"The science of deception has of late years attained an immense importance in this good realm of Britain. In other lands,—as, for example, in France or in America,—it is practiced with more or less of success and perfection; but the inherent superiority of the Anglo-Saxon race has asserted itself even in this sinister and questionable pursuit, so that we may fairly claim as decided a preeminence in the arts by which fools are gulled and ruled, as in those more honorable and useful ones by which we have attained a moral dominion over the opinions and tastes of mankind. There may be morefinessein the system of the French deceivers, or the American 'humbug' may, like the other indigenous productions of that remarkable land, be a very monster in the grandeur of his conceptions, and the enormous force brought to bear on their development; but for real, sound, profitable, business-like work in this peculiar line, we back the Britishers against all the world. Like every thing done in the country, their operations in the art of deception are steady, systematic and sure."We conceive that we have a right to speak of the 'science' of deception, for it has all the dignity, symmetry, and order of the nobler sciences. It has its mysteries, which are utterly unknown to the uninitiated; it has also its professors, who are men very often raised by the admiration of their own dupes to positions of high honor and great profit. The organization and regulation of its minor ministrants are also complete, and ere a man can hope to reach the high places and carry off the rich prizes, he must go through many grades, and master many secrets, both in theory and practice. Once initiated, he is able to effect results, by comparison with which the glory and the honors reaped by successful soldiers or great discoverers sink into insignificance."In a former number an attempt was made to explain some of the means resorted to for the manufacture of public opinion in England, through the journals and other agents, by which the public ear is monopolized. We showed that almost any desired 'public opinion' might be made to order; that there were great contractors, who would not only undertake the duty, but who would also fulfil their undertakings. That similar processes exist in other countries cannot admit of a doubt, but it is questionable whether the corresponding effects in France or America are not produced upon a much lower and more ignorant class of the community, and whether there are in those countries such masses of wealthy, intelligent, and educated persons willing to be cajoled, fleeced, and laughed at, as those we find in our own dearly beloved country. It might, perhaps, be proved that the arts of which we speak succeed with the superior classes of our countrymen in a much larger proportion than with similar classes elsewhere. This science of deception has, of course, for its basis, the production of particular 'opinions,' and the creation of peculiar preferences in the public mind; but although the great contractors for political opinion are, of all the practitioners, the most perfect adepts, theirmodus operandiis far more difficult, and the secret of their power far more occult than in the case of the general professors or the charlatans."Except for the lower class of Frenchmen or Americans such tactics as these are unavailing; all the rest have enough penetration to see through the whole scheme; but in England it is possible to lead by the nose persons who not only ought to know better, but who in all other transactions of life evince the utmost shrewdness and aptitude."
"The science of deception has of late years attained an immense importance in this good realm of Britain. In other lands,—as, for example, in France or in America,—it is practiced with more or less of success and perfection; but the inherent superiority of the Anglo-Saxon race has asserted itself even in this sinister and questionable pursuit, so that we may fairly claim as decided a preeminence in the arts by which fools are gulled and ruled, as in those more honorable and useful ones by which we have attained a moral dominion over the opinions and tastes of mankind. There may be morefinessein the system of the French deceivers, or the American 'humbug' may, like the other indigenous productions of that remarkable land, be a very monster in the grandeur of his conceptions, and the enormous force brought to bear on their development; but for real, sound, profitable, business-like work in this peculiar line, we back the Britishers against all the world. Like every thing done in the country, their operations in the art of deception are steady, systematic and sure.
"We conceive that we have a right to speak of the 'science' of deception, for it has all the dignity, symmetry, and order of the nobler sciences. It has its mysteries, which are utterly unknown to the uninitiated; it has also its professors, who are men very often raised by the admiration of their own dupes to positions of high honor and great profit. The organization and regulation of its minor ministrants are also complete, and ere a man can hope to reach the high places and carry off the rich prizes, he must go through many grades, and master many secrets, both in theory and practice. Once initiated, he is able to effect results, by comparison with which the glory and the honors reaped by successful soldiers or great discoverers sink into insignificance.
"In a former number an attempt was made to explain some of the means resorted to for the manufacture of public opinion in England, through the journals and other agents, by which the public ear is monopolized. We showed that almost any desired 'public opinion' might be made to order; that there were great contractors, who would not only undertake the duty, but who would also fulfil their undertakings. That similar processes exist in other countries cannot admit of a doubt, but it is questionable whether the corresponding effects in France or America are not produced upon a much lower and more ignorant class of the community, and whether there are in those countries such masses of wealthy, intelligent, and educated persons willing to be cajoled, fleeced, and laughed at, as those we find in our own dearly beloved country. It might, perhaps, be proved that the arts of which we speak succeed with the superior classes of our countrymen in a much larger proportion than with similar classes elsewhere. This science of deception has, of course, for its basis, the production of particular 'opinions,' and the creation of peculiar preferences in the public mind; but although the great contractors for political opinion are, of all the practitioners, the most perfect adepts, theirmodus operandiis far more difficult, and the secret of their power far more occult than in the case of the general professors or the charlatans.
"Except for the lower class of Frenchmen or Americans such tactics as these are unavailing; all the rest have enough penetration to see through the whole scheme; but in England it is possible to lead by the nose persons who not only ought to know better, but who in all other transactions of life evince the utmost shrewdness and aptitude."
In this series of papers on theAge of Veneer, a general confession of national sins and weaknesses is made by John Bull, and he is shown to have as discerning an apprehension for his own character as he ever had for that of any of his neighbors. The "Age of Veneer" is a happy title, and it gives alone a better idea of English society and manners than can be derived from some hundreds of volumes on the subject that have been printed within our recollection.
To the antiquary and student of ethnology on this continent there are few subjects more interesting than those early industrial arts, which, better than any thing else, illustrate the civilization of the Aztecs, and their rude neighbors, the aborigines of the more northern parts of the country. An attempt is made in the following pages to define, in certain respects, the extent, and justly to represent the character, of those efforts, made before the Discovery, and repeated, with more or less uniformity, by portions of the American races until the present time. I have copied from the great work of Lord Kingsborough on Mexican Antiquities, four uncouth figures, of which the originals are native drawings sent to Spain by Antonio de Mendoza, the successor of Cortes, and first viceroy of New Spain. It will be confessed that few things could give us a more correct impression of the condition and character of the peoples subdued by Cortes and Pizarro than we may derive from these pictures.
