to the great drawing-room, and as he went, Sir Philip heard the voices of Mrs. Hazleton and another person in quick and apparently eager conversation. There was nothing extraordinary in this, however, and he turned to the window and gazed out into the park. He heard the servant go into the morning room, and then immediately all sound of voices ceased. Shortly after, a horse's feet, beating the ground rapidly, caught the baronet's ear, but the rider must have mounted in the courtyard and taken the back way out of the park; for he came not within Sir Philip's sight. A moment or two after, Mrs. Hazleton appeared, and there was an air of eagerness and excitement about her which was not at all usual. She seated Sir Philip beside her, however, with one of her blandest looks, and then laying her hand on his, said, in a kind and sisterly tone, "Do tell me, Sir Philip—I am not apt to be curious, or meddle with other people's affairs; but in this I am deeply interested. A rumor has just reached me from Hartwell, that you have signified your intention of abandoning your defence against this ridiculous claim upon your property. Do tell me if this is true?"
"Partly, and partly false," replied Sir Philip, "as all rumors are. Who gave you this information?"