Aztec Goldsmith at work. From Mendoza's Collection.Aztec Goldsmith at work. From Mendoza's Collection.
In this drawing the artist has represented a workman in the act of soldering or annealing a piece of plate. Except the rude style in which the native limners portrayed the human figure, the cut is a fac-simile of Pharaonic profiles of the same class of workmen, and of modern goldsmiths of Africa, Hindustan, Java, Sumatra, Ceylon, and Asia generally. The small portable furnace, the blowpipe, the position of the operator, the scantiness of his apparel, and the absence of any bench, are common to all; the only observable difference is in the apron (suspended by long shoulder-straps) of the American, who, in this respect, seems to have advanced beyond his brethren of the other hemisphere. Had the draughtsman possessed the skill of a modern artist, and painted the tools and processes used, in fusing the metal, in spreading it out into plates, working it into shape, and chasing in the ornaments, in drawing wire, and fabricating the famous old Panama chains, &c., many other problems of Aztec economy and art would have been solved. The smiths of Mexico, Central America, and Peru, were expert in the use of the blowpipe; and this is not to be wondered at, if, as early Spanish writers report, the bellows was unknown among them. In specimens of their industry which are extant the soldering rivals any thing executed in modern workshops, and seams often challenge and sometimes defy the keenest scrutiny to detect them. Native smiths still use the pipe.
Every enlightened worker in metals must feel interested in thus beholding an ancient red man in the actual use of the blowpipe, to say nothing of the illustration the figure affords of the state of the arts in ante-Columbian epochs, and of ancient life in this part of the world. The use of the blowpipe has been inferred from metalline remains discovered in sepulchral tumuli of the Mississippi valley. In Caleb Atwater'sAntiquities of the West, (Columbus, 1833, pages 92-3,) mention is made of sixty copper beads, found in one of the mounds at Grave Creek, near Wheeling. "They were made of a coarse wire, which appeared to have been hammered out, not drawn, and were cut off at unequal lengths;they were soldered togetherin an awkward manner, the centres of some of them uniting with the edges of others; they were incrusted with verdigris, but the inside of them was pure copper; which fact shows that the ancient inhabitants were not wholly unacquainted with the use of metals." As it is admitted thatbrasswas not known to the mound-builders, an analysis of the alloy that constituted the brazen solder here alluded to would be a positive addition to the little knowledge we have gleaned of these early native workers and of their arts.
No matter how far man is separated from his fellows, either on the earth's surface or by time, the general uniformity of his nature is stamped on all his normal devices. Primitive inventions are universally similar. Under agreeing circumstances and conditions, the same means are hit upon to produce the same ends. Kindred trains of thought, of resources and results, characterize the origin and early progress of the arts every where. They begin in the same wants, and suggest the same ideas, which are carried out in substantially the same ways. Still, when a primitive people is found shut from communion with others—isolated from the rest of the world and deriving no suggestions from it—some shades of difference, more or less strongly defined, often mark means they discover, in common with others, and this whether occupiers of small islands or of widespread continents. But after all, this is only what may be called a variety ofexpression, the same general idea being differently brought out, just as in speech the same thoughts are displayed in various idioms. All arts and all machines are but dialects of one language—reasonings and conclusions in tangible forms and figures—a universal speech, understood by all men.
Of the diverse exhibitions of a primitiveand common suggestion, a more interesting example cannot well be adduced than the processes for the fabrication of thread, which have been disclosed on this half of the globe. They appear so different from others, and so remarkable, if not unique, that it may safely be said, if the first spinsters were foreigners, their mode of spinning was indigenous, however difficult, if not impossible, it may be to reconcile one suggestion with the other.
Spinning lies at the threshold of human culture. It was the first or among the first born of the arts, and was doubtless the offspring of woman's ingenuity. Through all the past ages it was within the peculiar province of the sex. In it queens and even goddesses sought to excel; one of the earliest of useful efforts, it was one of the best; till it was introduced, man was a houseless wanderer, and where it is unknown, he is still a vagabond, roaming the forest. Home and its softening and soothing influences had no existence, till woman began to twirl the spindle. Till then the fount of the arts was unopened, unthought of, undreamt of. A universal acquirement, it is one in which little variation in details could be looked for among uncultivated tribes. It is, however, singular, that the thread-making idea has been less skilfully developed by the red race than perhaps any other of their mechanical conceptions. This is a striking fact, in peoples so far advanced as were the Mexicans, Peruvians, and others.
The distaff has been identified with spinning in the eastern world from the earliest times. It dates far behind historic and was a common thing in heroic epochs. It pervades the most ancient legends, and plays a part in the remotest myths. No other instrument of domestic economy is seen through the semi-historic clouds that are about the infancy of human progress; few others could be named as belonging to lower strata of time. Common in the other hemisphere through unknown periods, it was utterly a stranger in this.
Of the offices assigned to the fates, that of Clotho was to hold the distaff, while Lachesis twirled the spindle, and Atropos determined the length of the thread. Then there was Hercules, who was playfully rapped over the head by Omphale, for his awkwardness in this service. Sardanapalus, too, endeavored to rival the son of Jupiter, by spinning among his maids. Ancient Egyptian spindles and distaffs have been recovered from the tombs; and how common they both were among the Hebrews appears in Solomon's portrait of a virtuous woman: "She seeketh wool and flax—she layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff." Both spindle and distaff were frequently dedicated to Minerva, the patroness of spinning and of the arts connected with it. The goddess was herself rudely sculptured with them in the Trojan Palladium.
A glance at these classic implements, before introducing the primitive American apparatus, will better enable us to perceive the differences existing between them, more correctly to appreciate both, and to judge how far one is allied to or could have been derived from the other.
Distaff and Spindle—Ancient Greek and Roman.Distaff and Spindle—Ancient Greek and Roman.
This figure is from a series of bas-reliefs representing the arts of Minerva, upon a frieze of the Forum Palladium at Rome. It exhibits the process of spinning, at the moment when the spinner has drawn out a sufficient length of thread from the distaff, and just previous to the act of taking it out of the slit on the top of the spindle, to wind it on that instrument. It is said by classic writers that the spindle was always, when in use, accompanied by the distaff, as "an indispensable part of the apparatus." The following particulars are gathered from Homer, Herodotus, Ovid, Horace, Catullus, Pliny, and others: The spindle was a stick, ten or twelve inches long, having at the top a slit or notch, by which to fix the thread at the commencement; the lower end was passed through and attached to a small but heavy disc or whirl, made of wood, stone, or metal. The weight of this and of the spindle, kept the thread at a proper tension, and the momentum while turning round kept the yarn or thread twisting in the interval of repeating the operation with the fingers. When, from the length of the thread, the spindle approached the ground, or descended below the reach of the fingers, the thread was wound on the spindle, except a short piece left for insertion in the slit, preparatory to the formation of another length. The distaff was about three times as long as the spindle, and commonly made of a reed, with an expansion near the top, over which the prepared flax or wool was placed, and secured by a ribbon or tape; the fibres being left sufficiently loose to be easily drawn out by the fingers and thumb of the spinner. Distaffs as well as spindles of gold and of ivory were ascribed to goddesses, and were presented to distinguished women.
It was quite common for ancient females to keep their spindles whirling while on theirway to the fountain for water, or in making short visits, &c. Some striking examples have been recorded by historians, and among them the following, by Herodotus: "As Darius, king of Persia, was sitting publicly in one of the streets of Sardis, he observed a young woman of great elegance and beauty, bearing a vessel on her head, leading a horse by a bridle fastened round her arm, and at the same time spinning some thread. Darius viewed her as she passed, with intense curiosity, observing that her employments were not those of a Persian, Lydian, nor indeed of any Asiatic female. Prompted by what he had seen, he sent some of his attendants to observe what she did with the horse. They accordingly followed her. When she came to the river, she gave the horse some water, and then filled her pitcher, and having done this, she returned by the way she came, with the pitcher of water on her head, the horse fastened by a bridle to her arm, and, as before, employed in spinning."
Distaff and Spindle—Modern Asiatic and European.Distaff and Spindle—Modern Asiatic and European.
In the rural districts of old Rome, women were forbidden to spin while travelling on foot. The prohibition arose from superstitious feelings; but the practice has come down to our times, being found more or less common in Spain, Portugal, Hungary, Italy, Greece, and other parts of Europe, as also over the greater part of Asia. The shank of the distaff on such occasions was secured by a sheath or strap to the person; or, as in the preceding figure of a modern spinner, was held under the left arm.
How differently the idea has been worked out by the ancient inhabitants of this hemisphere, will appear in the two next illustrations. They are coarse and uncouth, yet of unusual interest and value in an historical survey of a people who at the Conquest stood at the head of the aborigines, but whose nationality and power have been broken, and whose arts have all but vanished before those introduced by the whites.
Aztec Girl Spinning. From Mendoza's Collection.Aztec Girl Spinning. From Mendoza's Collection.
The figure represents a girl, six years old, learning to spin, in the presence of her mother, whose portrait is omitted. She is in the act of winding on the spindle the length of thread just spun. The spindle differs but little from those of the eastern races, its lower end being furnished with a conical weight or fly, to promote rotation, and, as it would seem, for its pointed extremity to rest like a pivot in some small cavity while revolving; for the spindle, when in use, was not raised from the ground: the reverse of the eastern practice, in which the motion ceased the moment the ground was touched by the spindle. The basket-like base on which the fly rests, is the Mexican symbol of the ground, though possibly it may here represent an implement or utensil also. The bunch of cotton to be spun, after being suitably prepared, was held in the left hand, and the length of thread formed at one operation was determined by the distance the bunch could be drawn away from the spindle, this being also the converse of the Asiatic and European practices, in which the distaff, and cotton on it, are at rest—the length of thread depending on the descent of the spindle from them. We know that domestic industry was strictly enforced by the Mexicans, particularly on girls; and of this, these cuts are remarkable illustrations.
In the next, a female adult (as the headdress shows) is portrayed at the moment when a full length of thread has been twisted, or she is in the act of finishing it. To this spindletwoconical weights were attached, unless the under one was fixed and had a cavity on the top to admit the point of the upper one to play in it. The process differs but little from that of the present Pimos and Maricopas tribes, as mentioned hereafter, except inthe hollow in which the spindle turns. It is obvious that this practice is incompatible with walking; locomotion can only be associated with a spindle suspended by the thread, and whirling free above the ground. In this absence of the distaff, and especially in twirling the spindle like a topon the floor, the process can never be viewed as one derived from abroad; but rather as a result solely of primitive ingenuity. No people, civilized or savage, of the eastern hemisphere, are known to have thus embarrassed the movements of the spindle. The idea and the practice appear to be purely American. No ancient American spinner is represented at work either when seated or standing—much less when walking.
Aztec Woman Spinning. From Mendoza's Collection.Aztec Woman Spinning. From Mendoza's Collection.
For the following illustration and description the patent office is indebted to Mr. Squier, late United States Chargé to Nicaragua. It is interesting as showing how little the old native process has been changed.
The common foot-wheel is extensively used in spinning cotton in Nicaragua; but the simple contrivance in use before the Conquest is not yet entirely supplanted. It consists of a spindle of hard wood, sixteen or eighteen inches in length, which passes through and is fixed to a disc of heavy wood that serves as a fly, by adding momentum to the whirling spindle. The lower end of the spindle is rounded or rudely pointed, and when in use the instrument is placed in a calabash or clean iron kettle.
The mode of operation is as follows: The spinster is seated on a stool, with a bunch of loose cotton already prepared, in her lap. From this she twists a thread with her finger, and attaches the end to the spindle at the top, giving it an energetic twirl that keeps it going for some time. Meanwhile she disengages and draws out the cotton, from her lap, with both hands. The length of thread spun (from two to three feet) is then wound around the spindle, which is again set in motion, and another length added in the same manner.
In the accompanying sketch,bis the spindle,cthe thread already twisted,dthe disc or fly, andfthe calabash. When the spindle is not in motion, the calabash prevents it from falling over, the fly resting against the sides.
Modern Spinning Apparatus of the Central American Indians.Modern Spinning Apparatus of the Central American Indians.
In the regions of the Gila and Colorado the natives have been little disturbed by Europeans. The Spaniards never extended their iron sway over them, and, like the Araucanians of Peru, they have been supposed to retain many of the customs and arts of their ancestors. This is to some extent true. The country soon after the Conquest was reported to be occupied by a civilized people, who followed agriculture and dwelt in stone houses. Colonel Emory, in hisNotes of a Military Reconnaissance, from Fort Leavenworth in Missouri to San Diego in California, including part of the Arkansas, Del Norte, and Gila Rivers, (Washington, 1848,) met with remains of stone and adobe houses, scattered over extensive tracts of country—sometimes continued over ten, fifteen, and even twenty miles. The Pecos tribe, he remarks, have preserved alive, till within a few years, the sacred fire that glowed on the ancient altars; nor is it certain that it is not yet preserved, for a few Indians took it with them to the Pueblos of Zuni. The name of Montezuma is said to be as familiar to those Indians, to the Apaches, Navajos, and others, as that of Washington is to us.
"Turning from some old ruins towards the Pimos village," says Colonel Emory, "we urged our guide to go fast, as we wished to see as much of his people as the day would permit. We were at once impressed with thebeauty and order of the arrangements for irrigating and draining the land. Corn, wheat, and cotton are the crops of this peaceful and intelligent people. All the crops have been gathered in, and the stubbles show that they have been luxuriant. The cotton has been picked and stacked for drying on the tops of the sheds. The fields are subdivided by ridges of earth into rectangles of about 200 x 100 feet for the convenience of irrigating. The fences are stakes wattled with willow and mezquite, and in this particular set an example of economy in agriculture worthy to be followed by the Mexicans, who never use fences at all." The thatched houses of the Pimos are dome-shaped, and of wicker work, about six feet high, and from twenty to fifty feet in diameter. In front is usually a large arbor, on the top of which cotton in the pod is piled for drying.
A Pimos spinster was observed at work. Her apparatus was more simple than that in the preceding figures, but closely allied to them; in fact the same, with the exception of the calabash or basket, for which a more ready substitute, one always ready, was adopted. "A woman was seated on the ground under the shade of one of the cotton-sheds; her left leg was tucked under her, and her foot was turned sole upwards; between her big toe and the next was a spindle about eighteen inches long, with a single fly of four or six inches; now and then she gave it a twist in a dexterous manner, and at its end was drawn a coarse cotton thread. Such was their spinning jenny." This application of the toes is like that practised by the wives and daughters of the Hindoo weavers: the axles of their light cane reels are thus held when winding off the thread. The foot however is in front of its owner, and in a natural position, nor does the stick grasped by the toes revolve.
The Pimos and Maricopas are in their habits, agriculture, religion, and manufactures, the same.
Indians Spinning Coarse Thread.Indians Spinning Coarse Thread.
A process of undoubted antiquity, and occasionally followed by modern Indians, is shown in the above engraving. The spinner holds in the left hand, horizontally, a short piece of hollow reed or cane, within which the spindle is twirled by the fingers and thumb of the right hand. Sometimes a cross stick or handle is attached, as represented in the figure. A second person performs the part of a distaff, which, as the thread lengthens, recedes from the spinner, or the spinner from it. A section of this primitive apparatus is separately portrayed.
Mr. Van—a delegate now in Washington from the Cherokee nation, to obtain a settlement of claims on the United States for their lands in Georgia, Alabama, &c.—states that the large old spinning-wheel has, to his knowledge, been in the possession of the Cherokees nearly fifty years. His mother, a Creek, and over a hundred years of age, he believes, used to spin with it in her youth. Mr. Van has seen Indians twist coarse thread with apparatus like that here represented, and which in all probability formed one of the contrivances that slowly led to the whirling spindle, in both hemispheres.
A Comanche Spinning.A Comanche Spinning.
For the next two illustrations of spinning, by the Navajoes, Camanches, and other tribes of New Mexico, the Patent Office is indebted to Judge Peters, of Santa Fe, New Mexico.
We have here another instance in which the thread-making idea has manifested itself among the red race, and a very interesting one. The spinner has a small stick, which she holds horizontally in one hand, and on it winds the thread, as on a spindle, as fast as it is spun. The bunch of cotton is itself twirled round by means of a short and small rod, passed through the lower part, with its ends projecting. A pebble is commonly fastened to the middle of this stick (d), and serves as a fly to keep up the motion, andassist, by its weight, in drawing out the thread. To keep the stone and stick in their places, a piece of yarn is wound loosely round the bunch. The length of thread is seldom over six or eight inches, before it is wound on the stick. In this singular process, the classical mode is completely reversed—the spindle, or that which corresponds to it, is held at rest, and the distaff put in motion, in which respect the operation is unique. The idea of increasing the momentum of the whirling mass by the introduction of a weight into its centre is here realized.
Navajoes Spinning.Navajoes Spinning.
In the case illustrated below, two pieces of board or shingle are pinned to opposite sides of the fork of a small tree or stump. A spindle (a smooth rod ten or twelve inches in length) is passed through, and made to turn in them, as in two journals. See the section S, wherea,ais the spindle andb,b, the boards, andca pin to keep the spindle in its place. To whirl the spindle, a cross stick,d, is tied to the large end. Sometimes a stone is folded in a piece of cloth, and fastened to each end of the cross stick, which answers the purpose of a rude flywheel. When a suitable stick, having a branch at right angles, can be procured, the cross stick and spindle are of one piece, as at S. A notch is made at the small end of the spindle, where the thread unites to it, and thus, while one girl turns the spindle, another, with a bunch of loose cotton, supplies it, and, as the thread lengthens, gradually recedes from it. As soon as a full length is twisted, it is wound round the spindle, another length is added, and so on, till the spindle is fully charged. The thread is thenwound off into a hank, and the spindle set again for working.
These illustrations of primitive art possess a deeper and a more extensive interest than that of their relation to a few Indian tribes; they are types of thought, more or less common to the species, to barbarous and semi-civilized people of all times; such as we ourselves would adopt, were we thrown on our own resources, without any knowledge or recollection on the subject.
Aztec Girl Weaving. From Mendoza's Collection.Aztec Girl Weaving. From Mendoza's Collection.
It is difficult to determine from this figure whether the shuttle was developed in ancient Mexico. It is not represented, and appears not to have existed any more than the distaff. The loom is like those now used by American Indians. Colonel Emory, after speaking of the Pimos spinning, says, "Led on by this primitive display, I asked for their loom, by pointing to the thread and then to the blanket girded about the woman's loins. A fellow stretched in the dust, sunning himself, rose up leisurely, and untied a bundle, which I had supposed to be a bow and arrow. This little package with four stakes in the ground, was his loom, and he stretched his cloth and commenced the process of weaving. He had no shuttle, the warp being passed across the woof, a thread at a time, by a long wooden needle. One of the rods in the preceding figure is doubtless designed to represent a needle, and was used in the same way." If the figures here introduced truly indicate the progress made by the Aztecs in spinning and weaving, their advance was very moderate; and though very creditable work might be made with this weaving apparatus, by individual skill and patience, it would seem that few or no attempts had been made to render it more facile and efficient. The same remark is, however, applicable to the looms of Asia and Africa. It is worth noting, that the dress of females, pictured above, indicates a decided improvement on that of less civilized tribes. Aztec women and girls wore pantalettes, and a species of tunic, with short sleeves and ornamental borders, not unlike the Chinese female costume, except in the shortness of the sleeves. Amulets or keepsakes, suspended over the neck and resting on the bosom, seem also to have been common.
Modern Peruvian Indians spin without the distaff, and their loom is precisely like the ancient one just represented—the shuttle, or what answers the purpose of one, being a long thorn needle, which is passed through the woof, thread by thread. Every piece is woven of the precise width wanted, whether for garments, cocoa-bags, or any thing else, with no waste by cutting. Ancient specimens of cloth, of excellent execution, have been found in their tombs. The length of the needles varies with the width of the piece to be woven.
That very fine fabrics were produced in Old Mexico, and by implements little if at all better than those here figured, is doubtless true. The highly colored accounts by the conquerors are believed to have been fully warranted by the fineness of the goods which they saw. Indeed, some of the richest of modern shawls and dresses, turned out of the looms of Persia, Egypt, and Hindostan, are but a degree superior to those of the Aztecs. Personal tact and skill are every thing with semi-civilized artisans. The ancient spindle and loom of the East, singularly enough, are still preserved and used for special purposes in modern Rome, just as they were thirty or forty centuries ago. A recent writer on the Pallium (an ecclesiastical robe of lamb's wool) says, there stands about a mile outside the Porta Pia, on the road to Tivoli, an old convent of nuns, attached to the still more ancient church of St. Agnes; that these nuns are poor, and rarely receive any of Rome's high-born damsels to their lonely and neglected cloister; but that they have a small paddock appendant to the monastery, and therein keep a couple of sacred lambs, (not necessarily of the Merino breed,) and are proud and happy ministrants of their wool for the texture of this noble decoration, spinning it, not by any new-fangled jennies, but on the old patriarchal spindle, and weaving it in a loom of which the pattern might date from the days of Penelope.
In conclusion, we may remark, of this subject, that to the substitution of circular for straight motions, and of continuous for alternating ones, may be attributed nearly all the conveniences and elegances of civilized life. It is not too much to assert that the present advanced state of science and the arts is due to revolving mechanism. We may speak of the wonders effected by steam and other motive agents, but of what value would theyhave been without this means of their employment? The applications of rotary in place of other movements are conspicuous in modern history, from those which propel steamships through the water and locomotives over land, to those which are employed in the manufacture of pins and the pointing of needles. It is by this principle that the irregular motion of the ancient flail and the primeval sieve, has become uniform, in threshing, bolting, and winnowing machines; and hence our circular saws, shears, and slitting mills; the abolition of the mode of spreading out metal into sheets with the hammer, for the more expeditious one of passing it through rollers or flatting mills; and the revolving oars, or paddle wheels, for the propulsion of vessels—the process of inking type with rollers in place of balls, the rotary printing presses, and revolving machines for planing iron and other metals, instead of the ancient process of chipping off superfluous portions with chisels, and that still more tedious of smoothing the surfaces with files. But in few things is the effect of this change of motion more conspicuous than in the modern apparatus for preparing, spinning, and weaving vegetable and other fibres into fabrics for clothing. The simple application of rotary motion to these processes has changed the domestic economy of the world, and increased the general comforts of our race a hundred fold.
The birth of the arts here, and not least among them that of the humble one of spinning, has relation to a problem in American ethnology of great and increasing interest—the early occupancy or first peopling of this hemisphere. Were there through countless ages no eyes or hearts here to respond to the smiling heaven, none to taste the teeming fruits or inhale the aroma of flowers? Was the placid atmosphere never moved by the prattle and laughter of children, the songs of birds, or the sudden start of quadrupeds arrested by the presence of the race ordained to rule over them, until a few straggling members of that race arrived (perhaps driven hither by tempests) from abroad, to claim the splendid heritage? If the red man was not indigenous to the soil, if the first settlers were aliens, how natural the desire to know who they were, whence they came, and how, and when, and over what regions extended the first rights of preëmption! to ask whether they left no memorials in the languages that have come down to us, in legends, manners, customs, traditions, religious observances and rites, no signs in arts, utensils, arms, or other relics extant? whether they left no marks in earth-works—those most lasting of records—in quarries and entrenchments, in mines, tumuli, and mounds?
It is reasonable to suppose—and difficult to suppose otherwise—that if no human form was ever reflected from the surfaces of these lakes and rivers, no human voice heard in these forests, the imprint of no human foot left on these sands, until colonized from another continent, the arts of that continent must have been considerably advanced before the means of transport, or inducements to emigrate, were evolved; and under any circumstances, a knowledge of the most essential, would be brought over. Of these, such as related to domestic habits and the occupations of women, would be prominent, and among these spinning most of all. When once introduced, this art could not have been lost, indispensable as it is to the savage and demi-savage condition, and the original process or processes, whencesoever derived, unless superseded by better, would have been continued by every generation.
Now, if the mothers of the American race came from any of the early advanced sections or outskirts of Eastern civilization, they brought the distaff and spindle with them, yet nothing of the kind was found at the conquest. It cannot of course be imagined that they, or their descendants, could have been induced to throw the former away, and to embarrass the movements of the latter in a calabash or basket. Efficient previous practice, and acquired habits and expertness, could never have been laid aside for such rude, and laborious, and unproductive substitutes. We know that the distaff and spindle have never been lost where once known, in the old world. Neither civil commotions or revolutions, nor duration of time, affected them, in Egypt, Assyria, Greece, Italy, Carthage, Persia, Scythia, Asia-Minor, or any of the great or small theatres of past history. The laws, learning, science, arts, and races, which once flourished in those countries, have mostly vanished, but women still spin there as they did thirty or forty centuries ago; and so it is here also. The principal mechanical devices of the old Mexicans, Nicaraguans, Peruvians, Chilians, &c., are no longer known; the means by which the stone architecture, the basaltic and porphyritic sculptures of Cusco, Uxmal, Copan, Palenque, and other Aztec remains scattered over the continent, were achieved, are a puzzle; yet the household labors of Indian women in those lands remain unchanged, they spin and weave with the same apparatus, and embroider, as did their kindred in and before the times of Atahualpa and Montezuma.
Admitting that repeated emigrations took place at periods remote as that of the Iliad, and up to the twelfth century of our era, that arrivals, designed or fortuitous, thus occurred, on either the Atlantic or the Pacific, or both coasts—we might still more confidently expect to find the distaff and spindle of the other hemisphere domiciled in this. If they were brought at all, it was in hands practiced in their use, and tenacious of their worth. But from the Cape of Storms in the south, to the limits of human abodes in thenorth, instead of these the most awkward contrivances prevailed when the whites came, and such still are found to prevail. The inference therefore seems inevitable that the first colonists, and their successors for many ages, came before spinning was known in their native places, or at least before the distaff had been added to the spindle; and that the art, as practised by the Aztecs and their successors in Central America at the present day, is purely of aboriginal development, and of remote antiquity, and had not before the Conquest come in contact with the better processes of the other hemisphere.
Of the three epochs of human condition indicated by the materials of which economical implements and weapons have been made—stone, bronze, and iron—it is uncertain whether the distaff was ever developed under the first. The probabilities are that it was not. In the remote periods in which it is mentioned, some of those who possessed it had advanced far into the second, and some had entered on the third. The great mass of the occupants of this hemisphere at the time of the Conquest were toiling in the cycle of stone; while the Mexicans and Peruvians, the most advanced of the red nations, had discovered and applied the properties of copper and some of its alloys: had entered on the second, but had not progressed far into it. Had they possessed bronze weapons equal to those of the heroic ages, they might yet have preserved, in a measure, their independence and nationality.
Clothing is second only to food, and the clothing of nations in any degree civilized is of woven thread. The all but paramount importance of the manufacture of thread materials—including that made of flax, silk, cotton, worsted, and other fibrous materials—affords matter for great surprise. Compare the products of the distaff and spindle of old with that of our mills, and how difficult to realize the change which modern mechanism has wrought! The yearly amount, the lineal extent, of thread now made—who can measure it? It would reach from our planet to the planets in the farthest regions of space, and almost suffice for a net-work to include the whole system. Turn from the wood-cut illustrations here given of ancient and not yet obsolete processes, to modern manufactures, and it would seem that while in the space of time which it took Grecian Helens, Syrian Naahmahs, or Mexican Penelopes, to prepare an annual supply of clews for their families, the myriads of spindles now twirling, by steam and water, produce enough to use the Asteroids as balls on which to wind it and as bobbins from which to reel it. Even a century ago, a single mill, driven by water, is said to have spun or reeled 73,726 yards of silk—i.e., between forty and fifty miles—at each revolution of the motive axle.
Patent Office, Washington, September, 1851.
If I may choose (out of our travelled bands)Friend or companion to make bright, the way;Or draw the grandeur out from Orient lands,Where Libanus mounts up and meets the day;Or face, midst trackless, boundless, burning sands,The Desert Silence—as it pants for prey;Be thou (oh Author of Eothen), mine;Who show'st whate'er the region, stern or gay,Whate'er the scene—life, death, sublime decay,For all fine things, and apprehension fine.'Tis well to ride abroad on the untamed waves;To shoot the desert with the camel's speed;To muse o'er discrowned Egypt's wondrous graves,And trace her story downwards, deed by deed;Yet, half the lustre of our life were hid,Our travel idle, meditation nought,Without such friend in give back thought for thought,From waste and sea, mountain and pyramid.Barry Cornwall.
If I may choose (out of our travelled bands)Friend or companion to make bright, the way;Or draw the grandeur out from Orient lands,Where Libanus mounts up and meets the day;Or face, midst trackless, boundless, burning sands,The Desert Silence—as it pants for prey;Be thou (oh Author of Eothen), mine;Who show'st whate'er the region, stern or gay,Whate'er the scene—life, death, sublime decay,For all fine things, and apprehension fine.'Tis well to ride abroad on the untamed waves;To shoot the desert with the camel's speed;To muse o'er discrowned Egypt's wondrous graves,And trace her story downwards, deed by deed;Yet, half the lustre of our life were hid,Our travel idle, meditation nought,Without such friend in give back thought for thought,From waste and sea, mountain and pyramid.
Barry Cornwall.
Morn rose on Naxos,—golden dewy morn,Climbing its eastern cliffs with gleaming light,Purpling each inland peak and dusky gorgeOf the gray distance,—morn, on lowland slopes,Of olive-ground and vines and yellowing corn,Orchard and flowery pasture, white with kine,On forest, hillside cot, and rounding sea,And the still tent of Theseus by the shore.Morn rose on Naxos—chill and freshening morn,Nor yet the unbreathing air a twitter heardFrom eave or bough,—nor yet a blue smoke roseFrom glade or misty vale, or far-off town;One only sign of life, a dusky sail,Stole afar across the distant sea,Flying; all else unmoved in stillness layBeneath the silence of the brightening heavens,Nor sound was heard to break the slumbrous calm,Save the soft lapse of waves along the strand.A white form from the tent,—a glance,—a cry.Where art thou, Theseus?—Theseus! Theseus! where?Why hast thou stolen thus with earliest dawn,Forth from thy couch—forth from these faithless arms,That even in slumber should have clasped thee still!Truant! ah me! and hast thou learnt to flySo early from thy Ariadne's love!Where art thou? Is it well to fright me thus,——To scare me for a moment with the dreadOf one abandoned! Art thou in the woodsWith all that could have told me where thou art!Cruel! and couldst thou not have left me one,Ere this to have laughed away my idle fears!He could have told thee all—the start—the shriek——The pallid face, with which I found thee gone,And furnished laughter for thy glad return;But thus! to leave me, cruel! thus alone!There is no sound of horns among the hills,No shouts that tell they track or bay the boar.O fearful stillness! O that one would speak!O would that I were fronting wolf or pardBut by thy side this moment! so strange fearPossesses me, O love! apart from thee;The galley? gone? Ye Gods! is it not gone?Here, by this rock it lay but yesternight.Gone! through this track its keel slid down by the shore;And I slept calmly as it cleft the sea.Gone? gone? where gone?—that sail! 'tis his! 'tis his!Return, O Theseus! Theseus! love! return!Thou wilt return. Thou dost but try my love?Thou wilt return to make my foolish fearsThy jest. Return, and I will laugh with thee!Return! return! and canst thou hear my shrieks,Nor heed my cry! And wouldst thou have me weep,Weep! I that wept—white with wild fear—the whileThou slew'st the abhorred monster! If it beThou takest pleasure in these bitter tears,Come back, and I will weep myself away——A streaming Niobe—to win thy smiles!O stony heart! why wilt thou wring me thus!O heart more cold unto my shrilling criesThan these wild hills that wail to thee, return,Than all these island rocks that shriek, return.Come back! Thou seest me rend this blinding hair;Hast thou not sworn each tress thou didst so prize,That sight of home, and thy gray father's face,Were less a joy to thee, and lightlier held!Thy sail! thy sail! O do my watery eyesTake part with thee, so loved! to crush me down!Gone! Gone! and wilt thou—wilt thou not return?Heartless, unfearing the just Gods, wilt thou,Theseus! my lord! my love! desert me thus!Thus leave me, stranger in this strange wild land,Friendless, afar from all I left for thee,Crete, my old home, and my ancestral halls,My father's love, and the remembered hauntsOf childhood,—all that knew me—all I knew——All—all—woe! woe! that I shall know no more.Why didst thou lure me, craftiest, from my home?There if, thy love grown cold, thou thus hadst fled,I had found comfort in fond word and smilesFamiliar, and the pity of my kin,Tears wept with mine—tears wept by loving eyes,That had washed out thy traces from my heart,Perchance, in years, had given me back to joy.O that thy steps had never trodden Crete!O that these eyes had never on thee fed!O that, weak heart! I ne'er had looked my love.Or looking, thou hadst thrust it back with hate!Did I not save thee? I? was it for this,Despite Crete's hate—despite my father's wrath,Perchance to slay me, that I ventured allFor thee—for thee—forgetting all for thee!Thou know'st it all,—who knows it if not thou,Save the just Gods—the Gods who hear my cry,And mutter vengeance o'er thy flying head,Forsworn! And, lo! on thy accused trackRush the dread furies; lo! afar I seeThe hoary Ægeus, watching for his son,His son that nears him still with hastening oars,Unknown, that nears him but to dash him down,Moaning, to darkness and the dreadful shadesThe while, thy grief wails after him in vain:And, lo, again the good Gods glad my sightWith vengeance; blood again, thy blood, I seeStreaming;—who bids Hippolytus departBut thou—thou, sword of lustful Phædra's hateAgainst thy boy—thy son—thy fair-haired boy;I see the ivory chariot whirl him on——The maddened horses down the rocky wayDashing—the roaring monster in their path;And plates and ivory splinters of the car,And blood and limbs, sprung from thee, crushed and torn,Poseidon scatters down the shrieking shores;And thou too late—too late, bewail'st in vain.Thy blindness and thy hapless darling's fate.And think'st of me, abandoned, and my woe;Thou who didst show no pity, to the GodsShrieking for pity, that my vengeful criesDrag thee not down unto the nether gloom,To endless tortures and undying woe.Dread Gods! I know these things shall surely be!But other, wilder whispers throng my ears,And in my thought a fountain of sweet hopeMingles its gladness with my lorn despair.Lo! wild flushed faces reel before mine eyes.And furious revels, dances, and fierce glee,Are round me,—tossing arms and leaping forms.Skin-clad and horny-hoofed, and hands that clashShrill cymbals, and the stormy joy of flutesAnd horns, and blare of trumpets, and all huesOf Iris' watery bow, on bounding nymphs,Vine-crowned and thyrsus-sceptred, and one form,God of the roaring triumph, on a carGolden and jewel-lustred, carved and bossed,As by Hephæstus, shouting, rolls, along,Jocund and panther-drawn, and through the sun,Down, through the glaring splendor, with wild bound,Leaps, as he nears me, and a mighty cup,Dripping, with odorous nectar, to my lipsIs raised, and mad sweet mirth—frenzy divineIs in my veins—hot love burns through mine eyes,And o'er the roar and rout I roll along,Throned by the God, and lifted by his loveUnto forgetfulness of mortal pains,Up to the prayers and praise and awe of earth.W. C. B.
Morn rose on Naxos,—golden dewy morn,Climbing its eastern cliffs with gleaming light,Purpling each inland peak and dusky gorgeOf the gray distance,—morn, on lowland slopes,Of olive-ground and vines and yellowing corn,Orchard and flowery pasture, white with kine,On forest, hillside cot, and rounding sea,And the still tent of Theseus by the shore.Morn rose on Naxos—chill and freshening morn,Nor yet the unbreathing air a twitter heardFrom eave or bough,—nor yet a blue smoke roseFrom glade or misty vale, or far-off town;One only sign of life, a dusky sail,Stole afar across the distant sea,Flying; all else unmoved in stillness layBeneath the silence of the brightening heavens,Nor sound was heard to break the slumbrous calm,Save the soft lapse of waves along the strand.A white form from the tent,—a glance,—a cry.Where art thou, Theseus?—Theseus! Theseus! where?Why hast thou stolen thus with earliest dawn,Forth from thy couch—forth from these faithless arms,That even in slumber should have clasped thee still!Truant! ah me! and hast thou learnt to flySo early from thy Ariadne's love!Where art thou? Is it well to fright me thus,——To scare me for a moment with the dreadOf one abandoned! Art thou in the woodsWith all that could have told me where thou art!Cruel! and couldst thou not have left me one,Ere this to have laughed away my idle fears!He could have told thee all—the start—the shriek——The pallid face, with which I found thee gone,And furnished laughter for thy glad return;But thus! to leave me, cruel! thus alone!There is no sound of horns among the hills,No shouts that tell they track or bay the boar.O fearful stillness! O that one would speak!O would that I were fronting wolf or pardBut by thy side this moment! so strange fearPossesses me, O love! apart from thee;The galley? gone? Ye Gods! is it not gone?Here, by this rock it lay but yesternight.Gone! through this track its keel slid down by the shore;And I slept calmly as it cleft the sea.Gone? gone? where gone?—that sail! 'tis his! 'tis his!Return, O Theseus! Theseus! love! return!Thou wilt return. Thou dost but try my love?Thou wilt return to make my foolish fearsThy jest. Return, and I will laugh with thee!Return! return! and canst thou hear my shrieks,Nor heed my cry! And wouldst thou have me weep,Weep! I that wept—white with wild fear—the whileThou slew'st the abhorred monster! If it beThou takest pleasure in these bitter tears,Come back, and I will weep myself away——A streaming Niobe—to win thy smiles!O stony heart! why wilt thou wring me thus!O heart more cold unto my shrilling criesThan these wild hills that wail to thee, return,Than all these island rocks that shriek, return.Come back! Thou seest me rend this blinding hair;Hast thou not sworn each tress thou didst so prize,That sight of home, and thy gray father's face,Were less a joy to thee, and lightlier held!Thy sail! thy sail! O do my watery eyesTake part with thee, so loved! to crush me down!
Gone! Gone! and wilt thou—wilt thou not return?Heartless, unfearing the just Gods, wilt thou,Theseus! my lord! my love! desert me thus!Thus leave me, stranger in this strange wild land,Friendless, afar from all I left for thee,Crete, my old home, and my ancestral halls,My father's love, and the remembered hauntsOf childhood,—all that knew me—all I knew——All—all—woe! woe! that I shall know no more.Why didst thou lure me, craftiest, from my home?There if, thy love grown cold, thou thus hadst fled,I had found comfort in fond word and smilesFamiliar, and the pity of my kin,Tears wept with mine—tears wept by loving eyes,That had washed out thy traces from my heart,Perchance, in years, had given me back to joy.O that thy steps had never trodden Crete!O that these eyes had never on thee fed!O that, weak heart! I ne'er had looked my love.Or looking, thou hadst thrust it back with hate!Did I not save thee? I? was it for this,Despite Crete's hate—despite my father's wrath,Perchance to slay me, that I ventured allFor thee—for thee—forgetting all for thee!Thou know'st it all,—who knows it if not thou,Save the just Gods—the Gods who hear my cry,And mutter vengeance o'er thy flying head,Forsworn! And, lo! on thy accused trackRush the dread furies; lo! afar I seeThe hoary Ægeus, watching for his son,His son that nears him still with hastening oars,Unknown, that nears him but to dash him down,Moaning, to darkness and the dreadful shadesThe while, thy grief wails after him in vain:And, lo, again the good Gods glad my sightWith vengeance; blood again, thy blood, I seeStreaming;—who bids Hippolytus departBut thou—thou, sword of lustful Phædra's hateAgainst thy boy—thy son—thy fair-haired boy;I see the ivory chariot whirl him on——The maddened horses down the rocky wayDashing—the roaring monster in their path;And plates and ivory splinters of the car,And blood and limbs, sprung from thee, crushed and torn,Poseidon scatters down the shrieking shores;And thou too late—too late, bewail'st in vain.Thy blindness and thy hapless darling's fate.And think'st of me, abandoned, and my woe;Thou who didst show no pity, to the GodsShrieking for pity, that my vengeful criesDrag thee not down unto the nether gloom,To endless tortures and undying woe.Dread Gods! I know these things shall surely be!But other, wilder whispers throng my ears,And in my thought a fountain of sweet hopeMingles its gladness with my lorn despair.Lo! wild flushed faces reel before mine eyes.And furious revels, dances, and fierce glee,Are round me,—tossing arms and leaping forms.Skin-clad and horny-hoofed, and hands that clashShrill cymbals, and the stormy joy of flutesAnd horns, and blare of trumpets, and all huesOf Iris' watery bow, on bounding nymphs,Vine-crowned and thyrsus-sceptred, and one form,God of the roaring triumph, on a carGolden and jewel-lustred, carved and bossed,As by Hephæstus, shouting, rolls, along,Jocund and panther-drawn, and through the sun,Down, through the glaring splendor, with wild bound,Leaps, as he nears me, and a mighty cup,Dripping, with odorous nectar, to my lipsIs raised, and mad sweet mirth—frenzy divineIs in my veins—hot love burns through mine eyes,And o'er the roar and rout I roll along,Throned by the God, and lifted by his loveUnto forgetfulness of mortal pains,Up to the prayers and praise and awe of earth.
W. C. B.